She Looked Like Marilyn (Draft 1)

She held the door open for her friend as they walked into the office. 

Her friend was hunched over and moved slowly with her cane. After

her friend was inside, she closed the door. "Would you mind if we 

wait here?" she said. I told her it was no problem. The theatre wasn't

going to be open for another 20 minutes or so. 

"I hope you don't mind us waiting in here with you." Her hair was 

done in the same way Marilyn Monroe had in the movie "The Seven

Year Itch". Everyone knows that movie or at least the scene where

her white dress billows up around her over a vent in the street. Unlike 

Marilyn, she wasn't wearing a white dress, though her blouse was 

white. Her face was framed by glasses too large for her face. She

must have been very beautiful when she was younger. Even though

beauty fades, traces of it linger on. 

Her friend was resting comfortably in the overstuffed red velvet chair.

She could have sat down but instead was looking at the pictures on 

the wall. Some of them have been on display longer than I've been alive.

That's part of the charm of working in a place as old as this theatre. 

She turned to me as she pointed towards a black and white picture of 

a man playing sax. "Do you know who that is?" I told her I didn't.

"That's Stan Getz. I was here the night that picture was taken. It was

a wonderful performance. He had just put out an album with a young

brazilian guitarist. The guitarists wife sang a couple of songs on the

record as well. The music was heavenly. Have you heard the record

I'm talking about? It was called Getz/Gilberto."

I thought about it for a moment. I remember my dad would play old

jazz records in the house when I was growing up. The name was 

familiar enough. I was certain I had heard the album she was talking

about. I told her I wasn't entirely sure.

"You should listen to it some time. It's a very romantic album."

She looked across the pictures on the wall but her eyes always

came back to rest on that picture. 

"Do you see the carnation on his lapel?" she asked. I stood up

from behind the desk to take a better look. Sure enough, there

was a white carnation on his lapel. I told her I had never noticed

that before. She smiled. "I gave that to him."

"I would go see him play at The Lighthouse all the time back then.

He was always so handsome. After seeing me at a few performances

he came up to me and introduced himself between sets. I couldn't 

believe he had noticed me. He told me that he was going to be doing

a theatre show in a few weeks and that he would like to see me there

and to come by early. I made sure to be there early to see him. When

I walked up I saw him standing in the alley with the rest of the group.

As soon as he saw me he walked over and told the band he would

be back. I ad brought along a white carnation from my mother's garden.

When he saw it in my hand he asked me what it was for. I told him

it was for him to wear at the concert. He smiled and asked if I was 

going to pin it on him. I remember feeling my cheeks grow fiery hot.

Once I pinned the carnation to his lapel he came in closer and said

we should go have a drink together."

I looked over and saw that her friend had practically fallen asleep

in the overstuffed chair. I didn't blame her. If I was that old and 

in that comfortable of a chair I would probably do the same thing.

"We walked over to this small bar that used to be around the corner

from here. There were only a few other people in there beside us. 

We settled into a small booth near the back. He told me all about 

Brazil and how lovely the people and the music there were. He 

spoke in a way that matched his playing. He looked at his watch

and said we needed to get going for the show. As we walked into

the street he took my hand and held it. His fingers locked with mine

and I squeezed it. We got to the ticket window and he told the girl

inside that I was his guest. He reached in and kissed me. Find me 

after the show he said."

"The girl had the usher take me in and sat me in the perfect place

to see the performance. They played marvelously that night. I 

couldn't help but think how handsome he looked as he played 

with the carnation on his lapel."

I looked at my watch and saw that we were about to open the

doors for seating.

"Ma'am. We're about to start seating. Would you like me to show

you to your seats?"

"That would be wonderful."

She helped her friend up as I held the door open for the two of

them. 

"We were beautiful once" she said.

the grinding of the wheel

I woke into the dream to find myself with Annie
in her room. She was upset. The orientation of the
bed was in a North to South alignment and not an
East to West one. This upset her greatly. Though
the bed orientation didn't please her, it was far
from being the sole reason for her reaction. We
began to talk. I had to be cautious at first. I wasn't
entirely sure what I was getting myself into. She
was lying facing up on one of the beds with a
glassed over look of inevitable defeat. This was
perplexing to me because of the presence she
radiated onstage during her performances. In her
present state she appeared as drained as an empty
bottle of water. The natural beauty that possessed
her was ever present though it reminded me of the
way a cut flower appears after some time in a vase.
It was the tour, the demands of the management,
the constant need to give the audience everything,
and if you saw her perform you could understand
what is meant by everything. The rigor of the road
was a joy that was grinding her down. She didn't
wish to admit it, but it was becoming clear that this
passion was beginning to unravel the parts of her
that needed to be kept under wraps. She couldn't
even remember if it was early or late anymore,
in a way it didn't even matter, in some ways it
was the only thing that mattered.

city trees

Trees cannot be caged by mere concrete

or iron bars. They do not recognize 

the power we ascribe to each 

as absolutes. Pavement will crack

and jut from odd angles as roots

spider throughout without regard

to our conceptions or concerns.

Between (part 1)

It's not too often you wake up on your back inside a

lifeboat staring up at an ashen sky. I suppose thats 

the most normal part of what I'm going to tell you. 

There is nothing particularly normal looking about

this place, wherever the hell here is. Once I began 

to look around all I could see was water and trees;

large, gnarled, dead trees jutting from the water like

a field of skeletal hands begging the sky. 

I'm not sure how long I sat there at first as I drifted

through the trees. It was a strange and terrible beauty

being there. I didn't want to chance getting out of

the boat and into the water because I had no idea

of what could be there. From what I could tell

there were no creatures moving about to speak of. 

I couldn't see into depths. 

In the boat I did have a pair of oars along with an

old note book full of missing pages and a pen.

The note book didn't look familiar but I assumed 

it was mine, otherwise why would it be there? I 

didn't bother rowing for some time because the

water seemed to know where I was going. It was 

good enough for the time being. 

The sky never broke from its one color palette. 

There was no sun to speak but there was no moon

either. I assumed there had to be a sun since there

was enough light to see around that place. If I had 

to say what time it looked like it was, I'd guess it 

was somewhere around 5p.m. at any given time. 

That's just a guess. 

I had a lot of time to think then. That's really all I

could do besides watch the scenery. Even the 

strangeness of the place became boring after a 

while. It just goes to show that we can get used to

just about anything. 

What I began to notice was how mutilated and dead

all these trees seemed. They were shorn of all their

leaves like an endless winter, the bare branches 

lonely without their adornments. Some of the trees

looked utterly dead, others looked like they were

struggling to maintain the flicker of life. 

There was a lonely silence that was only broken by

the sound of the boat slowly pushing through the

water. For all the trees around there were no other

signs of life to be found. No small creatures scurrying,

no birds nesting, chirping. Just a perpetual loneliness

that held on tight like a mother to her newborn.