Screwdriver, what will you make today? A tiny hole to hang a picture? A treehouse 3 storeys high where curious kids watch blue jays feed their chirping baby birds? Or a box car to race down a pebbled hill? At the wheel, children in ol’ timey goggles scream with glee as race fans cheer them on from the sidelines, fragrant fresh pine still swirling from the driver’s seat.
Joggers in day-glo tank tops and body-fitting spandex dodge wannabe Armstrongs, announcing their presence as they blur by. A heavy steel barge creeps along the murky river as children shuffle off to school to learn their ABCs. Concrete chess boards are prepped for the day's hustle as scruffy, old men eating fried baloney sandwiches from their crumpled paper bags load their pipes with tobacco, patiently waiting for their unsuspecting prey. Cooing babies in strollers roll by, their moms plugged into their earphones having animated conversations with friends on the opposite side of the city, who tend to their dull green plants on the fire escape, which overlook honking cars and hurried trails of tiny pedestrians building their next home for the queen. Dollops of sunshine poke through falling autumn leaves. Tapping the wet ground, they stitch a quilt of lemon, pumpkin, and ginger cookie colors as exhausted bakers in aprons stained with raw dough and butter ride the empty bus home.
Pickle green lilypad in Monet’s garden of fresh lilacs and brilliant butterflies, a barrel-chested man with a wide-brimmed straw hat and blurry vision paints everything but the little bumpy frog splashing about, hidden behind tall thin reeds projecting out of the still, black water, pulsing with life underneath.
Water in my glass greets the early Sunday morning. Beads streaming down my face post workout, muscles sore, abs rope tight from curling into a ball with my legs in the air, like flagpoles jutting out of the white beach in upscale Newport, where seagulls glide in the salty air and waves beat against the stair-stepped rocks leading up to the Shake Shack, where juicy triple cheeseburgers are grilled for bubbly students and hungry hikers, willingly waiting in a winding line for sugary date shakes topped with thick whipped cream and tooth-decaying maraschino cherries. slurped to the bottom, leaving nothing but foam and a handful of cold french fries.
Tiny and delicate. Feathery white specs float from the cavernous black sky onto my eyelids and tongue. A light shower of powder rests on my outstretched arms. The stars above smile and encourage me to play. A plush, white virgin bed spreads across the street. It’s softer than sand and cool to the touch. Weeks from now, it will be an unwelcome nuisance. Wet slush. Cold and brown. But tonight, it’s peppermint hot chocolate, marshmallows, snug furry boots, cobwebs of tree branches silhouetted against yellow street lights, and a faint hum vibrating through the clean, crisp air, until…silence.
3:15 AM. Blinding rain smacks the windshield in waves. He belches cold sausage garlic pizza. Eyelids are heavy, his butt’s numb and the air in the cab is musty. A hot shower and hearty bowl of lentil soup is just five, no three, exits away.
It’s been one year, six months, three days, and 16 hours since my feet felt the soft sand crystals between my toes. A hot cappuccino with frothy foam tickles my upper lip like ‘what’s her name?’ in the dark port back at whatchamacallit. Anyway, that’s behind me now, and so are the cramped confines that have my spine curving like a wire hanger over this plate of garlicky noodles and red sauce. Victory! Already half gone and not a single drop on my crisp whites. Well, what to do these next five days? Motoring along the winding cliff side may be a good start.
Which came first? The rabbit or the egg? Who cares? Certainly not the rabid children stepping over one another, loading their satchels with as many multi-colored pastel eggs as they could find. Hidden behind bushes, in ceramic flower pots, under the creaky wooden stairs, tucked in the antique bird fountain, where blue jays too scared to bathe, look on bewildered, from the safety of their trees. Because today all anyone cares about are giant bunny rabbits born from milk chocolate.
My arms and legs feel heavy and eye sockets are strained. The buzz of activity outside my window is long gone. Only a faint ringing in my ears and a subtle taste of rotisserie chicken and lime hot sauce remain. Time for a steamy shower to soothe my skin, call my nerves, and bridge me toward a cool, solitary bed and a moonlit room where visions of strange characters and unpredictable events await. Until I wake in the middle of the night and tiptoe across the floorboards, careful not to disturb the neighbor downstairs. My eyes only partially open, so as not to face the real world just yet.
Beautiful, baby blue skies. Her almond skin glistens in coconut oil under the radiant sun. For a half-second too long, he lingers on the curves of her sparkling peppermint bikini, instead of the fast-approaching turn. She licks her sweet strawberry ice cream cone as his front tire plunges into the soft sand, bucking him over his handlebars, onto the sandy bed with a thud. Did she see him? Hopefully not. The little kid in the oversized helmet pedaling his trike like an escaped convict sure didn’t. Avoiding eye contact, he gets up, brushes off his knee caps and hobbles back to his trusty ride.
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May 2024
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