This is definitely Lawrence
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Subject: This is definitely Lawrence
Date: Sun, 19 Sep 1999 17:11:45 CDT
I have just half an hour, so let me focus on getting this out.
There she was, Lawrence off to the left, all those lights hung on the power plant like she was some kind of Christmas tree, and the exits telling us where we could go, but of course the Bus went her own way. It was one something in the morning when we pulled in, but this town was still awake. The younger set, at least.
I walked a couple of miles down to Java Break, the coffee shop in the basement of an old building, where the tables are wobbly, the coffee is strong, and nobody ever worries ya about moving on or anything. Three college students were there at two in the morning, talking about why they would no longer eat beef and why milk was bad for you. A 19 y/o male was dominating the conversation. I wanted to say, you'll stop talking about that stuff in another few years or so, but it was none of my business, so I just sat there and drank the black hot coffee and kicked back in that old plastic booth and just felt so...at peace.
Then he said, "Kennedy, now there was a President who did a lot for civil rights." Grrrr. I wanted to tell him, "Go read *Parting the Waters* to see how Kennedy continually dragged his feet," but again it was none of my business. I was pleased when they left, however. Sophomoric. Like Nancy's daughter who always struggles to impress and seems to think the only way to impress is to dislike everything.
Finished up the coffee outside, sitting on the steps. There were 10 motorcycles parked across the street, none of them Harley's, and a crew of young college thugs drunk and yukking it up. A group of foreign students were going on and on about something in a language I could not even recognize, let alone understand.
A typical Saturday night in Lawrence, Kansas.
A guy walked by pushing a bike and a drunk leaned out the window of the car and yelled, "Gimme that bike, ya pussy." They'll stop talking like that in a few years. But who would want to marry such a creature?
I walked across the bridge and it was lovely, Orion there on the eastern horizon, beginning his nightly circle through the sky. I always love seeing him. And I could see the cobwebs there between the railings, the ones you can never see from a car as you're just moving too damn fast. Little droplets of dew making them look as magic as the river and the islands, the sandbars which have emerged now that the river has dropped.
The levee was still there, the benches, but I was the only one walking it this late at night. When it's nice, it is alive with walkers, strollers, joggers, bikers of every description. They move back and forth, up and down, and then come back the next day and do it all over again.
Monte, the fugitive, was in the Winnebago when I opened the door. I heard someone mutter something. What's this? Someone here? Monte. We sat in darkness and smoked while he filled me in on his latest chapter. He is not sure whether or not he's a wanted man, but thinks he is. He thinks the cops know where he is but is not sure of that, either. He's at the point of just giving it up just to put the paranoia behind him.
I sit quietly and listen to him, this long lean stick of a man. I've known him since the early 70s when he was married to Nancy, my ex-roommate. He was meditating 8 hours a day back then, TM, and seemed so distant and remote. Now I am the dominant in the relationship, although I rarely say much.
He is wrapped within my sleeping bag.
Oh, he says, this is yours?
I tell him to use it for tonight, that tomorrow I will go and get a tent, will set it up there beneath the trees with the branches which dip down nearly touching the ground. The echinacia is seeding now, and is about 7 feet tall, so I will be perfectly hidden on private property.
And this morning I awakened to rain. I slept inside Nancy's garage. Even though she and Monte have been divorced forever, they are still friends. That's just how Nancy is. I found a clean pair of bib overalls and slipped them on, then gathered up *all* of my dirty laundry (which means, *all* of it) and rode down to the laundramat.
How silent of a Sunday morning is Lawrence! Especially in the old section, East Lawrence, which I love. It has the silence of a village, and yet is the 6th fastest growing city in America. But the growth is happening out on the edges, where quaint and charming is being transformed into pathetic and plastic. Sigh. The way of all cities, it seems.
But Lawrence has hundreds of old Victorians, Painted Ladies, and it's lovely of an evening to walk along and simply look at them. They are so easy on the eyes. The old concrete hitching posts with their iron rings, the bricked streets so like cobblestones. And there a house I lived in 30 years ago when I was young and filled with that wild desire. They've painted itred. I prefer the way it was.
I looked for you this morning
Down the streets and along the alleys
And behind the trees.
Within the flowers I looked
But all I could see
Were extensions of me.
I feel wounded. As though the past two or three weeks have been some kind of gauntlet. I am clean now, my clothing is clean now, and I am shaved and showered, aftershave has been splashed upon my face, and there I am, Farmer John, in bib overalls, panama hat, with the back of the bike loaded down with tent, folding chair, folding stool, several loaves of bread, 4 lbs of peanut butter, clothing.
Although I suppose I am still technically still on the street, this is an entirely different deal. There is no danger here, no sense of danger.
Tomorrow I will go to the courthouse and start getting my ID problems taken care of. And then I will find work. Work is easy to find here in Lawrence.
And already I have run into half a dozen people who know me. "Dickens!" they cried. And some had been concerned and some hadn't been but wanted me to come with them to this or that.
There is a Poetry Slam coming up the 30th. I think...should I go? Am I good enough?
Ahhhhh, we shall see.
A lovely letter from Carol which I will answer tomorrow or soon.
Hugz and kisses to all of you who are willing to receive them. I am home again, for the nonce, and it feels so warm and safe. I will sleep within the walls of my own tent tonight, within the warmth of my own sleeping bag. I will not have to worry about anyone yanking the door open and yelling at me to get on my way.
Home. Such a good feeling.
Loveisarose...will write soon. Luvya. Rebecca, write! Msallthat, I didn't much like my
friend's story. Too...um...no there there.
My cold is nearly gone. I cough, but my lungs are clearing.
Time's up. No time to spellcheck.
