Atlantic. June 2000

Early morning. I dance my bare feet on the deck. Circling my brother with his arms held out, catching the wind in his palms like a sail boat. The strong gale whips around my eight year old dress. Too young to care if it flies up past my underpants. Tame sunshine with a wind out of control. A waterfall of air blowing the sent of sea salt into our eyes and around our noses.

    I hold out my arms like a kite and jump up. Could this wind take me away? My hair whips across my smile and innocent dimples. Dimples that don’t know heart break and a smile that knows no bounds.

Joy to young carelessness.

Joy to the sea.

Heminway St.  March 2012

Boston was sunny and warm and the breeze was on my back. The clouds were traveling at walking pace. I look up at them while I step one boot in front of the other. I blink my eyes. Then again. I squint and see small black strands and particles float through and down the sky, dancing like shadows against the afternoon sun. They circle the sky like crows and swoop down onto Heminway street. More and more mini black crows flutter down and around my feet. An army of these mysteries advance down Heminway. I crane my neck up and to the left. Billows of brown smoke come from the north. The wind tossed the smoke and sent the crows of ash my way. Sirens moan and howl like wolves from afar. I turn 360 on my heels and head towards the smoke. I turn the corner and masses of people gather around the Fenway neighborhood. Cell phones and cameras propped in between the pads of their fingers. In front of them, a fire roars and whips about. Jumping higher and higher, hotter and turning more orange by the second. The fire tears through the Fenway neighborhood reeds. Fireman bust through the burning of reeds and hobo sleeping bags. A collage of noises: the fire crackling, and sirens wailing, and the Boston townies on their phones saying           “You won’t believe this Fi-ah”.

     After a moment, the fire finishes his tantrum and the hoses cease. The crowd disperses and I head back down Heminway. The street is still, smelling like a child hood camp fire. The street is still dusted with ash remnants like fallen crows after a storm.

Heminway St January 2012

The four of us stumbled down the street. The sidewalks bare for a Boston Back Bay Saturday night. We were slightly less than sober but we were being more weird than drunk. We squatted low and flap our arms like birds singing stupid four part harmonies to a song we all had in common. We  sang in a waltz.

     “It’s been a long time, long time now. Since I’ve seen you smileeeee. And I’ll gamble away my time and I’ll gamble away my frighttttt”.

     I glanced over my shoulder and noticed a woman with grocery bags close behind us. Something about her haunted and captivated me. In her thirties with short poufy hair. Frail eyes and a slender nose. She looked a bit like Bob Dylan in his early days. Masculine and feminine, young but old. Very beautiful and mousey but haunting and hollow. I might have held her gaze for a second too long. I felt an odd energy in the air but I shook it off. We turn the corner and walk for a few minutes, doing little stupid dances. Suddenly foot steps- or foot stomps, come from behind. We turn around and Bob Dylan lady is stampeding towards us. A wild fire in her eyes.

     “Don’t you DARE talk about my family. DON’T YOU DARE. Something will fall on you. I hope demons come it FALLS down on you. Don’t you DARE talk about the family!”

    Science. We stood stunned and confused. We apologized out of confusion and keep walking. Georgia Broke off to go home. I felt all shivery and odd like that woman cast a spell on us. I look up and around, seeing if anything was about to drop on my head. I look behind me and notice that Bob Dylan Lady is chasing Georgia down Heminway.

“Yea, yea. you wouldn’t believe it. Kind of like- HAHA…hey I felt that yesterday too, you buy them while their hot…”

He trails off as he arrives on the corner of Fenway and Heminway. His salt and pepper hair sprouting to the side and back. Itching the side of his yellow jacket and gripping a cat carrying case.

“not much of this now. I haven’t seen much of them in…. I’d love to go down that way, what do you think?”

He keeps walking and mumbling. He stops and plants his forehead into his palm

“no no no no NOO. It’s not that, I haven’t been to the library in over a few years”

He turns around and sees us on the green park bench.

“This is my fat cat”

He holds up his carrying case and a black and butterscotch cat blinks his eyes.

“What are you all studying to do?”

He takes out a cigarette and sticks in out of the left side of his mouth.

“don’t smoke HAHAHAH”

We nod politely

“I’m from east Roxburry but now I live in Doorchester. Where are you from?”

I don’t know how to put my finger on this man. Not creepy, not old, not young, not drunk, seems to be pretty happy. His hands inside his jacket, hugging inward, as if it was cold out. He circles around a bit and puts down his cat case. He turns around a continues the conversation with his back to us.

“Have you seen the titanic? You know Molly Mccord? She’s my friend from Ireland. They are all still in Ireland. Look her up, but don’t look me up because you can’t, it just wont work. My name is John Sullivan”

His cat blinks his eyes and falls back asleep. Two horns from traffic honk at each other.

“THANK YOUUU VERY MUCH” he sais to the horns. “HAHAHA”

An old man sits down on the next park bench and John Sullivan goes over and shakes his hand

“AHH doctor! Haven’t seen you in a while. HAHHA what a beautiful day”

We take this opportunity to get up and scatter away and off to class.

“So doctor, how’ve you been? HAHAHA”

Under a snow glazed tree. Bundled like a package. Head to toenails in warm-ware and icicles. Smelling the winter time. standing on the roots of the big oak tree, chin up and neck wrinkled, looking up at the snow covered branches stretched out like limbs. Opening and closing my eyes, finding different shapes in it’s crossing arms. There is something special about looking at a tree from this angle. A private and sacred view. The wind blew tastefully and wiggled the branches. Snow sprinkled down on my face. I hummed a little winter song.

      My rest was interrupted by a shimmery banjo and a fiddle up the hill. The festivals schedule ended and the late night pickers fiend for more. Despite my sore feet, I threw on my boots and stumbled up the hill. I walked through rows of tents and whisky bottles. Gripping my washboard and guitar tight, I swam through the dark and came to a painted school bus with a group Between the darkness and the whisky, I could make out 6 heads. They waved me in and sat me down and pointed at my washboard. Told me to “play that thing”. The tune was counted off. A quick paced romp and stomp. Fingers flying, picks picking. I didn’t know who these people were. Couldn’t see their faces. Only heard their instrumental cries, the clink of their bottles, and their silky and mysterious voices. I played till my fingers numbed and then woke up in my tent with my boots on and my washboard under my head.

May 1999

I had a gleam in my eye as the bundle of buildings grew bigger. My parents in the front seat and my older brother beside me picking through a mad magazine. I rolled my forehead against the window as I stared at the cardboard cut out looking buildings in the distance. My favorite buildings were the twin towers.

     “Hey mike, you think those twins are the exact same size? Or are they more like fraternal twins?”

     “Nah, one has a big antenna on top, so it’s bigger”, Mike says.

I sit and stare as I think about a friend who has a taller twin. I stick my hands behind me and in the crevice of the seat cushions. Gritty dirt and potato chip crumbs. I pull out a penny. I put it on top of my eye and hold a wink so it can stay in place. It falls on my lap after two seconds. 

   Manhattan is getting even bigger as we advance. 

     “You know if you dropped that penny off one of the twin towers or the empire state you could cut some one in half.”

       I give mike a cold stare. “Thats not true you stupid”

     “uh-huh, the building is so high, if you drop it off the top it will catch so much momentum that it will cut through a persons head”

   I started to think he is right. I close my eyes and see myself on top of a twin tower. I let the penny slip out of the grasp of the thumb and pointer. It plunders down, catching wafts of new york city pizza and central park dog poo. It glides through the air, flipping and tumbling like a gymnast going for the gold. It whistles against the wind like a teapot crying for a teabag. Abe lincon’s stomach drops. The engraved words fly off. Its falling. Falling. Fa-

And it hits him. Middle aged man with a bag of groceries. He screams as he spews blood. Gushes like fruit candy on the the side walk. He is split in perfect two. Clean cut! And the penny keeps going through the earth until it pokes through the ground of china and into outer space.

      The mans groceries take a tumble. Apples and mini cheese wheals and banana peals scurry across the ground. The pretzel man slips on a banana and salt goes flying. Salt lands in a lady’s eye and she yelps, letting go of her dog. The golden retriever runs across the street and causes a traffic jam. Like dominoes, car after car after car hits each other. The earth starts to rumble and the towers shake and fall, wiping into the street. I fly down like the penny. Down to the ground and through the ground. Through China and then back smack in the car seat.

     My eyes shoot open. My mouth felt dry. I just got away with murder.

     “Here you can have this”. I hand the penny to my brother. I put my head back on the window and look onto the city skyline. I sigh thankfully, as my two favorite buildings are still in the distance.