She is…untimely

 

 

Victoria sat back in her over the top, overly worn, found by the side of the road, Big Joe, reclining bean bag chair.  With the precision of an avid Hippie, she took a long haul off the pipe, leaned back quietly, and tuned into 92.9, the oldies station.

Along the lines of her eyes were visions and thoughts, swirling about…like a Big Rubber Ball.

untimely 1

“What ever happened to that illusive, simpler time?”

92.9 was not classic rock.  It did not adhere to Lynyrd Synyrd or Aerosmith.  It wasn’t even close to those ‘other’ bubble gum stations.  Stations that made vain attempts at similar ‘vintage’ music.  Tunes from the 80’s!

Funny, Victoria, never really thought of, Cyndi Lauper or Adam Ant, as, old.  But than again, she very rarely, thought of herself as…ancient!

92.9, if you were in the mood for silliness and fun, was and is the place to go.

‘Hello, Lamppost, whatcha’ knowin?’

‘Walkin’ in the rays of a beautiful sun.’

Stuff of Hall of Famers, such as, Unchained Melody, Blueberry Hill, and, Sittin’ at the Dock of the Bay…

With eyes closed, an a time out from the four legged circus that had been what Victoria and her wife called home, time slipped gently back.  Back to the day before yesterday.

What an awful message her mother had left!  Though, Victoria’s mother, Ann, had always summoned guilt.  Particularly when it came to the ‘phone’ calls.  Yet, somehow, without notice, Ann, mastered the fine art of Skyping guilt!

With fingers posed on the keyboard, feverishly writing nothing significant…Ann’s freckled face appeared on Victoria’s Chromebook screen.

An up close and personal visual, that was enough to scare the saint out of anyone!northern pass 4

“…she went into the woods.  Maybe, you saw the police across the street.  Two shots to the head in the backyard.”

Had Victoria known this neighbor of her mothers?  No, not really.  Perhaps, in passing, maybe a nod hello…she, the neighbor, always seemed, illusive.

No matter, the ‘neighbor’ and/or ‘she’ was making her impact felt on Victoria, current day.

“What happened to simple?  Asking for help?  Hadn’t Victoria known her share of persons…equipped with the ‘overly aware’ gene?”

The overly aware gene, being, those of us who have felt the need to take life into their own hands.  For better or worse,  no matter the attempt, most of those she knew, did not succeed.

In other words, they still clung about life, to this day.  Wavering in the good light, never dancing in the darkness…

Still, with radio on, quietly coaxing too much thinking from Victoria’s, wanna be blank, mind…

Still, with the high lingering above, easing the pain, the shame, the WTF?

Still, with all these precautions…

the constant gardener called, the sensitive mind, dug up the following thoughts:

Why?  Didn’t her husband know?  Could he have stopped her?  Fuck!  Victoria, didn’t know when Megan tried.  Or, maybe, she knew, but pretended to not be there…during the fallout.  Did he throw his hands in the air?  Like Victoria did!

Course, Megan still tinkers in the dark art of sadness.  Not often.  But often enough.  Often enough that the blow to the stomach is still there.  The crash of a large objects still makes Victoria shake and sweat and scream out-

‘Are you okay?  Did you take your meds today?’

That poor woman, out in the woods, loosing what was left of a ‘simple’ life.

Funny, how the action of just one person, one almost stranger, can affect and effect the lives of others.

Victoria closed her mind down with the gentle nudge of her cat, Towanda.  She managed to turn down the heat of yesterday’s sadness with the easy pat of a loving animal.

Slowly, drifting up to the stars, the room became a simple song.  And, a simple song…became the room…

untimely 3

Think of your fellow man
Lend him a helping hand
Put a little love in your heart
You see it’s getting late
Oh, please don’t hesitate
Put a little love in your heart

And the world will be a better place
And the world will be a better place
For you and me
You just wait and see

Another day goes by
Still the children cry
Put a little love in your heart
If you want the world to know
We won’t let hatred grow
Put a little love in your heart

And the world (and the world) will be a better place
All the world (all the world) will be a better place
For you 
And me 
You just wait 
And see, wait and see

Take a good look around
And if you’re looking down
Put a little love in your heart
I hope when you decide
Kindness will be your guide
Put a little love in your heart

And the world (and the world) will be a better place
And the world (and the world) will be a better place
For you 
And me 
You just wait
And see

People, now put a little love in your heart
Each and every day
Put a little love in your heart
There’s no other way
Put a little love in your heart
It’s up to you
Put a little love in your heart

-Jackie De Shannon

You, Beautiful Boy…John Lennon.

john 1

 

Had it been a colder winter, would Vicki been more aware of the day, the time…the shift of wind, to the subtle change of the earth’s emotions?  A typical day, no matter the season had been a hippie rainbow, splashed with a tie dye of skeleton, neon green and pink…

Typical?  No, no, fuckin’ way!  The day played out in the 13 year old’s, tainted by peace and love, screw the establishment…, mind.  This time though, it had been  recorded in tears.  Similar to looking at that larger than life, black-light, poster of Elvis, in a pantsuit…one toke shy of a good high!elvis

Sitting, lotus style on the shag carpeting of Lynn’s bedroom, attempting to really understand the true meaning of…

 

Terry Jack’s; Seasons in the Sun

 

A wonderful song about dying, the rebirth of spring and the friends we leave behind.

At the time, as two rebel freaks adverse to conformity…Vicki and Lynne only thought of the song as a sad good-bye to their childhood.  As it was certain, once High School began, the end poetically and physically, would be near.

Yet, none of that silly lonely life felt by many of similar breed and congruent thought mattered…For down below, in the bowels of the ancient home, sat, Lynne’s brother, Eddie.

Eddie, posted upon a stool made of stolen milk crates, smiled a mad-dog grin…as he and his buddies, banged out

Stairway to Heaven!

It hadn’t been that the band played poorly.  It wasn’t that the four mop-heads didn’t somehow resemble Muppet Puppets.   The simple fact had been, those fools just were not cool!  Anyway you cut it!  Those white boys had no rhythm and certainly, no style!

Vicki and Lynn cranked that hot pink record player.  So often had the needle been manually brought back to go that…well…one verse repeated itself over and over and over again.

Papa
Please pray for me
I was the black sheep of the family

No matter the loudness of the house.  No matter a child’s play at bettering the current situation.  No matter, the pleas, the tears and the questions…the ‘just give me some truth,’ could not be tucked away.

John Lennon, the prince of peace, the maker of all love, the heart and soul of a collective few living in a small New Hampshire city, tucked away in the middle class, had been killed the night before.

It had been a Monday night, 10:50 p.m., 1980!

John 2

The next day, with songs cranked, with outrage pouring out of every Yukon Jack bottle, with Vicki and Lynne attempting to drown their fears in the therapy of music…with all this…a handful of mourners headed for the capital.  One of these walking tributes to all that John Lennon could Imagine, had been Lynne’s mother.  Decked out with beaded vest, bell bottom Tough Skins…faded just right, and a pair of knee high, ‘knock me down and show me a good time’ black leather boots: Lynne’s mother made Stevie Nicks look like a girl scout in training.

And, it was on this day, Tuesday, December 9th, 1980…between the blue grass music being tortured by an all bad male band, and, the young ladies quietly paying respect through lyrics…Lynne’s mother lay entombed in her bedroom to distraught to go to work.

Odd, years later, Vicki would visit the Orpheum theater in Boston to see,  the Plastic Ono band.  She would be high on technicolor and acid!  She would not remember much of that night.  She would remember, Yoko’s acknowledgement of her long lost husband.  And, she would remember that day…a handful of years back…

That day, when within her little world of Peace, Love and Happiness, she learned of  new emotions.  Terror and pure hate!  To the current day, Vicki could not bring herself to read, ‘Catcher in the Rye’, she could not capitalize on anything relating to John’s death.  No new and recently found works of Lennons‘…posthumously!

Fading to black in the very back row of the Orpheum theater, weirdness abound, with necklaces made of Barbie Doll parts, Hippies zoned out on weed, the sweet smell corroding the walls…a simple verse is all that Vicki could recall…

Goodbye to you
My trusted friend

We’ve known each other since we were nine or ten
Together we’ve climbed hills and trees

john 3