RUDIMENTS, pt. 1,111
(so you take stock)
My opening act was getting
hit by a train. You take stock:
I was eight, it was Winter, the
smack of Death had me in its
grip, and then let go. You take
stock. I awoke months later,
trying to recall things I thought
maybe were important. There
weren't any really; it was all
chaff. Even my own family,
from that point on, was at one
remove from me. In an earthly
sense, I was an orphan of my
own. People tried; they talked
to me, tried to treat me like
everyone else. You take stock.
Nothing worked. Late February,
'58, was a new day for me, the
very first day of blackness.
Perth Amboy.
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Hazy days and things stayed;
bits of this and that, lingering.
I remember throwing up, one
Friday - shopping - night, in
the gutter, right about by Smith
and Madison. It was right after
we'd eaten at one of those paltry
restaurants they used to have
around there. I was about 10.
My father was supporting me,
bent over in the Summery
twilight, puking to beat the
band. Wasn't pretty, for sure;
but after the train wreck, for
some years, I was always
ailing - headaches, couldn't
handle food well, dizzy. Odd
things, stuff I never really
talked about with anyone; not
even doctors. They'd have me
in, the nurse would have some
chart, the doctor already had
the rundown. He'd look me over;
they'd mumble, write some junk
down, and say I was doing well.
At one remove, it was all a
sad scene; no one could make
anything of me - brain wave
tests, and all sorts of other
diagnostic crap all the time.
I didn't want anyone, anyway,
to make any sense out of me. I
was already d-o-n-e, with the
whole bunch of everything, and
just wanted that removal to stay.
Everyone was always meddling.
What they ever knew, I never
knew. I was 'doing;' that was
about it, but I already found
myself not caring. I was tired
of the hospital, and doctors and
nurses, and the stupid white
ripple-bottom nurse shoes the
ladies always wore. Worse than
a wicked nun in her witch suit;
these ladies were all in white.
I should have puked on one of
them and said I wanted to be
Jackson Pollock. They wouldn't
get it; so why bother? You take
stock. Pearls before swine and
all that.
-
Whenever it was, all around this
time, 1957, 8, 9, I can remember
everything like it was a line on
my hand, or one of those string
loops people used to tie around
their finger so as not to forget.
The idea was, for whatever reason
you'd tied it there, it would come
back to when you saw the string.
I guess it worked, but I can't
remember ever doing it. (Ha?).
That's another one of those things
you never see anymore, that little
string thing - cartoons used to have
them a lot, and, really, that's from
where I remember it, pretty much.
Back then, my family was just
parents and me and my sister; it
was in the lull before 3 more kids
came - don't get me wrong, I love
'em all, and all, but, it was different.
I never knew how my parents decided
that, from living in 'Avenel' the best
place to shop and all was Perth
Amboy. I guess it worked; it was
about 10 miles away, maybe, at
most. It was still kind of old-world
and busy, with commerce; real
commerce, not the junk shops and
trash heaps and dollar store crapola
that's there now. Boy, how can any
people live that way? Back then there
were still town things around:
lawyers and doctors, one or two nice
schools, the high school was right
downtown, with a lawn. Now it's a
concrete shithole; messy and fenced
and graffiti'd up. Good way to
learn or practice Spanish, I guess.
Chico Manfrito El Toro! Bonko 05!
-
One time, years later, when I
was still living out in Pennsylvania,
some metal electrical board fell onto
my face. It came out of the wall, as
I was working on it - it was pretty
big too - and it nicked one of my
eyes. We were driving, that overnight,
back to NJ, to Avenel, and at first
nothing hurt - and then by the next
morning, I was a mess. 'Scratched
Cornea' was the eye-doctor's verdict,
with some metal shavings still in.
He said the eye had gone into 'shock'
for about 12 hours, and as it wore
off that's when I started getting the
effects. That morning, in my pain
and swelled up eye, my in-laws
took me, not knowing what else to
do, to some street in Perth Amboy,
one in from Smith - one side of the
street was a famous pool-hustler guys
pool hall, named 'Ray somebody's
Raritan Rec.' and on the other corner
was, back then, the Wilentz Law firm.
He was the guy from the Lindbergh trial.
And then a string of Hispanic Eye
Doctors and clinics and stuff, maybe
4 in a row. I picked one at random,
right where we parked, and just
walked in. They took me in an
instant - did all that eye-surgery
crap to get the metal out, numbed
me up some, gave me some drops
and pills. And put a patch on my
eye too. I don't even know what
anything coast; my in-laws paid
all of it, and I never even went
back, ever, for a revisit or follow
up, since we were back to
Pennsylvania in a day or two.
I walked around with the cool
eye-patch on for about two weeks;
mostly for fun. It was the right
eye, but I remember switching the
patch around too. For fun. On the
way back home, the ride back to
Columbia Crossroads, we stopped
in Scranton, at some Bob's Big Boy
food joint. I walked in there with
the black patch on, and it caused
a stir. I guess they didn't see that
much. If I had a glass eye, I'd have
taken it out, just to let them see.
Take stock.
-
So, what I'm saying is how curiously
large a part Perth Amboy has played
in my life, for medical purposes. It's
a pretty weird thing, such a place, and
me. There was nothing there I'd ever
tie in together, but it was like that
nonetheless. Train wreck, coma,
doctors, medical, nurses, eye doctors,
puking on the street, my first silly
job, selling magazines door to door;
Very interesting.
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