I ran into
Maggie on 43rd Street today.
We were both
headed down the same
hot endless
sidewalk that seems to be everywhere
in
Gainesville this time of year.
White cotton
clouds drifted above
as the sun
cooked everything below.
“Hey Jason,”
She said with a smile. “Long time no see.”
“For sure,”
I replied.
I watched
her smile fade and her eyes grow a little more serious.
“I’m sorry
about Ellis. I know you two were close.”
Ellis
Amburn’s smiling face raced through my mind. “Yeah, I’ll miss him.”
“His stories
of the times he spent with Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg,
Susan
Sontag, Anais Nin, Edie Sedgwick,
and so many
more were incredible to hear.”
“I bet,”
Maggie said.
“Most of all
I’ll miss his friendship.”
“I know you
will.”
We began to
walk.
She glanced
at my journal.
It was
cradled in my left hand.
With each
step it swung like a pendulum by my side.
“What have
you been working on recently?” she said.
“I’m trying
to put something together about the past.”
Her brow
lifted. “Your past?”
“Like a poem
or something?” her eyes now widened.
I sighed.
“Yeah something like that.”
Maggie
smiled. “I’ve always liked the way you see the world.”
“Through the
eyes of a poet I guess?” I said.
“Jason
you’re more than a poet. I’ve never liked the title poet for you anyways.
You’re more
in the thick of it.
You give us
the scraped knees and blackened eyes of the world.”
I chuckled a
little. “So true my friend.”
Maggie
stopped and turned toward me. “Remember Bob?”
“Irish Bob?”
I said. “How could I forget?”
“What was
wrong with that guy?” Maggie laughed.
“What was
right with him? Is the better question,” I said.
“Remember
the stories of Bob shooting rats
with his
pistol behind the pub downtown?” Maggie said.
“I remember.
I’ve heard the stories of Irish Bob
and seen the
stories in real time,” I said.
“Being a
Seal in Vietnam kinda made Bob a little off.
But hey, a
little off isn’t all bad.”
“Remember
that time the two brothers and you
got their jeep
stuck on the train tracks?”
“Yeah Maggie
Girl, I remember. It was freezing that night.
We slept by
the tracks till morning. It was miserable.
I woke up
and walked to
a friend’s
house to get help to push us off
before the 8
am train came through.”
Maggie
glanced my way. “Yeah, that would’ve been bad.”
“Remember
that late seventy’s Vega
With a 350
motor stuffed inside?” she said.
“I remember
that beast. At 110 mph the car felt like
it was
floating. It had no seatbelts but that
didn’t
matter much at those speeds.”
We walked a
bit more. The humidity turned the air into a blanket of moist hell.
Cicadas
called loudly all around us like an insect orchestra begging for rain.
Maggie
pulled out her phone and checked the temperature, “97 degrees so far.”
Putting her
phone away she asked, “Remember when you were grazed by a bullet?”
“I do. It
went right across my left hip. A little trickle of blood stained my shirt.”
Maggie slid
a cigarette from her pack.
She flamed
its end.
“Jason, you
remember the Gainesville Mall?
That was the
first place I saw an escalator.
I would
always jump onto the first step and off the last.
I was sure
that thing would suck me under.”
“That’s
funny. I thought the same thing.”
Maggie’s
voice climbed in volume as she reminisced some more.
“It seemed
every time we went to the mall
there were
rumors that Tom Petty
had been
seen walking around the same hallways that day.”
I laughed,
“Yeah, I remember.”
“Remember
all the good times at The Jonesville Ramp?
I can’t
believe it was in your back yard.”
“Believe it,
Maggie Girl. I rode with the best back then.
They were
real pioneers in the world of skateboarding.
Mike
Frazier, Sam and Donny Myhre, Monty Nolder, Billy Rohan,
Buck Smith,
Chris Baucom, and many more,” I said thinking of all the folks I’ve
skated with
over the last thirty something years.”
“Jason,
wasn’t a movie filmed there that had Tony Hawk in it?”
“Yes, it
was. Mike Frazier’s part in Powell Peralta Eight
was filmed at
my home on the Jonesville Ramp.
Tony Hawk
also has a part later in the film.”
We
approached Archer Road.
Maggie
pulled hard on her smoke.
Its end
glowed bright even in the sunlight of midday.
She exhaled,
“Remember the Hang On Sloopy guy?”
“I do. Bobby
Peterson. He played with The McCoys.”
“That song
was their big hit in the 1960s,” I said.
She punched
out her cigarette then placed its butt
in her back
pocket.
She then
turned toward
me wearing a
half smile, “I hate litter.”
“Me too,
Maggie girl.”
We walked a
few more blocks. Maggie was quiet for a bit.
Then spoke
as we were almost at the intersection, “Remember Harry Crews?”
“Yes, my
friend. I’ll never forget that day!”
We came to
the end of the sidewalk.
“This is my
stop,” I said.
“I’ve got to
pick up my truck from the mechanic.”
“Yeah, I’ve
got to get back to work.” She smiled.
“Take care
of yourself, Maggie.”
“You do the
same.”
She turned
and walked off into the blazing afternoon.
