Sapphire Pt 1

those who played on it called it a riverboat  they called themselves riverboat gamblers

of that there was no doubt

but the riverboat on the Mississippi River off Dubuque Iowa was tethered fast

she bobbed  washed back and forth its gangplank rolled between the slack and tautness of its tied hempropes

she wasnt going anywhere

that was the extent of her being a riverboat

his parents really dug her though

they werent the usual kind of misfits who from 44 states played pissed away money at Powerball or Lotto Scratchers

NO  they preferred to take the house-odds on slot machines

 

push-button slots  not one-arm bandits known to bitch-slap players hold them upside-down by an ankle and shake em for the loose-change in their pockets their billfolds and purses

    

his father said he wasnt interested in exerting himself 

 

he was there for his pleasure  for its refreshing liberation(apparently then he was all about being liberal) for his mans drinks and cigarettes(an possibly for a pert top-heavy barmaid tilted forward ostensibly by the weight of her tray the drinks she curried and her yawning tip jar placed luridly near her powdered and perfumed cleavage)

his folks took a bus that left early morning from Illinois  rolled north into Wisconsin  before dropping south and working its way west

thermoses of coffee fruit granola bars they watched the pastoral Midwestern landscape roll by out their windows chitchatted read and two and a half hours later were on the flat well-maintained blacktop before the pier eyes bugged anxious to be disgorged

the wind the one time he went came up off the river smelling of fish and petroleum

which held the upperhand he was told varied from day to day

that day   FISH

but he enjoyed riverfish freshwater fish

the landlocked Midwest gave them that and he relished it

the Midwest built them so they didnt care for either US coast or oceanfish lobster oysters  saltwater  they only got near saltwater to gargle away the bile and bitterness to cleanse their tongues after vomiting  whether it was induced

by illness or their relish for too much alcohol

Wha-whas the difference  his father mumbled more than once  be-between  a halfway decent lookin woman    ana-ana  a fox

he humoured him every time after the first time he asked  What dad

Two   Two  stiff drinks

mebbe he might hear that on the East Coast 

 

not the West Coast

the only time his dad ever left the Midwest was for military service stateside during the Korean War

he beat it back home at the end of his stint and stayed put ever since

though truthfully  eleven kids then will do that to a man

his mom was also born and bred and birthed him at 19

 

honestly   theres no telling what eleven kids did to any man or woman 

 

thats a leash and muzzle pulled mighty tight

so if in their sunset years twilight years  which he eagerly challenged them during  if they wanted to lock up the empty house and ride a bus to gamble who the fuck was he to tell them any different

he certainly didnt allow them to tell him different once he set out on his own 

 

which isnt to say they didnt always have plenty to tell him

 

he just didnt pay them any mind

hed paid them mind when he lived under their roof   begrudgingly

though that deliberation had been a matter of respect a mutual exchange between child and parents that frayed year
by year  that did and should have frayed according to his nearing manhood

during those days  it was a good thing saltwater was nearby to gargle with  helping alleviate  probably  their mutual bitterness

being ones child wasnt being ones indentured what-have-you anymore than being ones parent wasnt being ones lackey pushover or also what-have-you

so going out the front door . . . 

                        turning their bent backs on the haunting stares the sheaves and leaves of photographs framed portraitures hung on walls others stuffed in albums tilted on crowded extraneous étagères sofa tables squatting before windows end tables atop bureaus and dressers and chests            

                                                     going out the door . . .    

                                                                       leaving history in their wake for it to keep itself Shit they didnt have to water or feed it are you kiddin who the hell thought they had any right or anything to say . . . anything(after all  that was a right they retained stubbornly asinine)(this is where one laughs)

(one of these days while theyre gone Im gonna hang Chinese lanterns at their front door stoop marl it with their slow molten colors bleeding surreal)

to his father  Whas the name of this place

Dont you dare said his mother

Your mother doesnt want me to dare

Doesnt want you to dare what

Sweetheart

Dont you dare

 

Yer killin me dad Dont dare what

Dont   you   dare

That sounds like a threat dad

You dont think your mothersever threatened me over our fifty years of marriage

Well  in your fifty years of marriage Ive threatened many people  Probably more than I can count

See sweetheart  evidently makin threats are a family trait

The name of this place is . . .

Please dont
Comon  hell get a kick out of it remind him of when he was a boy  He was always pretty swift to it though probably
out of practise now been a long time   a long time

Whas the name of the place
Sapphire   in his best Negro utterance

It is not . . .

. . . No shit  Amos n Andy  Rinso Blue
I toldya mother  The boy remembers  hes on it like stink on . . .
. . . dont you dare  You only get one

Sapphire

        in a word his father ginned up all sorts of childhood memories painted a spreading smile on his face like a yellow pat of butter melting on a fresh slice of wheat toast or under a sprinkled of brown sugar on top his steel-cut oats

he was chasing fireflies in the night against the black collars and silhouettes of peony bushes and hedges playing naked with leopard frogs in the porcelain clawed-foot bathtub laying under a sheet of warm sun-sparkled lakewater it lapping at his chin as he watched his toes rise and fall between the wiggles of water tickled by a coy summer breeze

Sapphire

         suggested his dad as a bad influence(as his mom feared)(tho hed only seen affluence go sideway)

his dad was the reason why he took his coffee black why he took a tablespoon full of cod liver oil every morning didnt mind raw eggs in a pinch for breakfast why he preferred shots and beer to cocktails why the main reason he was a freethinker to following a party or group or clique clickclickclick he wasnt a dancer though his dad was or used careless uncanny humour to infuriate reason because things had grown too serious and dark and participants surly or wont to violence

him being off-the-wall thinking-outside-the-box was definitely encouraged by his dad
            

his mom was rarely irresponsible 
  

or thats how she framed it to malign them to offset their belligerence  Irresponsible  that was her reproach of them both
  

and while his father would back off  allow her deference  he quickly tendered(beyond a withering look at his father which said you-have-to-live-and-sleep-with-her I–dont) that it was unlikely anyone could provide for a household of thirteen and be irresponsible  so perhaps you mean something else

she took up her look 
 

never said a word in reply

as if her look said  meant something 
 

her look remained lost on him most of his life
  

particularly beyond the time when he recognised his life was his  to please himself and not perform for others or seek their acknowledgments  his recognition was the only thing worthwhile nobody could possibly be harder on him than himself

not a fuckin soul

0220,  Thursday,  28  1. 16
1522,  Saturday,  30  1. 16