RUDIMENTS, pt. 288
Making Cars
It sometimes occurred to me to
ask myself, and only myself -
I never asked others - 'what
am I doing here?' As a question,
of course - because those words
can also be used as a statement.
But as a statement they did me
no use. In this 'question' format,
I could examine what it was I
actually 'was' doing. Sometimes
all it ever seemed, too, was that
I was placating somebody or
another. I got tired of that quickly.
I read history. The Guns of August,
by Barbara Tuchman, that was a
good one. All those Bruce Catton
Civil War things too. I read books
on religion. I read 'Autbiography
of a Yogi,' which was a pretty
cool and formative book for me,
early on. It was pretty hopeless.
I was nowhere-bound, on some
sinking ferry in some Avenel
harbor. Which didn't happen
to exist actually. Weird things
always happened too. One time,
my friend Jimmy, and I, were
across the street from Schools
4&5, where we went. There
were any number of lunchtime
kids milling around - unlike
now, when you never see any
kids anywhere unless they have
a cartload of parents hovering
over them; there really was a
time when, say, a school-lunch
break meant that 300 kids, of
young ages, were let loose on
their own for 30 minutes to do
whatever they damned-well
pleased. This one day, just
outside of this little store there
run by some old lady named
Mrs. Kuzmiak, this guy came up
to us, in the middle of everything,
and took us aside. He was smiley
and (the word now would be
'leering') grinning at us and
he had a deck of cards in his
hand. He took us aside to show
how, on the back of each card,
this fantastical sex scene, in
full color, was going on! We
were amazed, yes, of course.
He showed us one, in particular,
and he commented, 'Heh, heh,
look at that, she's got the WHOLE
thing in her mouth!' We knew
nothing, and just left it at that
and abandoned the guy.
-
This Mrs. Kuzmiak lady ran a
small store, dry goods, hankies,
underpants, gloves, stuff like
that. The kinds of things ladies
and mothers used to like to pick
over and carefully select - all
these weird things, embroidered
little flats of fabric with goofy
designs on them, floral stitching,
fancy little edgings. Everything
was basically white linen, or
whatever that regular cloth
stuff is. Nobody does that stuff
anymore; it was so 1940's, just
then rolling into the '50's but
about 10 years too late. That's
the kind of dated character she
was. I think it had maybe been
her husband's store too, but she
was a widow when I met her. The
place itself was cool - all open
stock, in little glass-edged cabinets,
open top and waist-high-to adults.
So they looked at all the actual
things right there. Mittens. Baby
stuff, and I don't know what else.
The place never made much sense
to me and was boring to a vast
degree - it made you feel like
being on a bicycle with two flat
tires. That boring.
-
It sure was different back then.
Now, some weird store like
Victoria's Secret or something
purveys mostly soft-core perversion
(good wordplay, huh). Mrs. Kuzmiak's
joint would have rather sold chastity
belts than any of that shiny and
silky sexy stuff. The kind of world
we've got today depends on sex like
that older world depended on bread.
Maybe that x-rated playing card guy
was really onto something way back
then, because if it hadn't existed than
how they hell had we gotten here?
Mrs. Kuzmiak's store wasn't really
of the real world - it still depended
on like some 1920's version of care
and merchandise in a very Victorian
fashion - the real Queen Victoria, not
the swank sexpot one the other store
pushes. The problem with the entire
get-up is how all that pushing of sex
stuff just finally does get everyone
all gummed up eventually married
and with kids - the stuff that then
ties down and ruins and makes careless
and fat and dumpy examples of all
these babes who once thought they
were so hot in their silkies. Maybe
Mrs. Kuzmiak was right, it should
all just be left unsaid.
-
When we first moved there, her store,
which was pretty close to our house,
was a regular stop for my mother.
I guess she bought stuff, and, like
other neighborhood ladies, she
became friends with her, Mrs.
Kuzmiak, both in and out of the
store. Maybe it was church stuff
too. I forget. But anyway, back then
I was six or seven and didn't care
at all about any of that. It was only
years later, when I was maybe 16 or
17, and in my full-court press rebellion
mode, that I remember my mother
nearly dying of shame because, in her
righteousness-on-parade mode, Mrs.
Kuzmiak had scoffed at my mother one
day, church or somewhere, with a huffy,
nearly dying of shame because, in her
righteousness-on-parade mode, Mrs.
Kuzmiak had scoffed at my mother one
day, church or somewhere, with a huffy,
'Well, what happened to Gary?' My
mother was mortified and ready to
die, being called out like that -
thanks to me - by Mrs. Kuzmiak;
the sub-text of which, to my mother,
was of her 'failure' to correctly bring
me up and maintain control. My
poor mother. To her that kind of
drivel really meant something.
Church-going, God-fearing, loser
ladies. I felt like going into the
store and overturning her tables.
-
Avenel, of all places, wold have
never had a reason for such
petty-self-righteousness. For
goodness sake though, it was a
den of thieves, and deserved a
table-turning. Now, see, If you've
ever read Huckleberry Finn
and gotten those scenes about
Huck's being brought up by such
stern and plain law-abiding ladies,
you'd get the entire picture. I believe
strongly in things. It's just, and here's
the problem in a nutshell, the God
I believe in is a strong God, and a
living, daily, presence in my life.
What they all believed in was some
half-witted weakling of a God who
accepted the compromises and poor
consolations of a crooked hell-hole
like Avenel. Weak God. Weak people.
Hey! Let me see the backs of those
cards again. Huck high-tailed it out
of there, in his book, and
cards again. Huck high-tailed it out
of there, in his book, and
so did I.
No comments:
Post a Comment