Category: Before the Rain

Before the iPod, was the Walkman.
And before that, music was out loud
heard, wanted or not.
Top 40 played endlessly
catchy or maddening – earworm yet to be invented.

Book end –
in my first week of university
Santana sang, “nobody told me about her.”
They didn’t.
Walking from her office,
eyes followed me, from hidden desks –
digging in deeper : shit happens.
Last days of high school,
on commercial radio
Rod Stewart sang about Georgie
and
happiness at last meeting.
– Book end

We crossed in the supermarket
by then, not in the same workplace.
And I knew –
told by a coincidental third party.
Intuition told her I knew. And hadn’t. It was easy.
We talked of the present
and the future – mine … “what do you think you might do now?”
But not the past,
we might stray ….. into that day.
We laughed, real laughter, not polite response.

I noticed things, never noticed –
she had tiny hands – they waved around,
a young child’s teeth – neon displayed constantly,
small round breasts – they pushed up and out with laughter and animation.
….. 15 – 20 minutes – several exits talked past ….
… then – “ well I guess
great catching up – all the best.”

Rod Stewart told of Georgie finding peace, happiness
and being in love –
congruent thoughts, as the cash register conferred ownership.
Yes, to all of the above. She had. And was.
A decade and a half later I heard,
heard about love up and leaving – abruptly.
Psychiatric hospital? “ Oh …. months! Well over a year.”

If Only is a sequel to Nobody Home, published March 15, 2017.

 

As faded as Miami Vice
as long ago as Dire Straits
as far back as Ronald Reagan,
where computers were large
and application’s small.
When mental illness shared an address –
with alcoholism and homosexuality.  1, The Closet.

I knocked on her door
…“ about this morning
I’m sorry if I upset you.”
In a job still to come
“… wouldn’t know shit about shit,”
was catch cry response, to naiveté, gaucheness, stupidity.
I didn’t,
but I could read the frost on her face.

BASTARD.

She thought I knew,
that other two had told me.
I didn’t. They hadn’t.
No word. No absolution. No Explanation.
I fled belligerent silence
finding out only by chance …..
and after I no longer worked there.

Nobody Home is a sequel to Out of Sight. Out of Mind, published March 13, 2017

The oldest question –
when and how much should be told.
On an as needed basis?
Just in case?
Russian roulette? – Most times, it’s a blank.

What to do with a problem,
98% not.
Complicated and additive
(invariably absent problem) + (might be temporary employee)
= discretion best policy
= say nothing.

“They won’t accept that!”
Asparagus is hurled to the floor,
hot self pronounced failure,
despairing sobs,
rushed exit from the room.
I turn to the others – what have I done?
No one says anything.
The radio is playing ‘I’ve got you Babe’
……“such profound lyrics.”
The conspiracy of knowing pretence
as ubiquitous as backspace
as useful as Photoshop.
“ Yeah…….I’ve always liked that song.”
Four became three
as if ice became water
commonplace –
too unremarkable for comment.

No one ever told me,
I just found out,
found out
like a bird finds out about downdrafts and thermals.
Ups
and downs.
Bipolar,
serious –
hospital + ECT +weeks off work.
Better now
98.95% of the time.