Mumbley Peg

Tommy spat on the whetstone and worked the edge of his knife in a smooth circular motion.   He sat on the top step of his front porch in silence as he listened to Angelo and old Byron.   Byron sat on the bottom steps, his head hung low between the knees of his lanky legs.   Angelo was standing on the lawn, repeatedly throwing a knife in the dirt and then retrieving it, while cursing and gesticulating wildly, "This is for the judge, this is for the parole board," he repeated the mantra over and over.

“Why they do that…why they let that animal out?”  Old Byron asked of no one, shaking his head from side to side.

“This is what he needs,” Angelo waved his long blade in the air, “right Tommy?”

Tommy did not respond or lift his head.  He continued to sharpen his knife.  A police car slowed to a stop in front of the house.

“Hey Riley, up for some mumbley peg?”  Angelo greeted the officer with a cheerful familiarity.

“Nah, those days are gone, Ange,” Riley replied,  “I ain’t allowed to hang with you dagos no more.  “Especially with those new tattoos, ‘Watchmen,’ what the hell is that, some kind of gang or something?”

 Riley extended a greeting to Tommy and Byron.  Old Byron nodded his head, Tommy lifted his to reveal his steel eyes, his face was expressionless, “They just found William Hall,” Riley continued,  “He was in Emmet Alley, with a shiv in his neck, have you guys heard anything?” 

“Violent neighborhood ain’t it Riley?”  Angelo smirked and fondled his knife for Riley to see.

Riley turned to Byron, “Sorry to have to talk about this Byron.”

Byron sat silently, covering his face with his large black hands.  Billy Hall had attacked, raped, and beaten Byron’s granddaughter five years ago.  He was let out of prison on parole 2 days prior to this meeting.  Annie was six years old at the time; she survived the attack but to this day had not recovered from the physical and mental trauma, nor had her family.

Riley turned to Tommy, “Do you know anything about this Tommy?”

Tommy calmly placed his knife and whetstone down and stared at the fleshy face of the policeman.    A vivid image flashed through Tommy’s mind of Billy Hall being grabbed from behind by his hair, a shiv thrust deep into the side of his neck, his face being beaten against the brick wall, the shiv held tightly to complete its internal justice, the lifeless body let to fall to the ground.   “Let me ask you something Riley, why did you become a cop?”

“You know me Tommy, I always wanted to help people,” Riley said.

“Who you helping now?”  Tommy asked.

Riley paled, since they were children, Tommy had always intimidated Riley and his voice broke, "I just had to ask, Tommy."  He returned to his car and drove off.  

 Angelo sat down next to old Byron and placed his arm around the old man’s shoulders.  “It’s over now Byron,” Angelo said, “your family is our family.”

Back at the precinct station Riley sat at his desk deep in thought.  He reached in his bottom drawer and pulled out an old American-Italian dictionary.  Scrolling down, next to the word watchman, he found the translation: vigilante.

The Forgotten Celebrity

I was standing in line at the grocery store the other day.  There was a large lady in front of me with curlers and a cart full of processed food.  I felt sorry for her ankles.  So I had time to glance at all the magazines they place at impulse level.  It's all about celebrities these days.  Celebrities are people that are famous.  I'm not certain what the criteria are for fame, I mean the numbers.  How many people have to know you're alive to be considered famous?  Are all famous people also celebrities?  Probably not, I think celebrity is limited to entertainment, mostly.  Anyway I really don't care.  What I care about is Bigfoot.  Before it became legal to write about entertainers gaining weight or getting pregnant, the National Inquirer and others would publish information about Bigfoot.  They not only listed sightings and encounters, but included personal information as well, such as the time Bigfoot gave birth to an alien child.  I really miss those articles.  Not only were they interesting, but they kept the public informed on current locations and behaviors of Bigfoot.  Now I never know when, or where Bigfoot will appear, or how he will act.  I don't have anything against celebrities, I just think it was thoughtless and insensitive to abandon Bigfoot like he was nothing but a fantasy.  It's just wrong.   

June 1948

The morning sun was still a lazy pink haze in the eastern sky when she pushed away from the dock and rowed a short way into deeper water.  Several vigorous pulls started the Mercury outboard, and the lady disappeared into the morning mist; motoring out of the shallow bay, out to the waters of Lake Ontario for a day of fishing. 

The night rain had cooled the air that was now lifting the mist off the still waters of the bay.  The lady surveyed the array of wooden boats that lingered in the shallow water of their slips.  After paying the marina the day rental, she wisely chose the boat with the least leakage, for they all leaked.  She wore a light quilted jacket against the morning chill, and dungaree pants with flannel inside; the cuffs were rolled up exposing the colorful lining.  A kerchief wrapped her head and was tied tightly under her chin, framing her tanned countenance. 

She made her way down the rickety dock, carrying an outboard motor in one hand.  The other hand grasped a basket that held an infant generously wrapped in blankets.  She placed the baby in the bow of the boat, hoisted the motor into the boat and bolted it to the stern.  She returned to her car to gather fishing poles, bait, a thermos of coffee, and the reserve gas can.

This was her domain.  She was at home on the vast inland sea.  She loved the water and she loved to fish.   The vagaries of wind and waves did not frighten her. And she would travel in small boats on that great lake to places few lone men and no women would venture, while in her solitude, save the little child in the basket, rocking in the bow of the boat. 

The men at the marina would shake their heads and wonder at the lone woman and her infant in the basket so far out to sea, all alone.  At the end of the day she would return to the marina with a stringer full of fish, while many of the men would return empty handed.  Then over their beer they would talk about the lady with the baby who ventured out to the big lake alone and returned always with fish. 

But there would be no acrimony in their talk, no derisive tones would their inflection reveal.  They admired and respected the lady.   For she possessed a pleasant nature, without haughtiness or brazen pride, with a quietude and kindliness that made her courageous watery treks even more admirable to the men who knew the lake. They knew its propensity for rage and its uncompromising impetuosity.

But the lady was adept at handling a small craft.  She could row a straight and true course, meet large waves at just the right angle, and bring a boat to dock in a smooth and graceful manner.  And she could sense the eminent changes in the weather as her eyes darted about the skies and her face lifted to feel the wind. 

But it was not her ability to catch fish, nor her handling of watercraft, or her knowledge of the weather that the men admired.  It was her freedom; they admired the grace and dignity with which she pursued the things she loved.

She was a truly liberated woman.  A liberation that grew out of love, the love of fishing and water.  She harbored a sense of freedom that grew from inside her and all around her.   Like all heroes, she was able to overcome a force greater than herself.  And like all heroes, she was driven by love; love of life, a life she had chosen.  Her freedom was not wrangled forcibly from the clutches of oppressors with masculine posturing, but was gently gathered up through feminine determination and perseverance.

I learned all I needed to learn about life from this lady, my hero.  I learned to appreciate the beauty of nature; to embrace the challenges that lie within and without; and to always follow my dreams.  But mostly she taught me a lot about women, and a lot about freedom.  You see, I was that little baby, in the basket, in the bow of the boat.

.

Democare

Waldo sat in his recliner, watching television, drinking a bottle of beer, and having a cigarette.  This was his norm, his motif, and he was content.  Suddenly Waldo felt a little nausea, he wondered if it was the food at the Burger Palace, maybe those extra French fries he had, they were pretty greasy.  He reached for his beer but a sharp pain flashed down his left arm.   The pain persisted as he became short of breath and his chest began to feel like a heavy weight was pressing against it.  Oh my God, Waldo thought, I am having a heart attack.  He reached for his cell phone and dialed 911, in gasps he pleaded for help.

At the hospital Waldo poured over required forms while sweating profusely, hunched over with chest pain, his left arm paralyzed.  Then he sat there waiting, he could barely breath.  He thought, this is it, this is the end of me, I am going to die, right here, right now.  A resident came and performed a quick screening of Waldo’s condition and gathered a personal history.   The resident left and Waldo waited.  In time, a lady with the forms returned.

“I’m sorry sir, she said, “we will not be able to treat you.  Your insurance will not cover this condition.”

“No…please…I have coverage,” Waldo gasped, “Please, I need help.”

“Yes sir, you have insurance, but under the new Democare law, your insurance company is not required to pay for self-imposed pathologies.”

“What…what, I don’t understand…there must be a mistake.”  Waldo’s speech was halting, he was lying on his side clutching his chest, the gurney was wet with perspiration.

“I am sorry sir, but according to our evaluation, your personal history, and general observation, your condition is clearly self inflicted, the hospital will not be reimbursed for any treatment we might provide,” She sniffed.

“But no…I didn’t do this…I was just sitting there…please, please help me.”  Waldo was terrified.

“Well sir, that is most likely the problem, you were ‘just sitting there.’  You are morbidly obese, you consume alcohol on a daily basis, and you smoke a pack of cigarettes a day.  These factors indicate that you have actually  brought this upon yourself.  And under the new Democare law, conditions such as obesity, alcoholism, and  smoking-related disorders are not covered.”

“Please…please, I will pay later, by the month…little by little...please help me…”  Waldo’s voice was getting weak.

“Well, actually sir our computer did a quick credit check, I’m afraid we can not justify installment payments at this time.  Now if you don’t mind we really need this gurney, there is an accident victim coming in.”

Waldo barely made it to his feet and holding on to the wall for support, limped down the hall and out to the parking lot.  He let go of his left arm just long enough to light a cigarette.   Waldo sat down on a curb and lifted his head toward the stars.  He thought that soon he would be among them.