Oh, Teppy. Wow. Manoman. OK.
The Hall, #1
I walked into the Hall of Fame, looking for something of him. Hell, he's woven through so much music that he deserves visibility. Without him, the best of the Rolling Stones, the Who, Quicksilver - that music wouldn't exist today, and then where's your museum?
I caught only snatches, distant echoes, mirrored like the neon of the displays facing one another.
Before we left, my friend asked me: Did you see Nicky's coat?
I almost missed it. It was hanging behind a tacky thing Mick wore in 1972. Almost obscured - a wry irony, there.
I found him. I found me, too.
Deb, that's the reason for the topic. Very specifically. Driving home yesterday, I knew it had to be the topic.
Discovery, huh? Okay. Note: the game is in the 4th inning as we speak. (9-2, pitcher at 81 pitches with 1ER, 1BB, 1HBP, and 7Ks.)
**
I was awake -- the time difference. The Beast wagged and wagged, goggling around the kitchen, eager with dribble. She dropped the Chronicle on the table and asked me if tea was all right.
Later that day, we would be dressed up; I had a pin with purple feathers on it and rhinestone barrettes. We would stand in the late sun in front of the church, chatting and laughing all in our bright colors, while bride and groom posed somewhere, tissues just out of camera range. Toasts, gourmet hors d'oevres, brightly-colored linens and lubricated conversation. My cheeks hurt with laughing, the men sweating through their tuxedo shirts to jazzy, obscure pop mixes. I chatted bossa nova and the modern Spanish novel, pleasantly drunk.
But that morning, she bustled back into the kitchen from I don't know where, set down tea at my elbow. "What are you reading?" she asked.
"Box score," I said. "Just checking how the team did."
She laughed. I looked up, startled, and laughed with her. "I had no idea the addiction was so serious," she said.
Nutty, I love that "eager with dribble" line.
Teppy, I was actually going to suggest discovery. This weekend was iconic.
Teppy, I was actually going to suggest discovery.
I try, whenever possible, to work ahead of the need.
Digging in a box of old pictures, I find a wallet. Orange, yellow and green. Stripey. Something from the 70’s. It crackles as I open it. Bits of 30 year old vinyl chip off. It’s like a time capsule. A bit of paper that had some note on it. A stub from the movies. A stray piece of a flower. A picture.
A beautiful young girl. Handsome young man. Prom, 1973.
Gram looks over my shoulder. “It was the only one she didn’t destroy. She just tossed the wallet in a box.”
I look again. And see my own eyes. On my father’s face.
Thanks. First drabble in a while.
Aimee, that was a heart-kick. I understand about the accidentally coming across the ones I'd thought destroyed.
I have the picture in my wallet now. Mom doesn't know I have it.
