La Luna came up big and full, hanging low, a glowing orange orb looking too heavy to float in the sea of the velvet navy sky. How nice it would be to sail away in a pea green boat tonight. Nicer still to cut a wedge for a cheesy snack.
The silence of the Slaab and the sound of the highway was peaceful. Snowflake defeated and limp in his carseat, one more day's worth of mayhem extinguished at last. It was a Calgon Moment, minus the tub.
Last night we went for a walk in the park. Devoid of carnies and chaos, the trash containers were now overflowing with the remains of the County Fair. On a trail I found the dumped and pilaged belongings of an old man who worked for the amusement company.
His company I.D. cards were there. A black pair of 30W 30L Levis and t-shirts and matches and prescriptions and stuff and stuff and stuff. All of his stuff. A large manila envelope held his birth certificate and discharge papers(he had to be in his 70's as his discharge was in 1955)from the service. And papers from the V.A. A big padded envelope held pictures of what must be his grandaughter graduating from kindergarten or something.
They were all soaked and the colors were all melding together. Everything was ruined. I found a letter from his daughter dated 12.07.03. I kept this and his emplyee I.D. from 2006.
Clyde has a kind round face. He wears small wire rimmed glasses and has a slight mustache. He is clean cut and looks decent. He's carried this letter around with him for almost three years. When I saw all of his belongings and such personal things left behind I thought only of two possible scenarios- either he is an addict and left without his things or someone killed him.
I thought the least I could do is send this letter and possibly the last photograph of him to his daughter. I couldn't let it be thrown away. I called the police and later from the living room window, I saw an officer going through his things in the park by the light of his headlights. I wonder what happened to him. My heart goes out to his daughter, not knowing but caring about this man, her father.
Part of me wants to believe in fairy tales when I see a moon this beautiful. All marvel at this very same sphere yet it's different for each person. I hope for some understanding between my father and myself. I want to feel a meaningful bond with him. Deep down I know we will never click and the moon isn't made of cheese, even in Wisconsin.
relationships, fathers, daughters, estrangement, fairy tales, cheese
6 comments:
What a beautiful post. Maybe Clyde was mugged, and is actually fine and wondering about his things. Poor guy.
Hope you get your wish with your dad...
Thank you for this post.
Thanks you two. :)
Beautifully strung together words creates such wonderful pictures in my mind.
I kept thinking ,I hope that man is ok. I am still worrying about him. Do you think the police would give you information about this man, since you did call and report the stuff you found?
The letter touched me. I wonder what's in my dad's pocket.
I once saw the entire belongings of someones apartment on the pavement. I was surprised that in our well-scrubbed corner of Chicago that Mayor Daley would allow such disgrace.
It seemed so voyeuristic to photograph it, but i did. Why is it so fascinating to look at someone else's stuff - his magazines, brand of toothpaste, cough syrup, condoms, textbooks?
Maybe they would LaLuna, I don't know. Thanks for your kind thoughts.
Dominique I would have done the same thing. Maybe there is something to 'one man's trash being another's treasure'. I've always done it(looked through people's belongings) when it was tossed to the curb. A few times I cried. For me it comes back to wondering about myself and when I die and what will happen to all of the things I hold dear. They don't matter much at all in the end. Interesting.
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