On my mind

justam

For a few days now, I've been thinking of the houses of addicts. Smoking dens with reclining figures and smoke, bare and dirty, unkept. Temporary places that were there, but not noticed by the occupants. I've been thinking about how people end up in places like that...people I've known and loved.

I've been sifting through a story I could tell, and may in a day or so. The longer I sort the pieces, the longer it seems to get... and honestly, I left before the end so I don't know whether the main character is alive or dead!

I only know how it started. I remember that days before it all started to go bad. It was like paradise when the gypsies came and played. It was a haven when it was still their home, but then it went seriously wrong...

(This may be in installments as I work on it.)

justam

edit: I remember those days before it all started to go bad.

FinsburyParkCarrots

Keep it rolling! Let this thread be your sketchbook.

justam

OK

I'm not sure what to put up first. Maybe I'll just choose the episodes randomly as a series of short things that all together create the story?

Like memories that come back now and then.

justam

I'm sure the realtor that sold my mom the Victorian house on Clayton St. told her some plausible lie about why the wooden banister had been replaced with a metal one. I'm sure she probably told my mom things that my mom might like to hear about the place...how the pillars out in front had been painted with gold leaf and how the narrow street that butted up behind our back yard was there because the carriage houses for our street used to be there. I'm sure she showed my step-father some pictures of our street from after the 1914 earthquake when the fire had been put out a few blocks away. I know she did because my step-father was pretension and liked to show off his homes.

The house was just what my mom had always wanted...a big old home with tall windows and multiple fireplaces, huge rooms, and a big back yard...in the city she loved. (And, honestly, I loved being back in the city too. Those years we'd been stranded in the suburbs of Marin were torturous!!)

It wasn't until Maggie introduced us to Michael that we heard the real story about why some of the wood was gone from our house. He told us the story of the commune that lived there--how they'd run out of money and had chopped down the wooden bannister to burn in the fireplace for heat. (They later chopped down the mantel of one of the fireplaces as well.) He told us about the coffin that someone used to sleep in where my mom now gave her cocktail parties, and how the people finally got in trouble with the health department for the garbage piles in their backyard. As usual, he had a way of telling us the story that was hilarious!!

justam

edit: I know she did because my step-father was pretentious and liked to show off his homes.

justam

the biggest thing about Micheal was that...

This'll be the next part. I'll work on it tonight.

justam

So, the thing about Michael was that he looked like an angel. He had strawberry blonde hair and beard the the biggest blue eyes anyone could have. When his glasses came off, you'd think he was one of those kids from a Japanese cartoon, but more than that, he was all soul.

He was frail as a stick that was 6 feet tall, but he was at least three or four feet out in his aura. Unbelievable!! No skills but charm. If his father hadn't been kicking him down the stairs and slapping him at dinner his whole life he could have been a successful comedian because there was always a crowd around listening to him tell a joke or story...

And music was his whole life. He had no skills what-so-ever. Never had an instrument that I know of, certainly no lessons from his cheap- bastard-father, but he was never without a soundtrack...always had the newest music he loved, was always taking us all somewhere to hear someone...and musicians would park themselves in his living room and play for us...

No skills but his soul...and even at sixteen I wondered about that...

He had absolutely no amibition but passing the days listening to music, getting high and loving his family and friends...

justam

edit: He had strawberry blonde hair, a beard, and the biggest blue eyes any Irishman could have.