there is a town; coda to the first fall
Today is Martin Luther King Jr’s Birthday, and in this Writer’s Perspective We are looking back at a probable past; from the loading dock of 701 East University, in Ann Arbor Michigan.
If We could use the idea of some sort of nonlinear differential equation; a fundamental and general triangulation; from where We are, right now; at the Loading Dock of this place; Our Point of Root Equivalent Capacity; because on the surface We appear to be a Janitor; or, at least one that cares; hence the more familiar term: Custodian.
Through this metaphor and from this Root; We looking at the past; through a lens of narrative inversion.
We are looking for objective derivatives; probable events in the past; but not necessary ones; because understanding the present is what is necessary. It’s what is important; it’s what inherent; it is what is subject.
Therefore, in inverse fashion, the past as Joint and Direct Derivatives of the present; are themselves quantity variant; inexorably bound by the common vertex of the individual: Our Young African American Man; whose probable past; exists in the yesterday as well as the Today.
Ultimately then, from the Greatest Common General Circumstance of either; Subject Present and Object Past; occurring in a counter-hierarchical range; to the Least Common Individual Result; that of the integration of both; present Capacity Equivalence and Past Quantity Variance; OR neither past or present correlating whatsoever; gives US the definition of the Domain; in this case the General State of mind of Our Young Black Man; whose Management With his Mental Illness and his Autism; is either working; or it is not.
To learn about life. That is what he told everybody. If We had the right differential equation; similar to the one described above, what could we say about Our Young Friend?
Maybe he would say; that he eats way too fast; and sometimes in bowel-disturbing patterns that aggravate; his Irritable Syndrome of hemorrhoids and diarrhea; to the point where he often wishes; neuro plasticity could rewire those particular pathways.
Perhaps he would remark; wondering how he could ever describe the Writing Process; if he were, say: a fisherman; where, whenever One sits down to do it; One is never sure; of getting anything at all; until one comes back the next day; and the next; and…
For Our purposes, however; and that of this narrative experiment; Our Young Friend would probably be thinking about leaping back in to the deep end; to a time where; whose to say; did he chose his battles wisely; staying inside his pay grade; keeping his eye on his own lane; minding and taking care of his own business; giving himself a break; or — not?
We’ll just have to see for Ourselves. Today is Martin Luther King Jr’s Birthday.
Happy Anniversary America!
Now; let’s think…
The year is 1979; a brand new one for Our Young Friend; yet, one that began in a blur; one that at first wasn’t noticed; not by Our Young Man’s football coach; the one that had got him that Full Ride; that Four Year Athletic Scholarship to play football at Ferris State; not by the school’s Principals; Jack Howell or Bob Kefgen; the Teacher/Administrators who, when questioning Our Friend; as to why he attended Lahser; when he could’ve gone to Brother Rice; or maybe Cranbrook; were visibly surprised, yet made no further comment; when he told them: I want to learn about life.
His father who had left the picture; maybe a year or more by the time 1979 rolled around; of course never knew anything; he wasn’t there. His older brother; who had long since moved out and onward; playing guitar; looking for a band; chasing a dream he had most of is life; but always, whenever he got close to fulfilling it; something pulled him back from the brink of any kind of lasting Artistic Recognition; something like the seemingly inherited dysfunction; of a family with too many secrets and not enough unconditional love; back in those good old; bad old days of the past; when the best triumph was; having someone to love; someone to share a home with; have kids; make friends; make a life; no matter how much it looked just like your parents; One did as best as one could; but for Our Young Man; he got lost somewhere in there; in between the cracks of all that normalcy.
We could look at Mark Tompkins; look the scene that he was in; drugs, drugs and more drugs to deal; rougher circles to travel in; using the cover of Our Young Friend’s Wheels; and his younger sister’s friends; such as Chris, Cathy and a somewhat tragic girl named Sherry; giving him the air of a responsible, if not slightly older, and of course wiser; Stoner Big Brother; a facade that well hid the cook houses he was connected with; places where drugs were made; to be sold in the Schools; drugs that turned dreams into nightmares.
Our Young Man didn’t know any of this as 1979 began. He would later find out of course; sometime in March; in about three months; at he gas station where he worked; after school, mostly; and on the weekends.
Meanwhile, as this Writer looks back and has to admit; Our Young Friend was spending more time with Tompkins; of course his sister was usually there because they would all ride in Our Boy’s Car; after school and when he wasn’t working at the full service station at Telegraph and West Maple; just Joy riding; getting high; going from building to building; basement to basement; only sometimes, the occasional party; where Our Guy was convinced; Tompkins and Our Boy’s younger sister; were just selling weed; but underneath all of this; Our Young Man often picture himself kissing Tompkins; and yet, the same thing that always pulled him back; from relationships in general; whether they were sexual or not; also kept him away from making any kind of advance; or welcoming the same.
This became crystal clear one day; when Our Young Friend, Tompkins; Our Guy’s Younger Sister and her friend Sherry; all took early evening drive; going someplace to get high; someplace that wound up to be empty field near Auburn Road; a field someone had planned to build on; a spot where the four young people smoked a strange tasting weed; a seedless Pot taste, Our Guy had never tasted before. He and Tompkins sat in the front seat, while Our Guy’s Sister and her friend Sherry, sat in the back.
This Writer thinks Our Guy kind of always knew Tompkins had a thing for him; but he didn’t want to think about it. In fact any kind of relationship, made him think too much about his mother; and they weren’t getting along at all well. It would seem that there was question of power; the two, mother and son; simply could not see eye to eye on; and giving someone influence over him; was something, at the end of the day; he would never let himself do; even when Tompkins leaned over to kiss Our Guy that day; even though every hormone in his groin wanted so bad to taste the taste of another man’s lips; soft and moist against his own; Our Guy simply; would not; let himself; alone.
This Writer has to ask: what on Earth was Our Young African American Man, learning about life; by keeping it at bay?
…but what if, in not letting Tompkins kiss him; as much as We; as both the Writer (s) and the Reader(s) of this text; this twenty first century hyper-text; know how bad he may have wanted to; how he dreamed of those soft pouting lips every time he set eyes on Tompkins; instead, going against the flow; pretending to do something no one was thinking him capable of doing; making a half-hearted gesture; He knew was going to fail; wheeling his body around until he faced Sherry, his sister’s friend; in the back seat; expecting all the while that both Tompkins (no longer in a romantic mood) and his sister; who must have been shocked and mortified; that her latest effort at matchmaking had been thwarted; by Our Young and Surprisingly Unpredictable Teenager; who this Writer today believes; that back then; his Younger Sister didn’t think her Second Older Brother liked girls in the first place; thus, forcing her and Tompkins (like we said) to step in and to intervene; mainly because Sherry; on the one hand, was way, way underage; and on the other; her life, at the point in time, had already been destroyed; by what Our Young Friend and his Younger Sister later discovered when she and her family moved away; later on that summer; a demolished, cluttered; trash-everywhere; doors and interior windows broken; cat and human-urine-filth-ridden apartment; which We will briefly revisit; in the next installment.
For now, at the end of this installment, maybe Our question could be expanded upon. Maybe it’s not solely about What He was trying to keep at bay; since Our Young Friend very much wanted to see; if another man’s kiss; could really be as sweet as candy; as sweet as the kisses; of Marcia and Lynn Adams; back in Ypsilanti, many years before.
May be what held Our Guy back and to a some extent; also has its firm grip on this Writer Today; is what both Our Young Black Man and This Writer see when ever they look in their respective mirror (s); the brown eyes; of Robbie’s Boy; keeping at bay; anything that might ever; get in the way; of — that…
(to be continued)
