Sickness Of The Young (10) That is what they said to each other in sounds as they clashed. They had a CD player, too, playing The Clash. It is always this, that, and the other thing. Never fails. Two Clydesdales, speaking of Dales, permit me to give a shout out to NASCAR fans everywhere, "EEEooouuuuhhhhhh!" So the two Clydesdales were drawn up, waiting patiently because one strap of their English-style reigns were lowered to the ground, about four inches at the bottom lying in the dirt and in the dust. So the Clydes knew from previous training sessions to lie still and wait when one strap of the reign is down like that so they were down on that, and the one that was a little bigger had his front, right hoof up off the ground because horses lift up their hoofs sometimes to rest them, just bend the knee a little to just rest it, but what that horse was really doing was ‘chilling with his homies. Mila eased back out of the opening, crawling on his back, outta there. He found more of the same path again, more or less. Because in order to find your path, sometimes you have to find any path you can get your hands on. The sun slowly crested the horizon and light began to fill the dark places and spaces. Then, just like that, he walked out of his dark, lost, German wood into the bright sunlight. Suddenly, the sun was so bright, it nearly blinded him and its warmth was so warm, it nearly scolded him. And then Mila was back on his own path in the maze. By Mila Strictzer Eighth in order of composition My name is John. I have lived in Manhattan all my life. Everything had been good for a long while. Then suddenly, it all went sour. And man, it sure came up fast on me. It started when I caught chicken pox from one of my kids. I had never had it before, and it can really hit you strong when you are older. I was out a good three weeks, and I lost my job. My estranged wife came by the apartment to check on me only once. I never did understand her. She always wanted to fight about something, it seemed. Half the time, she would go stay with her mom. She had taken the kids to live there, even though they had all already had chicken pox. I have no answers why. I do not care about her anymore. Huge sores covered me from heat to toe. I mean, I was blanketed from my eyelids to underneath every single one of my toenails: everything. It just seemed like the most incredible bad luck thing to happen. Toward the end, I could barely move. All I did was get up to use the bathroom or get some food from the refrigerator. Then one day, I suddenly discovered that I was about to breath my last breath. I drew every ounce of energy I had, put on a NY Mets hat, a pair of sunglasses and a scarf, and went to the corner store. It was hard to just walk. I bought four bags of food with my remaining cash. After I was done shopping, I had twenty bucks leftover so I stuffed the bill in my sock. I wheeled the shopping home with the food, and packed it in the apartment. That was the last thing I did for a long while. The landlord knocked loud on the door one day. I did not get up from bed. He came back after about an hour and opened the door with the key. I could tell that he paused in the living room for a minute. Then he said, "Hey! Is anyone in here? Who the hell is in here?" I groaned and then I heard him come into the bedroom. I was lying naked on the bed because it helped to ease the pain not having any covers. All three fans were blowing on full, so the place was loud. "Jesus H. Christ!" The landlord said as he walked into the bedroom and quickly put his shirt over his nose. He had to shout above the fans. He was a short, fat man and had almost no hair left on his head, which always made me wonder why he would not simply shave the last two strands off. But I always paid my rent, and he left me alone. "What is wrong with you? You look like you belong in hell or something," He asked, seriously wondering. I answered in a low, slow voice, "I have chicken pox…did you ever have it before? If not, get the fuck out, quick. Matter fact, get out anyway, asshole." "Look here, since you’re a week past due on your rent. Since you’re laid up, I’ll give you to Friday. Then I am calling the police," he said and then he turned and walked out fast, still holding his shirt over his nose. I heard the door slam behind him. It was Wednesday and I really did not know how I would be able make it out of there by Friday. But I also did not want him to call the cops on me. I already had a warrant from a while back when I hit my wife one time. She freaked out and called the cops but I did not show up for the court date. I was in a bad way. My folks couldn’t help. My dad was probably drunk right now and my mom, who knew? I have one brother, but he has his own problems to deal with. So somehow, I got out of bed and took a long bath. I mean, I did not get out of the water until late the next morning. All I did was smoke cigarettes and throw them in the toilet, while drinking water from the bathtub tap. When I finally crawled slowly out of the tub, my body felt like one giant ocean sponge. The sores got a little less red and the pain eased slightly, though, so I could just about walk. Then I rested down on the bed, until I was dried off from the fans and I felt a whole lot better. I managed to get my clothes on. I threw on my army field jacket and my NY Mets hat, and some sunglasses, and I walked slowly out of my apartment to the street. I have never been a homeless person before, and I do not consider myself homeless, but I do not have a home to go to anymore. The park is the best place to go to. No one is there and the people who are there are not rushing around. They look at you as if they expect homeless to be there. As if they are walking through a zoo or something. They pause, stare, and then move on again. I can rest in the grass and the police do not really come over, because there is a lot of open space. It gets very cold at night. My sores eventually went away, but left large huge scars and gashes all over. I drink when I can with some buddies of mine. They are always by the rocks behind the back entrance to the subway, my three buddies. I go over there at night, when it gets very cold. "Merry Christmas, ye fine gentlemen," Ralph said even though I was the only one walking up. Ralph was kneeling in the grass, working on a small fire that he had made with some tree wood and matches. Where we were, behind the big rocks, there was no one else, and the police would never make their way over to us. So it was just us three, all alone in great big New York City. We could make the fire just about as big as we wanted to. For now, Ralph was just getting it started. He was ex-army, a vet like me, but he had been in Vietnam so soon that fire would be blazing and we would all be warm. And maybe one of them had found something to drink. Then it would be a Merry Christmas. Bill and Ephraim were there too, sitting next to the fire. Bill smiled as I walked up. I will not lie to you, sometimes Bill gets to my nerves. Ephraim is a Philippino man but he is very religious. Those were my buddies, all I have now. It is Christmas day. "How is it a Merry Christmas?" I asked. "Because we’re all here, celebrating Christmas together." "I don’t think there is anything merry about it, to hell with the day I was born," I replied. Ephraim said, "You know, John, your always complaining. Here’s what I say: live by the sword, die by the sword, man. Whose fault is it that we are here? I know you know." I sat down next to the fire, closed my eyes, and silently meditated for a few moments. The surrounding sounds eased their way into my mind, and then reached down into my soul. Soon I felt relaxed. Ephraim continued. I kept my eyes closed while he talked, "Last night I saw a ghost, I swear to God. I was just dozing and the hair on the back on my neck stood up. And the ghost said, ‘do not judge God!’ My friends, the ghost of my dreams said to not judge God. And then it said, ‘those that do, they will be smashed like worms’. "Man is born into trouble and the sparks fly upward, see what I am saying? We should all be happy to simply be here. God is fixing our problems for us. And when we walk out of this, we’ll be better off for it." I opened my eyes and said, "Ephraim, for once shut up with your holy-rolling bullshit." Ephraim did not answer, so I continued, "You know what, Ephraim? I’ll play along, like I got anything better to do. I am poisoned. My soul is poisoned. Everything I touch is cold. Every person I meet I want to run away from. I can’t continue on like this. How can I do anything? My flesh is cut in huge chunks. I would just assume die right now. That would make it easier, Ephraim. Why can’t God just finish off with me?" The fire was blazing well now. Ralph had kept working on it. He added more wood to it and then adjusted the wood to burn properly. We were all warm now as we stared at the slithering flames and listened to the wood crackle. Finally, from the silence, Bill said, "You know, John, every time we come here to talk, it always seems like we wind up talking about your problems but you never seem to listen to our advice. Don’t you think you had just a little bit to do with your ending up here? You know how someone who has been divorced like four times still does not think maybe they have are the real problem? Well, maybe it’s the same thing with you, man. Maybe you, and you alone, are the problem." Like I mentioned, I never like Bill. I answered him, "All day long, Bill, I look at everything: the skyscrapers, the trees in this park, and nothing ever changes. Everything just stays the same. I just want some answers, man. That is all I want. I know my problems are at least partly my own fault but I can’t find any answers." Ralph finally put down his big tree limb that he had been using to stir the red embers. He turned to me and spoke solemnly, "I agree with Bill, too, John. But I have one more thing to add. If you’re searching for answers you need to ask yourself first. That is all we are saying. Stop asking the sky and the skyscrapers and everything else that is around you. Ask yourself, man." I answered Ralph, "Your right, but if what Ephraim says is true, then I need to find my peace with God first before I can look within. And I still think that I can only find my peace with God by looking around me first. Something has to tell me first." Ralph said, "We’re just trying to get through to that thick head of yours, to help you, man. I think first you need to realize that you are not always right. At least, you should accept that you need some advice. But you keep refusing us." At last, I said to them all, "Listen, you guys are my good buddies but I don’t think you see it my way. I am saying I need to be at peace first and then I can do anything I want. But I am not at peace, don’t you see?" Ralph said, "Let’s take a vote. How many here think John is not, and will not, maybe never, accept that he must first look to God in order to then look within?" Ralph, Bill, and Ephraim all raised their hands. I stared at them for a moment in silence. Then I said, "I am right here, no matter what you all say." Ralph looked a little startled and then he said, "Well then, John, maybe you need to leave our fire." I was shocked. These were my buddies. I did not understand why they were kicking me out of our sanctuary, the only thing I had left. But I did not think twice, I just turned and walked away and never looked back. I got my twenty-dollar bill from my sock, that I kept there for emergencies, and bought a fifth of whiskey. I drank the whole bottle and then I walked back through the park, stumbling, quite drunk. I am sure I would not have remembered anything the next day, but something happened. At one point in the night, I was walking over a long subway exhaust grate. About halfway across, a subway train suddenly raced by underneath, and the wind blew up over me like a whirlwind, throwing my hair and everything around. It was just like Marilyn Monroe. Then I heard the voice of God speak to me. I swear to God, it was the voice of God. This is what the voice of God said: "Are you the one that takes counsel from wise men and then makes that counsel dark, all the while knowing nothing?" "Aaaahhhh…" was all I could muster. "Were you there when I laid the foundations of the Earth? Do you have any idea what measurements I drew up? What exactly do you suppose the foundations of the Earth are connected to? Do you know where I put the cornerstone to it all? Well? Any idea?" God continued on, unrelenting: "Who do you suppose closed the sea after I was finished with the land, as if it were a womb? When I made the clouds as a garment over the sea, thick darkness its only cover, telling it to stop only at my own decreed place, were you there? Have you commanded the mornings since you existed? Did you turn the clay of the Earth into a seal, as a covenant, eternal before God? Can you open the doors of hell? Have you seen the shadow of death on those same doors? "Go ahead, answer at any time! Where does the light go? Where does the dark come from? Do you know why I hold back war against thee? Do you understand why light parts into pieces? Do you understand why after there is nothing I allow a single flower to grow? Do you know why the Pleiades huddle together as stars? Can you take off Orion’s belt? Can you make the clouds rain? Who provides the raven his food?" Then there was a pause but then God finally finished with a question: "Who are you?" "I am John." Then no more sound came. No more subway trains rolled by. So I stood there for a moment in awe but then I thought I should answer God in my vision, so I raised my arms above me and said to the dark sky, "I see now I am just a speck of existence before you, God. But I never doubted you. I only doubted myself." Then the sky opened up and a myriad of colors swirled around like a kaleidoscope. The patterns looked like those chaos math problems that make pretty shapes. I was in awe. I could not speak and my feet seemed riveted to the ground, unable to obey my commandments. A few minutes passed. I did not hear anything and I did not see any more visions. So I walked a few steps over to the wall of the building next to the subway grate and put my hand against the wall. I braced myself there for a few moments, hung my head, and tried to catch my breath. Then I lowered myself to the ground and sat with my back against the wall. I stared straight ahead in a semi-trance. I felt like I had lost everything, despite having talked with God. I did not understand why I felt the way I did. So I hung my head in my hands and cried. By Mila Strictzer Third in order of composition Up in Michigan, there is large beach house, built back in the twenties. It has a long, red staircase that goes down to the beach. The rooms are spacious and large fans hang from the ceilings. There is a wide front porch, facing the lake and another on the roof. Everything is original, from the screen mesh to the light switches, so it feels like you are back in time. Every summer, Tom and Mike go there with people from either of their families. The boys have been friends most of their lives. The vacation is now a ritual for them. The boys always stayed in a large room on the bottom floor, level with the sand, underneath a wide staircase that connected to the main floor. You traveled through the screen door, then the porch, and into the huge living room, which had been built completely in oak. Mike was studying the back of a Led Zepplin album cover. He was reading who wrote the lyrics for each song. Tom was dressing after a shower. That afternoon, they had gone swimming and then ate sandwiches, as they listened to music and drank a beer. "Do you ever wonder what’s going on in the world?" Mike asked without turning. Tom was behind him, drying off. "What do you mean?" Mike now faced Tom, "I mean, everything is happening right now and everything else has happened before. And there is everything that is still going to happen, too. " "Do you really care?" "Its like every experience you have is locked inside of that moment, but then the moment is gone. And all you can do is remember the moment. And then your memories change or fade, too. Why do you spray that stuff all over your armpits?" "So I don’t smell," Tom said as he kept spraying his can of Right Guard, filling up the room with a think, pungent, gray mist. He continued, "Are you high again? Did my brother get you stoned? I told you to not mess with that stuff; you’ll loose your mind." "No, I’m just saying. Damn, you’re filling up the whole room. I can’t even see. What’s your one cousin’s name?" "Susan," Tom answered. "Oh. I like her." "Yeah, you told me. She’s alright, I guess." "This song is cool." "Why?" "Because the way the singer is calling out." "Yeah," Tom said and put his can of deodorant down on the table. He put on his shirt and said, "Let’s go to the beach and see if the girls are there." "All right." The two boys left the room of the big house and walked down the long wooden staircase to the beach. It was dark outside and there were no clouds out so stars blanketed the sky. Insects buzzed all around them. The nighttime air was clean and fresh, but the boys did not notice any of it. They were too busy thinking about the party on the beach and the girls that would be there. "Today, I could see you mom’s bra through her shirt. Is she supposed to wear it like that?" "I don’t know," Tom paused and answered honestly, as he looked at Mike for a second, before he kept walking down the steps.
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