Thursday, October 22, 2015

In the streets people not afraid to get involved in the lives of others.
They say things like, I miss him.
They smoke, and watching the smoke dissipate, they say that they just miss him, that's all.
I always think of that French song to understand, La Vie en Rose. I pretend to have a cigarette and walk down the street listening to that song. When it gets to sunset, and everything's awash in that hazy glow, I think I understand. To justify things people do with a shrug, to take selfies, have relationships you can't explain the point of.
No, I don't get it. It's all crazy to me.
There was one time when I was about eleven when I thought I felt the presence of God. I was living with Marty and Esther, and we wound up eating at a church. The church had bought us all dinner, and it was us and a couple other families. One guy was quiet and shy. He was a young guy, red hair, beard. He had a Mexican wife and three little kids. Anyway, he was quiet until it was time to say grace. He sang like it was an opera or something, loud and for a long time. I looked up and saw everyone was bowed the whole time. It was a very warm feeling.
Later, as we drove away, I looked out the back window at the sunset with its colors and its majesty and had this religious feeling. It was definitely a good feeling. It didn't last.
Marty was one of those guys always making up for his uncool childhood.
He was short and had a ridiculous comb over, but hey he played the bongos and smoked weed. I will always remember his understanding blue eyes.

I knew she was damaged as she sat eating next to me. I kept my eyes on the keyboard, but she ate and ate and looked around, her movements a little too inviting, her eyes a little too curious.