(Circa: Chicago, early 1970s)
My father, the one in the brown on the right with the baloon in his hand, and my uncle have to be younger in this photograph than I am now and I can’t even wrap my mind around that.
My dad. In his early twenties. At a party. Looking cool. Having fun.
It’s strange.
And awesome.
The best poetry doesn’t try to be anything. I mean the best writing doesn’t try to be anything.
it just is.
It is beautiful.
it is poignant.
it is deep.
“So there’s this customer I kinda like.” I told Mel as I scrubbed at the pegado at the bottom of the pot. I can’t believe how some people love this part. Pegado, pronounced “pe-gao-o” is the part of the rice that gets crispy and ever so slightly burnt and sticks to the bottom of the pot when you make arroz con gandules or any Spanish rice.
“Whenever you say customer I always picture a skeezy john in my head.”
“He’s not a john. None of my customers are johns, Mel– I’m not a prostitute. You know that right?” I turned and looked at her, holding the metal scrubber in my hand.
“I dunno dude. I’m not sure what you do all day.”
I turn back to the pot in the sink. “Well it’s not that, I’d be making more money if I was. No, it’s this guy that books stuff to Australia all the time.”
“Oh.” She sat down on the plastic chair by the tall table. “so, what kind of like? Like, like like?”
I shrugged. “Nah, it’s not like that.”
“Why not? Is he not cute?”
“Um, he’s all right I guess. I’ve only seen one picture. And it was from far away.”
“Oh. So what’s wrong with him? He’s got a girlfriend?”
“yeah.”
“Lame.”
I laughed.”Right? Everybody’s got a girlfriend.”
:”We don’t.” She corrected me.
“Yes, well I don’t like girls. We’re obnoxious. I don’t understand how lesbians even exist. How do they stand each other?”
“Boobies.”
“Damn. Boobies cover a multitude of sins.” I finally get all of the burnt rice off the bottom of the pot and reach for the final dish to scrub.
“Yep. As a fan of boobies i will admit this.”
I begin rinsing and setting the clean dishes to dry on the rack next to me. “Even ugly boobies?” I ask her.
“Define ugly boobs? I think they’re all pretty.”
“That cannot possibly be true. What if they have creepy nips?” I hear her laugh behind me.
“What is your deal with nipples?”
I shrug again. “I dunno, I just hate when they’re like tiny and pink.”
“How many tiny pink nipples have you seen?”
“Enough.” I tell her.
“Are you self-conscious about your boobs?”
I look down at my chest. “Nah. I’ve got nice boobs. But this is beside the point.”
“What were we talking about?”
“this dude.”
“What dude?”
“The one you called a john.” I put the last cup on the rack and wipe the counter around the sink dry.
“Oh yeah. So what’s the big deal with this guy?” She gets up and opens the fridge. “Why don’t we have any food?”
“Because we’re poor and we’re one bill away from prostitution.”
“That’s sad.”
“I know.”
“Want some garlic toast?” She reaches for the bag of bread on the fridge.
“Totally.” I sit down in the chair she had just occupied. I look around the kitchen. Eventually we should get some stools or something for the table I think to myself. Real grown ups, do not have plastic patio furniture in the house.
Mel turns on the toaster oven and sets two slices of bread on a small cutting board. “So this boy. What’s so special about him that you’re bringing him up?”
“I dunno. He’s nice.” I watch as she spreads olive oil on the slices before covering them in garlic powder and salt. She looks at me and arches an eyebrow.
“You never bring up boys unless you like them.” She walks to the oven and places them on the rack inside and sets the timer for five minutes. “What’s his name?”
“Adam.”
“Adam what?”
“Mazur.”
“Mazur? what kind of last name is that? White dude?”
“Totally. He’s Polish.” She walks over to the dish rack and pulls out a small bowl.
“Like Poland Polish, or american Polish?”
“American Polish. He doesn’t even speak Polish.” I watch as she pours olive oil into the bowl and adds parmesan cheese. “Will you add black pepper?” She sighs.
“Okay. So why doesn’t he speak polish?”
“I dunno. ask his parents.”
“Okay. So what else? He’s not cute, he has a girlfriend and he doesn’t speak Polish.”
“I never said he wasn’t cute.”
“You didn’t say he was.” She counters.
“I think he’s funny. We talk all day. I call him tiger sometimes.”
“You like him.”
“Stop that. Flip the toast.” The timer on the toaster oven went off.
“Why can’t you admit that you like him?” She grabs an oven mitt and pulls the rack out so she can flip the toast over.
“Why do I have to like every boy I talk to?”
“Because you don’t bring up guys to me unless you like them and you want me to tell you it’s okay to like them.”
“I can like a guy without wanting to be on his dick, Mel. You make me sound like I have a one track mind or something.” I pause. “Don’t leave them in there much longer. I don’t like them that toasty.
“Another minute, then.” She grabs a plate. “Okay so tell me something more about this guy whose dick you supposedly don’t want to jump on.”
I laugh. I don’t blame her for doubting me. I fall in and out of crushes like a 16-year-old girl. I blame myself for discovering the cuteness of boys in the first grade. “Hmm, okay, he’s like 29, he’s funny, he occasionally misspells words, he’s tall, he owns a house, he’s a total suburbanite, he seems too lazy to own a dog, so he has a cat, I like his voice, he says he’s pretty shy in person, and I don’t think he knows what he wants to do with his life, but I find that strangely comforting as neither do I.”
She nods her head as I rattle off this list. She pulls the toast of of the oven and sets it on the cutting board. “You say he’s tall?”
“I like how that’s the only thing you pick out of the whole list. Yeah, I asked him how tall he was and he said six something or six feet. I don’t remember.”
“I’m just saying, cause I know how you are about height.” She brings the toast over to the table where I’m sitting and cuts each slice into four pieces. “Dig in.” I grab a piece and dip it into the olive oil and parmesan cheese mix. “Owns a house, eh?”
“Mhmm.”
“Under 30? No kids? Tall? Somewhat attractive?” She takes a bite out of her toast and chews on it. “He’s not real.” she says, with her mouth full.
I start laughing. “You think I’m making him up?”
“Kinda.”
“If I was making this dude up, he’d be single and he’d think I was pretty.”
She chewed on her toast as she thought about it. “True.”
We ate in silence.
“Should I put in another couple of slices?” She asks.
“Yeah. I’m still hungry.”
I stood in front of my door wearing nothing but the blanket off of my bed.
“I had fun. Can we do this again?” He pulled me close and gave me a soft kiss.
I was warm and sleepy and satisfied. I nodded my head and smiled. I was too far gone to be able to form words and I just wanted him to leave already so I could sleep.
He looked down at me. I wrapped myself tighter in my blanket.
“Okay, you get some sleep. I’ll talk to you soon.” He opened the door and stepped onto the landing looking back at me. I leaned against the door.
“Goodbye Danny.” I waited till he walked down the first flight of stairs before closing the door and locking it behind him.
I still had the taste of him in my mouth and the scent of him on my skin. I walked to the bathroom rinsed my face and groaned when I saw the mass of knotted hair at the crown of my head. All I could think was, “that’s going to require a lot of detangler.”
My eyelids felt heavy as I made my way back to my bed and collapsed in a heap.
I smiled as I thought of what had led to the wetness between my thighs and let myself drift off to lovely uninterrupted sleep.
Cary Grant dragged me across the street.
Not that Cary Grant.
Because that would be weird. You know, since he’s dead, and because a super famous movie star would never in a million years hang out with someone as lame as me.
No, Cary Grant the 80 pound black Labrador retriever, dragged me across the street to greet a friend of his.
Well, he wasn’t much of a friend, more of an acquaintance, really. He’d only ever met Petey the chubby American Bulldog once before. And here he was acting like they were best friends. Dogs are simple like that. I wish that happened more often with people.
I ran behind him to keep from having my right arm pulled out of its socket.
“Dammit, Cary Grant! You could’ve killed us!” I heard a laugh and looked up at Petey’s owner. I blushed and was suddenly reminded of the fact that I was just wearing a t-shirt and no bra on this late night walk. “Hi.” Instinctively I crossed my arms in front of my chest.
“Your dog has a full name. That’s kinda funny.” He said while the doggies sniffed at each other.
“Well your dog doesn’t. I’m sure he feels incomplete.”
“How do you know he doesn’t?”
“I don’t know, you’re making fun of my dog’s name I’m assuming yours doesn’t then.” I felt one of the leashes start to wrap around my legs.
He bent down to untangle me. “You know what they say about people who assume?”
“I don’t know, but looks like your dog is starting to wrap himself around you too.” I bent down to try and help him. He laughed again as the dogs kept circling around us while we worked on untangling ourselves.
After much maneuvering we were free.
“So what’s your name then?” He asked.
“I’m Arty.”
“Arty?”
“Um, like Artemis?”
“are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure! Why wouldn’t I be sure of my own name?”
“Well, it sounded like a question.”
“Oh. Um. No, it was a declarative statement. Not a question. Arty, short for Artemis.”
“That’s a cool name. Not as cool as your dog’s, but still.”
“Gee thanks. What’s yours?”
“Jason.”
“Hi Jason, nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you, again, don’t you remember, we’ve already met.”
We had, once, about a week earlier. I had just finished running to the river with Cary Grant and I was exhausted and sweaty and trying to rush home so I could watch an episode of Doctor Who on Netflix, shower and sleep. We bumped into Petey and Jason as we walked back to the house.
“That’s a nice dog,” He had said. I nodded and said “thanks, so is yours” and kept walking.
I am not very good at talking to men who are even remotely attractive, much less one that was actually pretty hot.
I smiled, thinking how cool I played it the first time around. “Yes, we’ve met, but there were no actual introductions. So it doesn’t count.”
“Of course not, you didn’t look at me and just kept walking. How was I going to introduce myself?”
Maybe I wasn’t as cool as I thought.
I let go of the leash and let Cary Grant wander around freely.
He looked surprised.
“Oh yeah, he’s pretty well trained, he won’t run off,” I say at the exact moment that my dog decides to run down the block. I feel my face get hot. “Cary Grant!” I scream. “Get back here!” I swear that dog lives to shame me in public.
He stopped mid stride, turned around and looked at me.
“Yes, you. Here.” I stomped my foot and pointed to my side. He looked at the direction he’d been running a moment before, torn between following his instincts or obeying me, before galloping back. I looked at Jason, “See? Totally obedient. Sorta.” I petted Cary Grant.
“I see. Well Petey would’ve probably kept running.”
I laughed, “Cary Grant knows he’s got a good thing going. Maybe Petey’s on the lookout for something better?”
“Hey, he’s got it good here too.” He looked down at Petey who’d laid down on the sidewalk between us. “He’s a rescue dog. Picked him up from the shelter. Turns out his owner didn’t want him because he was too gassy.”
“Aw, poor Petey. So was his name Petey when you adopted him or did you name him that?”
“His name was Rex when I got him. But that didn’t have enough personality. So I named him Peter. But I call him Petey for short.”
Petey’s not any shorter than Peter, but I didn’t feel like bringing that up.
“Looks like a Petey, doesn’t he?”
I smiled. “Yeah, definitely a Petey.”
“So what’s with Cary Grant?”
“Cary Grant was a dashing and debonair, Hollywood legend. Naturally my dog, who is also a dashing and debonair pup, should be named after one of the most handsome men in history. Don’t you think?”
At that moment Cary Grant laid down at my side and looked up at Jason.
“Look, he’s waiting for you to agree.”
“He is a handsome dog, not very modest though.” He said.
“it’s hard being that handsome, Jason. “
“I wouldn’t know.”
I laughed. “Neither would I, the dog has all the looks in the relationship.”
“Aw, I wouldn’t say that.”
“Shush, you’re going to make me blush.”
I looked at Cary Grant sitting by my side like a freaking dog prince. I never thought it’d be possible for a dog to be cooler than me.
“Just pointing out the truth.”
I shrugged.
“So, Arty, are you heading home now?”
“Um, yeah, Cary Grant’s pooped so we’re good to go. Need to get to sleep, I have to be up early. You?”
“Yeah, I mean, I need to walk this guy a little longer before heading in.”
“Well, I’ll see you around.” I turned and practically jogged away towards the apartment when I felt a sudden urge to be more aggressive than I generally am with men. “Hey, Jason!” I said from across the street.
He turned and smiled at me. “What’s up?”
“I…” I turned back around.
“Arty?” I heard him call.
Ignore it, you can never go back outside again. Keep walking.
“Arty!”
Dammit, turn around. “Yes, sorry. I got distracted.”
“What?”
“What?”
“What?”
“Why are you saying what?”
“why are you standing across the street? You called me and then turned around.”
“Yes. Um, Are you busy on Saturday?”
A car passed by between us.
“I don’t think so, why?”
“That’s cool, neither am I.”
“What?”
He and Petey started to cross the street towards me.
“Um, I mean…” Okay go for it.”I’m having a party, you should come!” I blurted out. “It’s this saturday, around nine.” I looked at Cary Grant for moral support but he was busy sniffing some leaves. This dog is useless.
“So where’s the party?” He asked while I searched my hands for a way to not sound like a teenage girl asking a boy or for the first time. A scenario that wasn’t too far from the truth. Romantically I hadn’t made any progress since I was about 17.
“My house.”
He laughed, “I figured that much. I mean where do you live?”
I looked at him. “Oh yeah, um, one street West, on Rockwell, two houses in. 2609. We’re on the first floor.”
“That’s funny.”
“Why?”
“I live across the street.”
That’s convenient. “Oh really? Well then, you won’t get lost.”
“There’s always a chance, you never know.”
I rolled my eyes. “Well, I should be going. Nice to meet you, Jason. Hopefully I can you Saturday!” I ran off towards my place.
“Okay!” I heard him yell behind me.
I waved my hand behind me and gave him a thumbs up as I kept jogging.
I reached my building and pulled out my keys. “Cary Grant, I do believe we invited a gentleman over to our house tonight.” I looked at him as I let him into the hallway. “And, the best part is that we didn’t embarrass ourselves–I don’t think. ”
We reached the door, “And that, my dear pup, is what I call a success. Now let’s see if he actually shows up. “
The Secret Life of Pandas 