True To Form

True To Form

What is most evident about her is the scent of concealment and mendacities that settle softly on her smooth rounded shoulders.  It is immediate on first meeting, she has that look in her eye, a sparkle that serves as a fair warning you are in the company of a prankster.  There is no gradual slide to her storytelling.  She relishes spinning a quick tale off the cuff just to see how long it takes to resume its proper shape.  It is contradictory to say but it is one of the qualities I love most about my oldest friend.  I am confident her rascally nature is hereditary.  One sticky summer as kids, famished from running in the country fields, full of sweat and dirt, we knelt up on the bench of a rustic picnic table.  Emilia’s mother, Mrs. Wilma Patton she liked to be called, set down juicy slabs of watermelon in front of us.  As we slurped and swallowed hungrily at our seasonal treat she pressed the meat of her knuckles deep into her plump hips, sucked her teeth and said, “And don’t go swallowing the seeds or you’ll grow watermelons in your bellies!”  One other time I recall Mrs. Wilma Patton standing over us, all six feet of her, as we sat on the front porch tying our sneakers up anxious to make the most of the cool morning on the tire swings when she advised us to take heed of an influx of dragonflies, “If you girls insist on going out to those blasted tire swings don’t come running to me when the Devil’s darning needles come after you.  Those little bastards will sew your little mouths right up!”  I suppose those maternal antics is where Emilia got the bright idea to rib her little brother whenever he had the sniffles.  Seth had a habit of wiping his nose upwards with the whole palm of his hand and Emilia would pipe up and say, “If you keep rubbing your nose up like that your nostrils are going to get stuck and next time it rains you’ll drown!”  Seth was frightened to fear of her as a kid and all but sat on his hands each time it flew out of her lying mouth.  The next thing you know the poor kid’s face would be dripping with snot, scared to death of drowning.  He believed everything she said.  I have to admit that for the longest time as a child I truly believed that there were no cartoons on television at night because whenever we asked to watch them before bed, Mrs. Wilma Patton would say, “How many times to I have to tell you, there are no cartoons on the TV at night, that’s when all of the animated characters sleep.”  She just wanted to watch her soaps and eat chips that she would never share with us.

Emilia embellishes, it’s just something she does, not to be malicious but to amuse.  I call her my fabulist friend.  She is a true shyster and I am still amazed I irresponsibly fall for her antics.  The last time I saw her we were in a convenient store, she wanted a package of gum and decided to check her lotto ticket.  I was browsing the vast selection of chocolate bars when she erupted into excitement, “I won!”  She made quite a production and whipped the customers into a fulsome frenzy.  Someone straining behind the crowd that gathered at the counter yelled out, “How much did you win!?”  True to form, Emilia said very matter of factly, “Five bucks!”

There is always that one friend …

**

Another writing exercise done on this lazy Sunday.  I also managed to finish a poem that has been sent for consideration for the next Open Heart Forgery issue. This one was to write off the cuff for a half hour.  This is as much as I got down in my time frame and then I spent five tweaking it with a lukewarm cup of tea I kept meaning to re-heat but I just kept sipping on. Stretching the muscles, it's good.  Creative thinking on the spot can be hard but it's exciting.

I'm sleepy today.  I had a great weekend with friends, out for live music and good times.  Two nights in a row.  Friday night was especially a highlight.  Adam Baldwin played a solo show, heading the bill at the Seahorse with Young River and Sam Cash & The Romantic Dogs opening.  It was excellent to see the underground bar jam packed full of people there to see Adam Baldwin play.  He started out with Gloryhound and also plays with Matt Mays.  He has a humble disposition and you can tell the music is in him.  He was blown away by the response he received, it was effecting and made for such a wonderful vibe.  He owned it, rocked it, killed it with his own excellent songs that so many people were singing their guts out along with.  He's an excellent performer, player and writer.  I wish him all the success he can stand.  If you work hard and believe ...

It's back to the grind tomorrow, St. Patty's Day but I could care less really.  I've had a few good ones in years gone by but I had enough fun over the weekend.  I'll be crunching numbers while the die-hards drink green beer.  I'll be wishing I was writing.

In propinquity,

Nic