On 08/27/2012 09:10 AM, curtisdeltablues wrote: > "It's a beautiful life, say it, say it." > > The last request had an urgency that I couldn't continue to ignore. The > request was from Johnathan, who inexplicably changed his name to John Paul in > the last few years and gets very agitated if you forget. He is a twenty-two > year old African American boy-child, and I have known him since he was five. > His body has continued to grow, but his mind has not kept pace. The > euphemistic names for his condition don't give me any distance from this > human tragedy. > > He has been listening to me play music every Summer weekend for most of his > life as he wanders around while his father busks in a revolutionary war > outfit playing the fife in historic Old Town Alexandria. His dad is one of > the cheeriest guys I know, full of Christian greetings. The kind of dad who > sprinkles his conversations with the word "blessing" while standing next to > his son lost in an internal world he cannot escape from to join us on a more > level playing field. His dad and I often hug in greeting, he from his > boundless loving spirit, and me probably a little from the guilt of knowing I > dodged this bullet and he took it between the eyes. > > Johnathan "NO, IT'S JOHN PAUL NOW" calls me "Bludesman" and likes my music. > No, that isn't exactly right, he hovers around me while I play waiting for a > break when I can join him in the odd handshake elbow bump ritual we have > created together. He initiated it and I modified it. Specifically I shifted > the handshake into a fist bump when his hormones switched on a number of > years ago and I noticed that his hands spent a lot of time South of the > equator when not pressing my flesh. He doesn't mind the fist bump variation > although I do have to remind him occasionally. He repeats the ritual > sequence until I walk away with him doing an awkward, urgent last one as I am > moving out of reach. > > He is part of my intersection of human universes when I perform outside that > includes homeless people and the very rich who bring their kids to me for > enrichment, so they can take their proper place in society where John Paul is > not headed. > > John Paul is obsessed with the raising and lowering of the flag on the docks. > It took me a long time to sort it all out when he would come up to me and > inform me that it was the end of the "duty day" and mutter something about > the flag. WTF? I would ponder. Does he mean doodie or duty, and what does > it have to do with the flag? One day it all broke clear: at the beginning of > the "duty day" (his dad is in the military) the flag goes up and at the end > of the "duty day" they take it down. He "records" this event faithfully each > weekend day and night with a camera phone that has not been charged for a > long time. I sat facing this flag pole performing for seventeen years and > never really noticed this ritual event consciously. Now that I am in on the > secret it delights him to use me as an obsession sounding board like some old > codger at the bar who wont shut up about golf to non-golfers. > > I enjoy this narrow ramp into his tiny world and we run the reps together. > "Why do they take down the flag" he asks me earnestly as if it was the very > first time. "Because it is the end of the duty day" I feed back my well > rehearsed line. He lights up at the prompt. "YES it is the end of the duty > day and the flag comes down." "What happens at the beginning of the duty day > John Paul?" I ask in complete innocence. This is urgent and I need to know. > He is about to win the highest prize ever on Jeopardy: "The flag goes up, it > is the beginning of the duty day." He breaks into the kind of smile we saw > recently on the faces of Olympic medalists. So far it all is cute and > charming and I am filled with virtuous compassion-bliss. Then he proceeds to > run this routine into the ground until I have to shoo him away so I can > continue my show. As he walks away I hear the bits and pieces of our > "conversation" repeated in fragments. He articulates each word very > carefully as if each syllable is as precious as a Vedic hymn. > > Once I ran into his dad at the health food store with his other son. This > son is brilliant and snarky and the essence of youthful cool. He is a nice > kid who not only connects, he is on point, and talking with him stretched my > mind to keep up. His father speaks about John Paul with the same level of > pride and adoration. I make a mental picture of their dinner table and then > send it to the place I keep my photo essays on Appalachian children with > mothers hooked on Oxy. Let's make sure that little fire wall is secure, OK. > > Once I was going to my car later than usual with a bag full of cash. It > wasn't Mitt Romney money, but on the street it attracts attention from those > I wish wouldn't notice. I am in a parking lot alone and someone is lurking > behind a cement divider keeping out of sight but I catch a shoulder. "Shit!" > After all these years of being safe I am finally gunna have to man up and > defend myself. I pick up a mic stand and imagine the amazing Kung Fu moves I > could do with it to keep this creep away from my rent money. Suddenly he > makes his move and I can see a big African American man lurching toward me. > I could have hugged John Paul I was so relieved. He wanted to run some last > minute reps on me as I packed my car. > > Sometimes I try to hack in through the reps game and see who is inside. I > ask him a question like "what is today John Paul" and ask him to tell me the > days of the week. I ask him what comes after Tuesday. He answers a few > questions and then gives me a sidelong sly smile and his eyes shift. He > knows what I am doing and he is not going to let me in any further. We go > back to our routines and I am once again thwarted from doing some magical > Curtis jiu-jitsu, where my powers of rapport can transcend...whatever. It > ain't happening. > > So here I stand in the parking lot again. (I'm gunna pull all this together > with the beginning just you wait.) I have had a particularly tough day on the > head of a tough month on a tough Summer. I have already pushed the > boundaries of a polite length of a post so I will only give you some > snippets. On the home front, 92 years old sucks not only because you get > spider legs that can't carry you to the bathroom, but because the Lord has > decided that moving people to heaven would be much easier (for God) if he > started with the mind first. My busking day was filled with off and on > drizzle forcing me to pack up and set up many times for fewer and fewer > tourists. I am bone weary and my cash bag is mighty slim. > > John Paul is pressing me hard as I pack up my car like a sloth changing > trees. I am so tired of the sucky side of life I could almost cry. I say > almost because John Paul for me is a lodestone for reframing me off my own > pity pot every time. I wish I could bottle him and take a belt when I wake > up at 3:00 in the morning and think about how exactly to proceed to empty out > a family home to sell the house while its previous owner pisses in a bedpan > in room 126. > > "It's a beautiful life, say it, say it." He looks at me desperately. He has > never used this phrase with me before. > > "Yes, John Paul, it IS a beautiful life." I say, breaking his rule for how > this has to go down according to the synaptic fury raging inside him. > > "No, just say, 'It's a beautiful life'" he insists. > > "OK, John Paul, It's a beautiful life." > > He is ecstatic. "It's a beautiful life" he says with a smile that seems so > enigmatic I wonder for a second if some wandering mendicant or perhaps Christ > himself...no I don't have any version of a "there" to go these days. This is > just some freaking fluke of life that I need to sit back and enjoy. > > "Say it again" he insists. Now the magic is gone, like so many good things > we love, John Paul is about to beat this puppy to death. > > "Gotta go John Paul" > > "Why" he is slightly alarmed. > > "Because I have to eat my dinner and go to bed" I say, shifting him onto one > of our favorite parting rituals. It works. He lights up. > > As I drive away with both of us waving madly I hear his voice trailing off. > > "You have to eat your dinner and go to bed" he says with obvious satisfaction > that this is how it should be. > > Alone in my car I remember that I just saw Louise Hay's picture on a list of > seminar speakers, remember her, Miss. Affirmations that got so popular Al > Franken's Stewart Smally brilliantly satirized it on SNL. But is wasn't the > affirmation that lifted my spirits on the way home or the weird coincidence > of him laying this trip on me when I really needed it. I have my own reps > that I use to keep the howling winds away just like John Paul. It was > knowing about all the bullets I have dodged by not being John Paul or his > father or his brilliant brother. And it doesn't exactly make it easier for > me to face how another life is ending, but I can't help breaking out into a > full belly laugh. > > Yes John Paul, it IS a beautiful life. If he can say it and mean it, I sure > as shit can.
Hey Curtis, I think you mentioned you have Netflix streaming. One of their new releases is a documentary called "Buskers". I haven't watched it yet but looks interesting: http://movies.netflix.com/WiMovie/Buskers/70249708
