Pages

Donate to our boiler restoration fund!

Sunday, August 21, 2011

Gotta be ready when it all comes down


8/19
The feet I see stretching out from the south doorway as I approach the church look familiar. It was only a matter of time.  George has returned. And I feel glad to see him.
George,how are you? He grunts, shrugs. Good to see you. How’s the place, your house? 
He grunts, shrugs again. I’m in court, man.
What’s up?
Whee were you March 14th?
March 14th?
Yeah, March 14th. You don’t know what they did? Cut the motherfuckin subsidies, that’s what they did. My five year contrct’s a two year contract now. They want my black ass out. He’s wearing layers. A poncho. His bifocals duct taped. And he’s got a fine looking cigar. 
I remember hearing about that, can’t remember the details.
That’s what Bloomberg do. They call my subsidy socialism. They call it communism. That’s what they say.
Who can help?
Help? Help? Nobody. Not Cuomo. He’s got aspirations, you understand what I’m sayin? Aspirations. Think he care about niggers? That what you think? Obama? O---- bama? No---bama. ZerO---bama? Man won’t even stand up to those republican retards. Back in the Bush day, money flowed, ok? The money flowed. Then the republican retards took over.  Help? Obama won’t do nothin.  Things were better with Bush.
I meant...
Help? Don’t you see what’s goin on? They talk about guns, you know what I’m sayin? They don’t win, Obama win again, they lose the congress, those people take up the guns. They get that nigger out of the white house one way or the other. It’s all over the world, man. People risin up. Arab spring, man. Arabmotherfuckin spring. That man in Tunisia, he set him self on fire. The people rise up. You got Egypt. Tahrir Square. Do you get it? Even Israel. Motherfuckin Israel. Israel Egypt too. Forget what they do to Palestinians. They used to take care of their own. Socialized medicine. Houses. Jobs. You see last week? Quarter of a million people. Pissed. Started with one woman in a tent. Quarter of a million. People livin in motherfuckin tents. Israel. Don’t you see what’s happenin? It’s all comin down. All comin down. And people think I’m the crazy motherfucker for comin out here, gettin ready. Got to be ready when it all comes down. I’m not the crazy one. Not me. 
I ask about his attorney. A woman. It's a compicated story. Includes stories about landords, hot and cold water problems, mold. (Like tell me) When’s he go back to court? I ask.  
First of next month, he tells me. So you. What about you? Don’t see you runnin. What’s up with you?
I tell him about my herniated disc. How I can barely walk, let alone run.  
You play sports? Football maybe?
Then I remember, senior year high school. Nasty bad sprain, lower lumbar. Right where it hurts now. Like its been lying in wait all these years. Yeah, football, I say.
What you play? Quarterback? 
I laugh. No, guard, linebacker..
You have a different body then? You don’t have the body...
Back in the day, it was different. I played at 160.
Shit, you gotta be twice that now. Least.
How bout you, George, you play?
No. Didn’t have the skills. What you gonna do? 
I tell him a week of steroids, then...
Steroids? Motherfuckin steroids? You crazy? You see what that shit do to JFK? How it change him? 
It’s time for me to move on, go inside. I wish him the best. Stephen tracks me down. We’ve got s plumbing crisis. Last night’s storm brought geysers. It’s taken 4-5 hours to dry out, get ready. I tell him Clint was here. But didn’t get me a quote. Stephen’s anxious. Press coming this week. Can’t afford to shut down. Or lose another night. Lose them once, they’re gone. Plus the bar...I’ll call Danielle, see what we can do. Monday. Monday.
Afer my wedding in the village, I stop in. The last scene is ready to unfold. The audience streams into the sanctuary. Trelkowski runs through. Breaks loose. Runs to the balcony. The scene plays out. The audience applauds. It’s closer. Not all the way there yet. 
I stay. Listen to comments. One compares this show to Punchdrunk’s Macbeth inspired Sleep No More in an old hotel. It’s like they’re trying so hard. It’s constructed. Artifice. This is real. This really is a church.
I go out to the yard . Listen to the conversations. People comparing their experiences. Reconstructing stories. Then at 10, the yard clears. Consideration for neighbors. I feel like weekends, it should stay open later. We’ll see what we can do. 
As I head home, George is still there. A silent sentinel. He’ll be ready.
West-Park 2009
Photo by Matt Weber


No comments:

Post a Comment