3699. ORVIS CATCH

ORVIS CATCH

Some kind of isle tickles me deeply, makes me turn red,

harrows my face into laugh lines and creases. I wouldn't

tell you if it was not true. There was a man there, one time,

I quite well recall, named Orvis Catch. Whatever kind of

name that was, that it was. He was a Justice of the Peace

in the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania (I used to love that,

how they called themselves 'Commonwealth'), and he gave

out permits and licenses, auto registrations and 'tags' (what

they called license plates, also cool). A fat, happy old guy,

he wasn't really old by my standards today, but when I was

22 and he was 51, whatever. I'd just never heard of anyone

before with such a wonderful name. His daughter's name

was Wanda Catch, also amazing, as in 'I wanted to catch

Wanda's snatch, that Wanda Catch is a wonderful catch.'

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He lived at the top of a hill which ran down to a lake, or a pond,

I guess it was more. The silver nickel of a fading full moon, as I

recall would shine down on that water like it was worth five

million dollars, even back then. He had a huge porch which ran

 the length of the house, and his main sideline was, he was 

a barber. Back then, in that part of Pennsylvania, that meant

a lot  -  people still got haircuts and worried about things

like that, unlike the wild, 'crazy city youths' who were 'always

wrecking things up.' They liked order, back then  -  now it's

all pretty much the same everywhere, and most men again

have short hair or, in fact, shaved heads. Cancer victims or

new Bhuddists, one way or the other. In nice weather, he'd

put people out there, on the porch, and cut their hair, while he

just talked endlessly, affably on. In the middle of that pond,

or whatever it was, was an island. A big clump of grass and

dirt and mud really. One day me and Wanda mucked out there

in the dead of the night, and simply had our way with each other.

That was, back then, about the time, too, of my last haircut.