Friday, December 23, 2016


My foot came through the window,
but I didn't recognize it. Me and 
Kenny Meserve just gawked. He
lived over behind the firehouse.
There's a little street that curves.
It doesn't do anything much, just 
connects to Route One North if
you want it. There used to be an
old house on that corner too  -  
small but neat, kept up by two
old folk. Then she died, and then
it was just the old guy alone. For
years. He was like the best fireman's
friend; right next door and probably
on land he'd given. Then he died too.
Maybe 1975 or so. They tore it down
and paved over everything in a firehouse
expansion. I would have figure more 
for a controlled, practice, fireman burn,
but I guess that didn't happen. So,
anyway, I said to Kenny Meserve, my
best friend from grammar school, over
on Fifth, 'Hey, you remember that old
house next to the fireman joint?' He
shrugged and said 'Yeah.'
There was always one of those 
urban-legend type stories connected to
Kenny, I guess because he was so raw.
It went that he'd had a dead cat, put it
in the freezer for a long time. Then he
took it out one day, in a box, and walked 
it to the underpass, went upstairs, and
dropped the frozen ice block down to
the street  -  where it broke into a hundred
little pieces, cat included, like ice cubes.
That was, to me as a kid, an awe-inspiring 
story, and against all grain, as bad as it 
was. Can that happen? I never found out
 if it was true, or not.

No comments: