Caricamento in corso...

La Corona Whiffs

My father had a motorcycle.
It was a Triumph.
Once in a while
he would put me on the back
and take me for rides.
I was little, very little.
I always felt like I was going
to fall off, but I never did.
 
He was an artist.
He liked to paint.
He made a little miniature
watercolor set
out of a small flat metal cigar tin.
He soldered little square sections
in there to separate the primary
colors and everything.
There was a section for a pencil
and a small brush and he cut 2 or 3
pieces of good watercolor paper
in the shape and size of the tin
that would lay on top of everything.
It all fit together so perfectly when it was closed.
He made me one too.
I loved it.
I always admired the stuff he made.
I thought that someday
I would be able to make things like him.
 
Every now and then we would
hop on his Triumph
and go down to the lake
to sketch a natural scene
and color it
with our little cigar tin paint sets.
 
This day was overcast.
Something was unsettling.
Something in the air.
I figured I was using my mind wrong
and I ignored my spirituality.
I was too young to understand it yet.
 
 
We made it to the lake.
An 8 minute ride that felt like an hour
on the loudest roller coaster ever.
My dad was too cool for a muffler.
He was.
 
We took out our tins and began sketching.
His was always so much better than mine.
I knew this was the logical way
and I just had to wait.
Someday my pictures would be grand like his.
 
There were lots of geese there.
There always was this time of year.
The lake was a migration stop.
Usually Canadian geese
which are tan and black.
But these were white geese.
Great big white geese.
As big as me or bigger.
They decided to cross the street behind us.
I told my dad that I was worried that they
might get hit by a car.
There weren’t too many cars
and he said they’d be fine.
The geese wouldn’t let the cars hit them, they can fly
and the people would slow down and let them pass anyway.
That’s what people do.
I was still worried.
 
One car passed through
and I had my eyes hawked on the scene.
Hmm, my dad was right.
 
It seemed like it was taking them forever to cross.
There must have been about 20 or 30 of them.
Then I saw another car coming.
I was nervous.
I was young but not so young that
I hadn’t learned to put my faith in the mistakes of humans.
I did.
And I was right.
My dad was wrong.
This lady ran right through the waddling flock
and over a big white goose.
I was terrified.
The poor goose was half flat and trying to fly
with its neck up in the air and wings frantically flapping,
but it just slid around as if it was glued to the road.
“Dad! Dad!” I yelled in sad horror.
I don’t know exactly what he said.
But it probably had something to do with Jesus Christ.
He was the farthest thing from religious
but he sure called out to him a lot.
 
All at the same time:
The car pulled over and a lady got out.
My dad quickly walked right into the road
and pulled the poor goose by its neck,
dragging it to the side of the road where it could die.
There was nothing he could do.
There was nothing I could do.
There was nothing we could do.
I stayed on the grass by the water crying and watching.
My father yelled at the lady.
“Why the hell did you do that?
Don’t you look where you are going?”
She pleaded she was sorry.
She said she had a little boy in the backseat
who was distracting her and threw his
bottle and she was bending over to pick it up
or something.
All while driving.
That was no excuse.
A few more words between the two of them
and she got back into her car and took off.
My dad came back over to me
as the goose lay dying and slowly
stopped flapping.
It was time to go home.
There was no time left for art that day.
 
We got back to the house.
The motorcycle ride didn’t even faze me.
I just slumped and fell onto the couch.
I could never explain the feeling I had.
I just broke.
My dad had tried to console me.
And I’m sure my mother did as well.
She was better at that sort of thing.
But I can’t recall anything else from that day.
 
All I know now
is that....
that was the day.
 
That was the day.
Altre opere di Lxnnnie Rutledzh...



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