The Eastie Jolt: FICTION & POETRY

The Square

Central square can be the center
of the known universe, or a
black hole, or a time warp.

It has doors and living
apparitions from different times
walk in and out. I can't tell
you how many people from my own
past have glid through to
addle or please me.

You just never know who you
might run into.

Mostly It's just Junkies, old dope
buddies, and the occasional girl I'd
made love to or not.

But every now and then "Chingow"
Someone joltz you, electrodes on
your heart.

It was a cold and sunny noontime.
I stood drawing on my menthol
while the rug salesmen hawked
their carpets, and the barefoot
chinamen egged on their Oxen with
loving switches of briarwood

I breathed in the smell of camel
dung and listened to broken
americans crying for alms.

It was then that the first small
jolt came. I saw her walking into
the autoteller booth. Could it be?
Was it possible it was her? I
tried to calm myself and took
another drag of bigoted death.

After all, I told myself, this was
not the first time I'd thought
I'd seen her. Many a times I’d
chased down a head of flowing
dark curls and a meaty fine ass
only to find a hawk nose, or glasses,
or even once a boy rocker. No it
was not the first time I'd thought
I'd seen her since i heard she
was back east.

I hung by #614 next to the
doughnut shop-and waited.

THEN the charge-High voltage to  in
the chest.
THEN, just focused calm; the whole
world dissolving away.

We just stared at first, Fiona and
I. Would it sicken you if I said
that time stood still.

Long dark lashes and deep brown eyes.
Still, after so many years, still so
bottomless with mystery, still so
vulnerable, still so fucking knowing
and crisp.

How many lifetimes had passed since
we'd shared one, since we'd shared
the american highway together-so many
states-since we'd shared the pink
house by the railroad tracks; since
we'd shared her suicide attempts and
her drugs and her wonderful pussy.

and we lived on chalupas and hope
and we were insane together. Not
insane in love, but gut down Flat
out stark raving mad-at least
she was.

How long had it been since we'd
shared TEXAS.

"Y..You look the same" I stammered.

"You too" she said.

Fiona was so fucking put together.
Her cashmere coat with the lapel
pin. The skirt below the knee. The
flawless hose over flawless calf.
It made me feel shabby in my
overcoat unraveled, my long hair
greased back and held in a ponytail.
My dirty hightops could have been
the same ones I wore the last
time I saw her so many years
ago.

And I wanted to apologize to her.
I wanted to tell her how much
I had changed.

Instead we talked of surface matters.
Standing there in the time warble,
I told her I was living
in East Boston and that I
worked here in the square. She
told me she was working with
troubled kids also somewhere in
the square and then offered her
condolences on the recent death of
my partner whom she and I had
lived with in the surreal heat
and horror of those Texas days.

"I'm a minister now." she said.

I didn't feel the hypocrisy that
I once might have in her words,
even though we had killed a baby
together and slamdanced cosmopolis
and broken commandments like breadsticks.
I just felt sorry for her. Fundamentalist
religion was her drug now.

Even I who had forsaken all my
vices save my whiskey and my
smokes could see the crisp eyes
had a vacancy. What a supreme waste
of talent it was.

Moonies for christendom, in safe
haven from self doubt.
THE BOSTON CHURCH of CHRIST
Christ I  had wished where ever
she was she had kicked that crock.

And now  she was a minister-
a certified auctioneer of god.
A cashmere coated come on
to the clueless and alone.

I had been in love with her once,
some many years   before.

I walked away looming in my over
coat unraveled, down the cellar stairs

to my shitty job - and I was
glad I wasn't her.