The Cellist's Cove

There was a young fellow that had claimed a very nice spot on the corner of the boulevard. Right near the intersection and crosswalk. Much foot traffic. When the weather turned inclement, as it grew so today, he would retreat to a freight door of a business that had been boarded up for months during delayed renovations. The freight door included a portico…a place of shelter from the elements when need be, but also, he found, an excellent funnel of acoustical sound. So from time to time, many times, he'd duck inside and play, invisible from the street yet his music took to the air and, like a phonic horn projecting melody....swept by the wind ...capable of being heard twenty stories above. 

At first she presumed it was Muzak, or a radio in someone’s cube, she was tempted to ask them to turn it down. It persisted. Her concentration was shifting, drifting, waning  as the melodic replaced her realistic, and muddled some highly calculated impressions formulating in her brain. She was momentarily lost…

She could not allow that. Her job was Focus. Hard, cold....FOCUS. Goddamn it.

Annette?

Yes?

Is it me or someone playing music a tad loud out there?

Music?......noo...I hear nothing.

Nothing from the bullpen? The cubes?.

Like street music? Somebody got their bass too big?

What?

I'm thinking it might be one of those cars...you know the big loud speakers? Maybe down on the streets...?

Not unless they know Mozart

Anything is possible

But not the right decibels...sounds real...not amplified. She stood up from her desk and approached the plate glass wall that overlooked Hempstead. It's true, there was traffic down there and there were canyons between sheer buildings, through which any wind could stir sound....her own windows would whirr with enough of a gust...unsettling in itself. But this sound, was both on the wind but of the ground, she sensed it. She sensed it...him...or her, playing it ....the strum, the stroke. She could hear it now, clear above all other noise, she had found her focus and it was the source. Where was the source? Who was the source?

Shouldn't you take a coat?

I'll only be minutes. That noise has driven me to distraction!

Why don't I send one of the interns...?

Send a child out into the street?

Send a senior vp?

This is up to me. It's personal. I want to know.

Oh. In that case....you're in a meeting.

Yes I am.

“It's blustery out there Ma’m…” the doorman cautioned

She said “I understand, and if I'm not back soon send help.”

“How long ma’m”

“Let's say 10....”

“Very well. Where is it you go?”

“I don't know. Do you hear that sound?”

“Sound all around. That's all I hear. Can't wait for the quiet at the end of my day...."

"This is musical....lyrical..."

He laughed and said all he heard was noise. “In my sleep I hear this street. Music? Never! Ha!”

“It's out there somewhere”, she replied.

A block over she saw a boy. He was seated on his heals with the neck of a cello cradled on his lap. As she approached a half block away he suddenly disappeared from view.

Then within seconds she heard it anew with a new resonance that grew as she passed the entrance of a long dark alley way....and  knew this was the source.

She entered cautiously, on guard, wishing she had brought her pepper spray, as her father’s caution "…looking for trouble" popped into mind.... But she followed the sound...approached the maw of a dark doorway. She backed away and stood against the opposing wall, shivering in the wind-chill blowing up the narrow tunnel....that tight Steel canyon.

The playing stopped. He stepped into the light and faced her. She saw now, he was slight of build, but he was older, with some gray in the temples, perhaps prematurely so. 'Boyish', but no 'boy' was he. 

You alright?

Oh. Yes. I wanted to see where the music was   coming from.

Is that a complaint or a compliment?

Started out as one, but grew to the other.

Thank you and sorry. 

Vice Versa...and you're welcome.

Do you play in a quartet?

Actually a quint...we call it Our Chamber Pot.

That's unfortunate....Why?

Chamber music, boring parties, stuck in a corner or on some wet lawn, there to bring a little class to the old estate....set dressing. A pisser, if you'll allow me to say.

You just did. Yet, it pays.

We are two people standing in a somewhat public space...I am highly skilled, well trained and playing great music for pennies and insults. You are equally highly skilled, I am positive. I won't guess your pay, not my business anyway. I would also imagine, you have a different image of the world, from where you sit...and I mean you no personal offense…

I see. So, I am corporate. And, you?...do you solo?

I prefer to solo.

Hmm...Much more lucrative not splitting the pot with the Pot ?

Got it. But also the freedom to improvise. Who’s to know?...and I like the tone. Can’t beat this sound in a digital studio. All these clever fellows up here....

And Women....

Oh. I have no reason to doubt that! None whatsoever...so what brings the princess down from her granite tower?

Do not fuck with me, street person.

Stop. Please move on. Take the express VIP elevator UP to the penthouse and leap from the balcony. And I will serenade you as you fall, so the last fucking sound you hear is my High C!

Fuck. That was good. I'm freezing my ass off.

Come on, step in here. I don't have cooties.

Cooties?

...ah..you know... Germs? Bacterial infection?… social diseases, TB...

Okay, I get it.

She ventured in.

Ohh. This is different isn't it? It's sheltered. 

Cave like...

Yes! A cove…warm!

A Cove...Good. I like that.

It's odd isn't it? Right there. Just a few feet away is a busy blvd and we sit here invisible and toasty...

I see it as shelter with a window on the passing parade. But don't get me wrong for one second…less this sounds somehow 'twisted and idyllic'… it is hell dealing down here at street level.

Up there, my BP runs close to 200.

Down here, my BP runs below 102.

Yet you play for money? Is there not stress  involved in your day-to-day survival? ...I mean, my god...the danger...

You assume because I play down here...amidst the trash cans and poverty in the alley, that somehow I am needy and vulnerable? That's quite an assumption. There are people down here that appreciate and willingly accept the Masters. Consider it My gift to them…they need it, and frankly, so do I.

You're saying, on days like this, that you're willing to freeze your ass off for your art and some free concert for the down-trodden? ...excuse me, but that sounds like total BS to me.

See that vent? Can you See that vent?! Can you imagine how much heat a building this size expels into the air? Wasted....when people freeze on the street huddled on the sidewalks outside? Invisible to a thousand windows overhead. Besides, I get some slack from the cops during the day, and a deal with the guy-at-night. Actually this is the second guy-at-night, because the first was stabbed for his stash...and this prime real estate. Can you image the desperation in that? Killing to stay warm?

Maybe just a mean street rat with a need for blood...

Or that...

So you’re not homeless?

I am mysterious. And chose to remain that way.

I see. Okay, Drama Boy, I have business to attend to, You have cost me too much time...!

Yes...and Trouble.

Can you keep it down?

Pardon?

Your instrument!

Pardon?

The Cello?!

Oh. That....

She walked briskly back out to the sidewalk and was immediately swept from view by a major gust, sending her sliding, slipping down the slightly sloping sidewalk back toward the Lobby entrance. She was not so much ‘walking’ as she was ‘sailing away’.

The doorman saw her coming and alertly grabbed her arm as she slid by, then steadied her.

Are you Okay Miss?

She heard only the cello that accompanied her on her dizzy dance and still swirled with the wind as she came out of her trance.

Ma'm?

Yes. Sorry. Please ring my office and tell them I'm okay, but that I've been delayed. Nothing to worry about. No reason to be afraid…

He reached into his kiosk and offered her a lap blanket, which she readily accepted, as he draped it over her shoulders.

She then thanked the man, and returned to the cave and took a seat on a bottle-crate beneath the vent.

"Don't stop. Please play."

OUT AND RUNNING DOWN

About six years ago, I think it was…six…or, maybe eight. Close enough. I picked up a guy heading out of Stockton on my way to Salinas. He was quiet but calm. Nothing sneaky about him. He could have been a criminal, I might have been more cautious, but he’s a man that needs a ride and I can do that. I had no reason to feel guarded in his presence, yet… 
Hell, truckers been stabbed by fourteen year old truck-stop hookers while performing their duties…but then you have accept that Everyone is not outright dangerous, short-fused, cracked, screw-loosed, maniacs…most are recluses…refused...or just don’t give a you-know-what.

Besides, this is your world...your 'closed environment' for days, weeks, months at a time. 
A passenger steps into the cabin of your truck, it changes the atmosphere, to which your sensors are so finely attuned. He didn’t seem to have any unusual ticks or quirks...nothing apparent. I just sensed a Calm, and I welcomed it. You just know.

He wrote in a journal. A small little leather bound book…not real…more like a ‘leatherette’…and he used a pen to jot notes here and there. Like he was mesmerized by the highway and things came to him in the headlights, as if they were road signs.

“Tell me,” he says, “do you think it should be:

“Down and running out…” or “Out and running down”? Now what the hell is next…?”

"For what?"

"Don’t know…book…song…hook...? Just a line to try sometime."

"Use them all."

"Whatdya mean?"

“downandrunningout – outandrunningdown-whatthe hellisnext?”

"Serious? You’re-a-poet-and-don’t-know-it? You want to be my editor?"

"Wouldn’t have a clue."

"Yes you do."

"They're your words. Can you sing?"

HA!

"Me neither. Then do you have someone in mind for your song? A band…singer, maybe?"

"I’ve got some music friends, but they come, they go…you never know…"

"I hear ya’."

"Oh yeah? How’s that?"

"My daughter. She sings. But mostly she comes and goes."

"Is she any good…I mean, forget you’re her Dad…"

"I tried that. And yes, she is. Not as raspy as Janis or that English gal with the big hair… but she sure can kick some ass when she’s On."

"Janis?….Joplin?"

"There are times that I forget how old I really am. As long as you keep her between the lines, and got some product to haul, everything's fine...life passes you by as you get paid by the load, and next exit-ramp...miles fly bye on life's odometer. But, hey, thanks for the reminder. Sometimes I want to keep driving until I run out of gas…and cash…just drive on through to the finish line…see where that might be. Deliver me to a place, where I’m finally prone’ta say, 
'Who the hell would live out here?!'  
And there I’ll be."

"If you don’t fall asleep at the wheel getting’ there…"

"Nah. That won’t happen. I don’t miss a delivery."

"You got a picture of your daughter?"

"Pull down your visor…"

“Whoa. She’s a good looking lady…”

“You may have seen her naked. She’s been a model for certain publications and recently refers to herself as  ‘a performer’ and I don’t think the singing career is paying her bills. I suspect the Inner-net.”

“Holy gees…you?!…”

“Never. Never laid eyes on ‘er. Rather stick hot irons in my eyes.”

“Mind if I write that down?”

“Go ahead. It’s yours. Want to give her a listen?”

“Who?”

“My daughter! Take that bright pink CD case there…go ahead…no the other one, with a heart…that’s it. She drew it. It’s her first ‘demo’…”

We sat quiet while my daughter ripped some poor soul to shreds on one cut then lick his wounds on the other. Musically speaking. The Rider seemed impressed. Sincerely so.

“So you think I could write for her? I think I can get inside that head…”

“That’s usually not where men go first…if at all…but that’s up to you. I warn you one more time and then you’re on your own.”

“Correction, Sir. I’ve always been on my own. But I do heed warnings…up to a point.”

“That point being?”

“…point being ‘When I decide…”

“Fine. I’ll drive you there…Then you decide. You wanta’ stop by?”

“Pardon?”

“About forty miles up the road…that is, if she’s home.”

“Her Mom ?…the Mrs…?”

“Oh, no, hell no…she’s long gone.”

“Sorry.”

"Don’t be. You see, I Separated from Myself at re-birth. The old me, he died. Shriveled up like an umbilical stem and fell away. She did not recognize the new me…would not accept the new me. The Identical Twin, with a Logical Mind. She refused to even try as it made no sense. That’s when I took back to the road. Thought that might be enough for her, but I was never far-enough-gone to suit her, so she headed off in the opposite direction. You’re sure to be seeing some of her in Rita. Just hope you don’t get to know Her too well.” 
I tapped the visor so he’d understand.

“Rita or your wife?”

“Yessir…correct…one in the same.”

I could see him perk up as I took the Turlock turn-off. Then sat up straight as I pulled down the long gravel drive. The sheep were grazing the lawn flat, and Cisco was minding herd. I gave him a whistle, he barked and chased me in, then smartly spun and returned to his chore.

“Here we are. Let me do the talking. I better know your name…”

“Nathan….Nate...”

“Whatever you say.”

This young man...Nate...writes songs…and poems…and such…

What’s wrong with him?

He seems to have his head on straight.

From your perspective crooked is straight…I’m not buying it. 

What’s wrong with you?

I got a big foolish heart.

Is that one of your songs or your condition?

Both.

Goddamn… you are a sweet talker.

It’s what the Dr. said…purely clinical.

How ‘foolish’?

Are there limits?

None that I have met.

Limitations?

Yes. Some. Who doesn’t?

Worth discussing…you want a beer?

Sure. Be great.

Daddy’s been dry since his rebirth…

I know…

Daddy?.. can I take the Dodge so Matt and…

Nate.

Damn. Sorry, baby…Dad, Nate and I are going in for a beer. 

Go ahead, take the Dodge. But bring her back!

She laughed. They drove off. Never did bring her back. 

There are nights her songs play on the radio and accompany me on those long flatland-crazy drives over the plains. Like a raft at Sea. She smiles down on me from the visor. Almost mystical, you know? 

Just warms my soul...sometimes a tear.

Postcard came from Florida saying she loves me. 
That’s all that counts.

V

My Guest, TINNITUS

The Phone !

...It woke me. What time…? Why’s someone calling now? Mom? Dad?…wait…where the fu’…? This is my house. Come clear…come on…focus! The phone…it’s still ringing. That’s not my phone. It doesn’t ring like that! It sounds like the phone back home, when I was a kid. You know? “The Classic” in the living room? The wall-phone in the kitchen?

 Maybe my cell is defective?! But…it’s off.

It’s still ringing. What the hell? Walk the apartment. Is it outside? It’s still ringing! Who the hell would be outside? It’s fucking freezing! It’s got to be in here. It’s gotta be. Too loud. Is it getting louder…? Did it just get louder?! What the hell is going on?! Stop. Listen. ….shhh. Wait.  ….shhhhh…….

It’s still ringing. It’s in this room. I can hear it! So goddamn clear, like it’s…IN….my….head.

No……….

Well answer the fucking thing so it stops ringing!

I CANNNN’TTTTT!!!!!

My head, my whole entire head is vibrating, it’s echoing like the house is empty. Like I’m pretending not to be home.

I’M HOME I JUST CAN’T COME TO THE PHONE!!!!

Oh, Christ. What did I do to deserve this…please hang up. Please…

Think through this if you can concentrate…MAKE yourself concentrate! There’s a rationale. Gotta be. Sinuses? That tickle in the throat? Estuation tubes…inner ear? What do they say?  Hold your nose? Or….Blow!

Aaaugghhh…..damn that hurts.

But the ringing is still here. For a moment a brief moment I want to stab a chopstick in my ear – release the pressure that set off the valve, that deprived the flow or is squeezing a nerve. Oh please. This can’t be permanently…oh please. It’s the middle of the night. Is this my life, every goddamn night? Please no.

And then it stopped. Just like that.

Two days later I swore I heard sirens and pulled over to the side of the road. Still heard the sirens, but now mixed with the blare of horns. People were yelling, shaking at me, but they were the ones proceeding illegally. When that engine roars by and those air-horns blare, they’ll find out that the trucks are there.   But no fire truck drove by. No police, no emergency, nor ambulance….

The siren grew louder and so did the passing horns. I got back in the flow. I knew the radio was on, but I could not hear it. I focused on the road. I shrugged my “I’m sorry…”  to the few passer-byes I passed. The civil ones, at least. The sirens had quieted down now… to just one. I was somewhat grateful, and drove on. But kept my eye on the rear, just to be sure.

When it rains, and the barometer drops, the helicopters shuttle in from afar to hover within-head...something you’d hear thumping low over the canopy in some tropical war zone …

Most times, the chainsaws will start to whine when it’s dry. Who the hell is trimming trees at 3 AM and why?! 

But the pain…THE PAIN is the killer and it’s pinnacle - the Sky.

My head explodes, I scream. Let me die. It’s real. Too real. Passengers panic!...and no wonder why. 

End of story, I can no longer fly.

My hearing near gone, I’m terrified…

but have learned…

that by rev’ing the big-bored engine on my motorbike…

The one I ride, up here, Inside…

If all I hear is WIND
I know I still DEFY.

(for Ferk)

SEE YOU BACK AT THE OFFICE

Jonathan screwed Gretchen on the park bench. It was not a pretty sight, as most passers-bye will attest. Infants were traumatized....potentially...brains seared by the debauchery.

"My god! Have you no morals?" gawkers say.

"We have morals, we just have no choices! Move along and this will reach a right and ready climax...for us all."

"Well, not this way," Gretchen piped in "I'm beginning to lose interest already."

This pissed Jonathan off to no end "...steady...steady...Do you see the harm here?! Did you.....huh-ugh-hear what you've done?! "

"Stop it now! Do you hear me?! Or would you rather I call the authorities?", one threatened.

"This is lewd and insidious behavior!" another said. "Like dogs...!"

"That was the idea! She prefers it!" he snapped.

"That is I did...oh!...I say I did...yes!...before all this yapping!"

“Stay focused…stay focused…we’ll get through!”

"YOU stay focused, I'm losing you!"

"Well what the hell am I supposed to do? ...Not used to an audience while I screw...oooo...."

"Perhaps if you two should chose not to have your lewd little lark in a public park?"

"Oh lovely, lunchtime is over, I must get back!"

"What?! ...well I hope you're all happy! Seems a couple can't have a civil cojoinment without rude outside involvement!"

"Take it inside!"

"Next time you two have the need to screw, it might be shrewd to get a room."

"...at our salaries? "

"Ha! We're much too poor!" 

"Bag a lunch!"

"Exactly what I was trying to do!"

“See you tomorrow?” Gretchen straightened her dress.

"Same time, same place." He zipped it up..."that is, if these losers allow us the space."

.

CANNOLI's TOO

I find it absurd that you request a memo about impending doom. Impending doom is not something you ponder...not for very long. 'Impending' has a time limit. It does not sit in the mail room, or rolled down the hallway in a cart. It is not capsulized in a memo. We do not call meetings. We're done calling meetings 'there is nothing to chew on'! We call on immediacy...emergency... announce our fate...define a plan of action. Now! Or just kiss our asses goodbye.

No! Not in the big conference room, not with a view, no there won't be a barista or fucking finger food. The meeting takes place in a hallway, a stairwell, preferably underground, who gives a hell? Get me?

Fucking tragedy is pending! No don't check your schedule! You have no schedule! In fifteen minutes or fifteen hours of fifteen fucking seconds we could be finalized! Is any of this sinking into that denial-dense head? No, no, don't shake... don' t shake it, don' t refute it, damn it, don't even try it! Cancel the client meeting, it's over. There is no client...no business...no me, no you...not after this catastrophe! Are you reading me ? Seriously, are reading me or would rather read a goddamn memo that could combust in your hands before you're done? The room goes pitch black! So do you. There one minute, gone in the next nano flash. There is no net...nothing comes next...nothing is the only thing that exists after that.

Send your family away if you can get through and tell them to run....'South' should be good and that's only a guess. I have no clue. You and I...I guess all of us...standby and wait it out in this prison in the sky...Birdseye view....of the BOOM...each and every one of us are screwed and tattooed, look down there, chaos rules. We don't run out of here. There is nowhere to go and no time to find it. We're fucking doomed.

What are you thinking?

Fine we'll discuss it after lunch. I wonder if Roman's still delivers...if the elevators operate, and if their boy can even get through. I'm getting the eggplant...manicotti for you? And one final gesture, Pizzas for the crew...at least they' ll go out satisfied...what more could we possibly do?

I know...Cannoli's too! That should lift the mood.

AT LEAST WE HAVE TONIGHT

Henry? Did you just roar ?

I did. Could you hear that? Was I loud?

King of the jungle…! You feeling frisky?

You bet!

Really?

I could go all day!

Seriously, Henry....

Where shall we go?

Anywhere you'd like…or we could stay right here.

Nooo! We need to get out of the house…some change of place!

You are frisky! What do you have in mind?

What tickles your fancy?

Really?

Of course! This is well needed and overdue!

Would the seashore be too much to ask?

Its a bit of a drive...

We used to run out there when we started. Be nice. If we could...

Funny the long drives were never long enough back then. No aching backs. But if that's what your desire…

It is.

You have proper shoes?

Good enough for the drive, I would hope.

Fine and dandy, but what about once we get there?

We do what comes naturally. Don't need shoes for that.

It may be the ocean but it's a rocky coast if you'll recall, and not some sandy beach in the Caribbean.

So?

I can't let you walk that shore like that.

Fine. We'll just sit on the deck, languish in our room with champagne.

Room? Champagne! Madness!

Wha…When you said you were frisky...?

We need a good trek! A day long hike like the old days! Don't tell me you're not up for it now that I'm all excited!

You once were …when you were….

That's not making sense. Are we going or not?

Of course. Sounds fun.

I'd like to be back by nightfall so we can end the day just right.

Oh?

You bet! There’s a big fight tonight!

Oh...

You alright?

My knee just locked. I'll need to ice. Not looking good for that hike…I can't tell you how disappointed...

Nor I...but at least we have tonight.

That's Right, the fight…

Let me get that ice.

Bring some scotch back with it.

Scotch?! It’s still morning!

The morning of a long day…

I suppose mornings were never off-limits…were they?

No. Not for a lot things…

I’ve just made reservations at the Bayfront…

You did not.

Did too. Right here on the computer. Tomorrow through the weekend.

Henry!

And that “roar”…?

Yes?

It means the same as it’s always meant…

You were teasing me?

Absolutely.

Sooo…Race you up the stairs?

First to the top… ?

Gets atop.

That’s the deal…too late to change it now.

But what about your knee?

Miraculous, isn’t it? Besides you always lag behind…

Funny, that…Ready?

Set?

GO!!!!!

And the weekend was also grand.