10,740. RUDIMENTS, pt. 288

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,

'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

so did I.