12,981. RUDIMENTS, pt. 1,117

RUDIMENTS, pt. 1,117

(nothing fits, so I don't wear it)

Sometimes I can hardly live with

myself; it's akin to being haunted  -

which I've been called a few times.

By others. I never knew, or know,

what that was meant to get across,

but I was, mostly, fairly uncomfortable

in my own skin. I've read a hundred

books and things all about being the

other way  -  forthright, proud, bold,

and confident, but by the time I get

to page 200 it's all down the drain.

I can't even write confidently about

being confident.

-

Like Huck Finn's 'Pappy' floating dead

on that boat and discovered by Jim but

kept from Huck, my stealthy presence

had always been kept off-stage. It ends

up, I guess, a person has to do what

they have to in order to acclimate and

gauge themselves property to the end 

of their days. I can't explain myself

any better than that.

-

Up in Columbia Crossroads, at the

front end of the barn at the house,

there was an overhang, lean-to thing,

and under it were three or four cars.

They were there when I bought the

place and I liked them right off; just

for what they were. They didn't run,

were just parked there, like country

people do, because that's where they

died and were collected. One was a

black, '69 Mercury 'Turnpike Cruiser.' I

thought it was pretty magnificent, and

it was one of those cars that Mercury

made then that had the reverse-angled

rear window. None of the cars had any

paperwork or title, to me or anyone, so

they were all kind of useless except for

salvage or putzing around. There was

a '56 Ford, and an early Corvair too.

I forget what the fourth one was. Out 

in the field nearby, as well, there were

two trucks. I liked them too, but they

were half sunk into the ground already,

and massively useless, 30 years old,

one was, at least.

-

Again, like Huck's 'Pap' they were there,

on the scene, dead, and you knew it, but

they were sort of kept off-stage. When I

first arrived there and realized that, in

addition to the old house and barn, I'd

gotten some 20 years' worth of crap and

cast-offs, plus, a half-mile back to the 

woods, the remnants of a 1930's town

dump, I was elated. Everyone else I

ever showed or shared this stuff with

was disgusted  -  the opposite of me.

I treasure treasure, even when it's junk.

The junk and the trash of other days had

so many stories and tales to tell. I'd now

imagine all that made me mostly a useless

character, but I'd often sit there, at that

old dump, or amid those cars, and go

through things, piece by piece. The

dump had all sorts of cool stuff: old 

car headlamps from the real old days;

lanterns, pails and shovels, wheels and

tires, old heaps of mangled junk, wires

and pieces of walls and roofing. I can't 

itemize, but it was all there.

-

I had friends, Avenel people and such,

who would occasionally come up, for 

a few days stay. I always welcomed

everyone, as long as they'd promise

to keep quiet about things; where we

were, and all that. I'd been out of that 

Avenel loop thing for any number of 

years, but these  guys when they 

came up (and there were others too), 

would give me a new perspective

on what I was doing, and where I 

was. One guy was a postman with 

an Avenel route, and he'd tell me 

all kinds of local stuff which all

seemed foreign to me  - and he 

wasn't that great an observer anyway; 

probably missed a lot. The weirdest 

one was about those green mailboxes 

that the post office used to have 

around, (each postal-person now has

their own route truck, but it used to 

be that the walking post-people would 

go to these bin boxes and open them 

to get their local-walk mail, which had

been dropped off for them, and bundled.

They were like mailboxes, but for

mail-persons only. The front would

open, and hinge away. Anyway, he

told me how one of the guys, in

such desperate need to pee, had been

able, in the great open maw of the

large, green, mailbox, from a crouch

successfully conceal his peeing into

the empty box! OK, not much of a

story, but for me it was crazy  -  all

that Avenel stuff I'd left behind.

The other guy worked out by Blair

Road somewhere, at a place called

Pilot Labs. I never knew much

about that spot, and he's dead now

too, so that story's over.

-

I had a gun or two up there, in 

Pennsylvania, traded for; and we 

ended up, over the course of time, 

from my rear porch, out to the barn 

overhang thing and the cars (maybe 

200 feet), putting cans and bottles, 

etc, atop the cars, for target practice 

as they learned their gunnery eye. 

Of course, most often, it just also

ended up pockmarking the vehicles

with bullet holes. Same for the glass.

Got to be quite a sight. Eventually

they were hauled away, with a

bunch of other stuff that had 

cluttered the place up. I could

kick myself now over all this

stupid stuff I was party too, but

evenso, if I had the stuff still, what

good would it do me? My life, over

time, has had everything physical

drained from it. Me included, until

this point now when I some ghostly

and disgruntled, writing spirit, over

staying an old welcome. Nothing fits,

so I don't wear it. It turns out
it's just as well because, as Lincoln
or somebody said, 'you can't be all
things to all people,' and to which I
add, 'except that so many people
yet continue trying to be so.'