Thursday, February 24, 2011

Jesup, Part the Eighth

slipping away from the clearing looking into his rearview mirror the orange glow of the tire afire fading into the night

he driving into town to meet up with sally miz sally hopkins

where she slides right up next to him hops up into his truck slips across the bench seat her tanned thigh touching his don't you know she causes him to have that same nervous shiver oh how he fumbles how he knows he'd still be fumbling if he could

his grin a drunken stoned ear to ear wide and toothy and full of expectation and hope

sweet sally oh such sweetness indeed she the honey in his tea long straight hair not blonde not brown depending on the seasons seasoned by the sun such curves oh so hot not by the way she looks but how she carries her look

this south georgia hippie chick sometimes in her peasant blouse and cut off jeans sometimes in a soft tee and a wispy skirt sometimes in her overhauls and tube top the buttons open on one side the top strap longer on the other giving an admirer just that briefest glimpse of sugary seventies small tit cleavage soft and inviting

most of the times barefoot dainty white angel feet those little piggies always out going to the market scurrying about the dry dusty ground happy as can be happy as someone could ever be

ron he wonders how it's possible that he can be so happy around that cute little bottle of bubble up ron he wonders if he'll ever feel that way again god how it might feel to be that happy all the time god how it might be not to know the sadness of her missing from his side from within his arms

the loneliness of a long atlanta winter in the dorms with all these boys from parts unknown to him these boys who just don't understand

what a boy has to do to become a man

all these boys from new york and new jersey and miami and cleveland driving their daddy bought cars wearing their momma bought clothes so easy to come upon such things that just show up not even on their birthdays not even on christmas these boys their mommas don't even bother to use the permanent marker to write their names on their underwear making sure when they go off to school with ten pair of drawers they come home with ten pair of drawers

these boys whose mommas probably brought them breakfast in bed every morning interrupting their weak masturbatory efforts around tucked away playboys and penthouses whose mommas wiped their ass with extra soft charmin right up to the day they left for college

he could tell by the way they walked from the bathroom down the dorm hallway kind of pigeon toed to keep their asscheeks from rubbing

these boys who will never understand who will never know in their bones the tragedy the hole left in their hearts lynrd skynrd ceased to be ronnie van zandt and his plane falling from the sky into those fiery woods the unused tickets from the concert that was never to be pinned up on the cork board above his desk that saddest of sad

last autumn

ron's first fall away from sally his first quarter away at school

that morning before classes after a night of the usual beers and bongs the news comes across the radio a little matter of fact announcement a little interruption on ninety six rock dubya kay ell ess atlanta it has sliced him like a paper cut deep and sudden and painless until he sees the trickle of blood him standing there in the middle of the room his towel wrapped round his waist drops of water beading up on his shoulders dripping from his hair he sees the blood that unexplained loss

he remembers assorted words


private plane




van zandt dead

rossington collins barely alive

greenville south carolina

hoss sitting on the edge of the bunk his head in his hands looking up at him

they don't speak they can't speak hoss he takes budweisers out of the mini fridge pops the tops ron he loads the gatlin bong they stack all five skynrd albums on the turntable even the brand new street survivors hoss just picking it up the day before they'll be talking about the prophecy for weeks that endless leisure time called youth the frivolity of philosophy the time and will to grieve they play them all the way through flip them over play them through again over and over

lather rinse repeat

until a day later after sitting their southern shiva unshaven stoned and drunk they roll away the boulder before their tomb enter the hallways to find the puzzled stares of those others in the dorm this dorm populated with exiles nay interlopers from new york new jersey miami cleveland ron and hoss outsiders in their own state

these trespassers can not gather the depth of their loss ron and hoss make no attempt to explain hell

a simple man he don't need them around anyhow

ron and hoss

american by birth southern by the grace of god


these pussies who listen to those faggots billy joel and paul simon repackaged lounge lizards whose mommas also probably most likely wiped their asses as well

how can they understand when ron and hoss can barely grok the shifting of the winds how can any of them know that the old freak who parks himself daily on the uptown corner right there where ponce meets peachtree like out of some comic strip an old hippie an old man holding the sign declaring the end of world how can he know such truths

such prescience frightens and humbles ron johnson

they these guys n his dorm they don't even know don't understand that ron and hoss could give a shit about flight kay ay el double oh seven about the fucking war in ethiopia about israel and egypt about israel and lebanon these guys who can't understand what ron and hoss know that israel invading lebanon matters about as much as karl wallenda taking that last and fatal fall from the high wires shit happens you buy the ticket you take the ride you build a house out there in the desert some strong wind gonna come down blow you around

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