Friday, August 22, 2003

So, here I sit

all broken hearted...

That's NOT where I wanted to go with this...

I'm currently sitting here in may favourite (and cheapest) internet cafè in Hamburgwatching the typical goings on here in the St.Georg area: some tourists, peaceful street bums, happy wanderers, manuel labourers, the Polizei (the best in the WORLD) who actually show you and even drive you someplace if you are lost, an occasional hustler on a bad trip ( you ever get so stoned or drunk where the sidewalk and buildings come up to greet you but you are still standing upright, trying to walk staight ahead? I now know what it looks like. It's pretty funny/pitiful ) prostitutes looking for the next € ( they DO pay taxes, too. Don't ask- I just know ) Turkish women pushing baby carriages, lots of native Deutchlanders hanging in the park with cans of beer, Africans using the computers, a young woman riding a man's bike...a vast array characters. About the bike: wouldn't it make sense as a man to have a woman's bike? There is no pole to get in the way of our do-thingy especially if we have to stop quick and we slide forward which happens to clumsy me. Interesting to me...where was I going with all of this?

Oh yeah, I stuck here! My gig going to Beruit got canned at the last minute so, here I am trying to organize a new band, long distance, for a gig that would pay consistently for a minute.

Sometimes I don't think things happen fast enough for me...take a deep breath, George. Five minutes went by painfully slow today so my general perception is going to be like that today. What do I do? I usually pull way the hell back and look at the reality- I'm still alive.


There are far more worse things than this feeling of waiting but not if it's s reminder to me of waiting as a child...waiting for mother to come home, waiting for my brothers to come home to check on me, to see if I was still alive- feeling so painfully alone that you could just scream- or eat food or listen to music- there it is. It was the constant sound that kept me company when I was alone.

There was no TV but there was the record player. It still hurts- the times when I was four, five or six years old and I was left alone in what I thought was a big house. I was too scared to go to the bathroom so I found 'a pot to piss in' from the kitchen. So, here I sit, all broken hearted, found a pot to shit in, and only...well...nevermind. But do you see how low I was when I was left in that house... by myself...looking out the window...waiting for you to come home...looking at the sky seeing an occaisional kite in the air... thinking that's where you guys were, having fun with the other kids on a windy day like today, while I sit in this internet cafè...watching the life go by the way it did when I was left alone in that house. I guess I was sick with the measles then the mumps-one right after the other so I couldn't go to school, Mom couldn't afford the babysitter who fell asleep when she was supposed to be watching me. I know I was acting like an attention seeking child when I pulled a drawer open -looking for something to keep me entertained- and then it pulled out all of the way-making a mess on the floor, waking the babysitter from her much needed rest-with a big crash...-I'm Sorry-

I told Mom, she said that I didn't need a babysitter if all she was going to do was sleep. My mom: an economical genius! She would let a jive-assed salesman at a department store talk her into another black and white TV that we didn't need. I guess her vanity got the best of her, being separated from my father at the time, she was easily taken by a compliment.

There is a crowd gathered near the internet cafè...I looks like a celebration. Ugh, Bavarian music...Hey, at least it's being played by real, live musicians! It's stops. Now I am hearing accordian...nice...-no, really, nice playing.

The music draws me into my safety zone. It's okay, now. The physical/audio excitement works like a charm for me. I can divorce myself from that thing inside that has always been present but unidentifiable. It's pain from loneliness.

I remember: having to spend another lonely day at home, I decided I was going to see where Mom went during the days. She said she worked at the office. I could only imagine it and wanted not only to see it, I didn't want to be alone again. So, I snuck into the back of our Hillman Husky, this boxy stationwagon (anyone who remember these cars? Let me know, k?) and kept very still until we came to a stop. I thought for sure she saw me there, moving with the curves of the road. I could see her face in the rearview mirror, looking to see what that new noise was.

The car came to a stop. She gets out, gets her book bag and leaves. SUCCESS! I made it! I was thrilled to be there. I opened the door and looked around. Nothing but other parked cars and then I saw these huge buildings in the distance. She can't be too far away. So, I walked to a building and looked around. I can remember a smell. It was this thing they call coffee. The details are foggy because my only mission that lasts to this day was to find Mom. I told everybody that I met that I was her son and where could I find her. Everybody was so nice to me, like I was a special surprise that livened up their day. I found Mom! She was very gratious to the man who finally brought me to her. She was laughing with them and said that she thought she saw something in the back of the car. She also said I would be getting a beating that night for doing this I was too thrilled at this new place she worked at to be worried about a beatting. It would be worth it just to see where she went.

She was very busy that morning and said she would take me home at lunch.

On the way home she reminded me that I would be beaten for stowing away in the car and worrying her. I just sat silent, smiling because the initial thrill of my adventure hadn't worn off. She dropped me home and went back to work.

That night she told my brothers what I had done and they were laughing. I think they might have talked her out of beating me...this time.

THANKS GUYS!

0 Comments:

Post a Comment

Links to this post:

Create a Link

<< Home