12,819. RUDIMENTS, pt. 1,058

RUDIMENTS, pt. 1,058

(what crappy luck had I)

Very many things that I've

lived through I didn't much

take advantage of. Unlike the

sightless blind person who still

knows what he or she is missing,

I was palpably blind to everything.

That's an odd statement, seeing

as how many of the things I've 

written of here for years have

involved deeper and stranger

adventures than usual. But still,

so many other things went right

by me. I turned my back on much 

too. I get the life-tales now of other

people  -  those who went on to

careers and technical and business

matters  -  and I wonder, 'why didn't

I do that?' I was, in my way, fairly

senselessly numb about many things,
yet I always answered a different calling. 

I think all of that grew out of personal

history. Yet, when I think that I then

realize it can't be true. I had those

seminary years of learning and

habit and study, which, really,

most others never got near. When

other people tell me what they were

doing in 8th and 9th grade, etc., I

go wide-eyes and realize that I

was NOT doing such. I think it all

came, instead, from within me, to

be adverse to the usual progressions.

(There was an old 1930's movie  -

taken from book,   -  called 'Anthony

Adverse.' That title always intrigued

me).  Mostly, I was an uncooperative

wretch, bent on mis-shaping things

which were already out-of-shape.

-

In a scientific sense I was a rogue

experiment. I veered too much to

make any sensible outcome come

forth so that other 'scientists' could

see and measure and gauge the result.

The result was' me,' plain and

simple. My father or mother never

had any real input; as I'd traded 

that in for the communal guidance

of those counselors and religious

figures the seminary presented

to me : Old yellow-fingers Father

Edwards, constantly dragging down

one cigarette after the other, even

in the refectory (dining hall) as we

ate and he and others sat above us

on the elevated table. It's funny how

the nicotine-stained finger(s) get

to look. It's the index and middle 

finger of whichever hand holds

the cigarette; the end-skin yellows,

and the yellow discoloration then

manages to seep into the pulp of

the nail, discoloring the fingernails

in an equally weird yellow. It

was always the most strange thing 

to me, seeing that near-permanent

discoloration, wondering if they

knew of it, or what they thought

about it. I also wondered if there

were switch-smokers  - like lefties

who smoked with the right hand

and vice-versa.

-

Then there was Father Jude. I forget

the last name, but I can find it easy

enough. Father Edward's was 

'DeBruin,' as I recall. (Jude's was

'Weisenbeck)'  -  the last names of

all these characters became a sideline

of mine. I also wondered about all

the names they took, if they were

real first names, or just religious,

adopted names. When you're 14 and 

pretty bored, oddball things become

important. When I'd first arrived there,

at age 12, I was an empty, hollow,

shell of a self, by any of the real

standards of what people went by.

My other Avenel guy, older than me

and already having been there a few 

years, was named David Shershen.

He lived on Avenel Street, and his

father had the house and barber-shop

combo thing. It's gone now, replaced

by a small apartment dwelling, and

right next door is now Dominic's

Restaurant, which, back then, was 

sleazy 'candy' store, with pool tables

in the rear room. Frankly, it was

known as a place where girls were

readily available; it was even called
'Dirty John's.' I guess it meant

women. It guess it even meant

sexual favors for money. Don't know.

As a youngster, I'd only snooped

around there once or three times

with friends, eyes and ears attuned

to what we could see, and what pool

rooms were all about. Never really 

saw too much. People sit there now

and eat their veal parmigiana and

spaghetti, and I guess steaks and

chops too, and don't figure a thing

about it. The opening area, at the

rear, now used for groups and 

receptions and repasts and such, 

after you walk through the main

dining part, was where the pool tables

were, needing the wider space, etc.

David, at his father's house and

barber shop, lived next door. He never

talked much, and after 4 years of

seminary he too graduated and washed

out, and the entire family, dad, mom,

and a sister too, all moved away, off

to New Hampshire somewhere. After

that they tore the old house and barber

shop down and built the apartments.

Too bad; another small piece of charm,

even back then, taken away. It was a

nice house too, set back from the 

sidewalk some, a few steps us, and, 

over at the left, the nicely glassed 

barber shop windows. Guys were

always in there, getting snipped and

talking away. I used to wonder, with

the girl rumors next door, how much

those guys knew and what they did.

Guys getting their hair cut, back then,

were always older men. Oddly enough,

all you see today are stupid man-dens

and clip-joints for young guys with all

those constant-maintenance and highly

structured haircuts. Funny how the 

world has flipped  -  no girls around 

there now, unless you count the boys

in the barber chairs with their fussy

do's. It's amazing when I think how

Avenel has changed. And boys too.

-

Natural-born killers. Predators.

Evildoers always scheming. That

was us, growing up. There wasn't

anything angelic about us and I don't

know how I screwed it up by going

seminary, like other people go postal.

That, and the train wreck before that,

were obviously defining moments of

my stupid life. I lost all reference points

with the normal run of things and it

stayed that way. I was in a small section

of crazy, creepy kids. Bicycle majorettes.

Taking it out on each other in macadam

covered streets we thought were fine

football fields. Bashed heads and

broken eyelids were nothing to us.

(Whoa! Is there even such a thing as

a broken eyelid?).