Crunching gravel bleeds the color of rocks beneath my traveling shoes.
Remote gas stations have lost their interest in monopoly's jest, they humor me.
Roads barren and hardly used speak their mind to me.
A fall becomes me when I stop.
I need to roll cigarettes and chew tobacco to be noticed here.
The can on the counter is full of brown spit; flies swarm wild like
carnivores with a taste for blood.
The cashier doesn't seem to notice the formidable smell taking
masterdom of the air.
Her hair is pulled back with a black rubber band, I wince as I think
of it being ripped out before bed.
Her shirt is X large, I think to cover what she hopes is left of her
self confidence
eyes stare back at mine, their implication painful.
Time won and time lost.
Repeating...
It ruined her soul
Monday, May 19, 2008
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Day 81
Age 16.
There was nothing like high school Physical Education. I still remember the early weeks of my sophomore year, still carrying around my monospaced class schedule slip. "Phys Ed," was the second to last class of the day. I dreaded this sweat induce routine as well as thrived in it. Our teacher we called, Coach Holmes, always dressed in windbreaker pants and a blue sweatshirt featuring our school name and lion mascot. Years past he had coached me some at the YMCA in my running. He was a man who enjoyed those who worked hard. I could have got away with some pretty nifty crimes as long as I won him a race.
Our Phys Ed class was varied. The annoyed fat kids, the pissy popular girls, the quiet and shy, the athletic, and the athletic sorry losers. In high school clicks separate us in every other aspect of high school except in our phys ed class. Holmes didn't notice or care about clicks, he shoved everybody together to preform a certain game or test and cracked the whip and required everybody take part no matter what. This was of course awkward, all other times during the day these people didn't as much as say hi to one another and now while playing these games we were required to rely on one another. I for one would have liked to be friends with everybody. I never understood these clicks, it estranged all of us from each other, while we all learned at the same school and lived within the same town.
This one particular day we were playing a little bit of football in the gym. I was caught up in the game. One girl on my team was useless, a prissy, clueless 16 year old "popular" gal. I'll refrain from using her name for it just makes me cringe, I have always disliked her uselessness. She was open and I had the ball. She had no idea she was open and even whoever had the ball. I knew this and decided to act anyway. I threw that angular piece of pig skin as hard and straight as I have ever thrown it. The football speedily met it's mark and crushed into her nose. She saw the ball coming for herself the last few seconds and didn't even try to catch it. She sunk to the gym floor holding her nose, cursing and crying. Everybody just stood silent and yet inside was thinking, " Finally, someone took her down." It may seem morbid but that one time in my life I purposefully let pain happen to somebody because of their superior stupidity, and actually I was quite happy about it.
There was nothing like high school Physical Education. I still remember the early weeks of my sophomore year, still carrying around my monospaced class schedule slip. "Phys Ed," was the second to last class of the day. I dreaded this sweat induce routine as well as thrived in it. Our teacher we called, Coach Holmes, always dressed in windbreaker pants and a blue sweatshirt featuring our school name and lion mascot. Years past he had coached me some at the YMCA in my running. He was a man who enjoyed those who worked hard. I could have got away with some pretty nifty crimes as long as I won him a race.
Our Phys Ed class was varied. The annoyed fat kids, the pissy popular girls, the quiet and shy, the athletic, and the athletic sorry losers. In high school clicks separate us in every other aspect of high school except in our phys ed class. Holmes didn't notice or care about clicks, he shoved everybody together to preform a certain game or test and cracked the whip and required everybody take part no matter what. This was of course awkward, all other times during the day these people didn't as much as say hi to one another and now while playing these games we were required to rely on one another. I for one would have liked to be friends with everybody. I never understood these clicks, it estranged all of us from each other, while we all learned at the same school and lived within the same town.
This one particular day we were playing a little bit of football in the gym. I was caught up in the game. One girl on my team was useless, a prissy, clueless 16 year old "popular" gal. I'll refrain from using her name for it just makes me cringe, I have always disliked her uselessness. She was open and I had the ball. She had no idea she was open and even whoever had the ball. I knew this and decided to act anyway. I threw that angular piece of pig skin as hard and straight as I have ever thrown it. The football speedily met it's mark and crushed into her nose. She saw the ball coming for herself the last few seconds and didn't even try to catch it. She sunk to the gym floor holding her nose, cursing and crying. Everybody just stood silent and yet inside was thinking, " Finally, someone took her down." It may seem morbid but that one time in my life I purposefully let pain happen to somebody because of their superior stupidity, and actually I was quite happy about it.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Day 80
Age 10
We had returned from our last gypsy trip to the south and had made it back to Belmont, Maine. My dad set up the camper on a cement slab that my Cousin Gary had on his land. About a mile away lived My Uncle Ricky and Aunt Donna in the family farmhouse. My mum, Sophie our dog and I would walk there often in the morning and walk back home during twilight. It was Autumn when this particular incident happened. Bird season. We all had some florescent on, even Sophie had a make shift vest around her middle that we had assembled on her that morning.
We had past the old grange hall at the four corners and had begun our journey down the Back Belmont Rd. We had not a care in the World as we walked on. The crisp morning air was warming from the bright sun. The leaves were falling and floating down around us as we walked. Suddenly a series of shots from the woods rang out into the road. My mum and I were standing apart from each other and both of us felt something wind through our hair. Frightened my mother grabbed me and started running farther down the road. We were so stunned from the experience. My mother took me by the shoulders and started looking all over my body to see if I had been shot, as well as examining Sophie. We had escaped the wound of a bullet but the feel of it cruising through our hair would stay with us long after the ordeal was over. Some idiot hunting birds, and illegally shooting into the road with his bird shot almost killed two people that day.
We had returned from our last gypsy trip to the south and had made it back to Belmont, Maine. My dad set up the camper on a cement slab that my Cousin Gary had on his land. About a mile away lived My Uncle Ricky and Aunt Donna in the family farmhouse. My mum, Sophie our dog and I would walk there often in the morning and walk back home during twilight. It was Autumn when this particular incident happened. Bird season. We all had some florescent on, even Sophie had a make shift vest around her middle that we had assembled on her that morning.
We had past the old grange hall at the four corners and had begun our journey down the Back Belmont Rd. We had not a care in the World as we walked on. The crisp morning air was warming from the bright sun. The leaves were falling and floating down around us as we walked. Suddenly a series of shots from the woods rang out into the road. My mum and I were standing apart from each other and both of us felt something wind through our hair. Frightened my mother grabbed me and started running farther down the road. We were so stunned from the experience. My mother took me by the shoulders and started looking all over my body to see if I had been shot, as well as examining Sophie. We had escaped the wound of a bullet but the feel of it cruising through our hair would stay with us long after the ordeal was over. Some idiot hunting birds, and illegally shooting into the road with his bird shot almost killed two people that day.
Friday, February 29, 2008
Day 79
Age 11
My mum, dad and I were on our last gypsy, migrant trip. We had an old ford truck pulling our camper. We were in Florida, this was our last stop before we traveled back home to Maine. We were visiting my Great Grandfathers piece of property in a town called, Glenwood. Big, beautiful houses were all around this parcel of land belonging to our Great Grandfather. There in the middle of this upscale neighborhood stood an old 15 foot camper with a hand built, add-on that slightly resembled a covered porch area. It was hideous looking. This had been plopped here eons ago. While the neighborhood around my grandfather evolved he stayed stagnant. His tiny piece of heaven for him was a bit of hell for everybody else.
Now that Great grampy was gone, it was time for the family to take care of this wretched place. The little camp had been vacant for quite sometime. We opened up the creaky aluminum door opening into the hand built veranda. Smells mixed with the heavy humidity was almost to much to handle. It fought the oxygen out of our lungs. After entering we all began opening up windows, scrambling to get some much needed fresh air. After we could eventually breathe, everyone began looking around, opening up cupboards, and doors. One cupboard was opened and out fell a large snake skin. This tiny place had been infested with everything living outside. Creepy crawlies, mice, rats, snakes had reclaimed the entire camp. After we all had enough we ventured back outside into the bright, exotic sunshine and tropical smelling landscape. This little piece of hideous history would have to go. No body would know an old man named Amon had ever before existed in this very place. His mark on Florida would be erased. Some neighbor's yard would be extended or maybe a three car garage would reclaim Amon Morse's piece of heaven.
My mum, dad and I were on our last gypsy, migrant trip. We had an old ford truck pulling our camper. We were in Florida, this was our last stop before we traveled back home to Maine. We were visiting my Great Grandfathers piece of property in a town called, Glenwood. Big, beautiful houses were all around this parcel of land belonging to our Great Grandfather. There in the middle of this upscale neighborhood stood an old 15 foot camper with a hand built, add-on that slightly resembled a covered porch area. It was hideous looking. This had been plopped here eons ago. While the neighborhood around my grandfather evolved he stayed stagnant. His tiny piece of heaven for him was a bit of hell for everybody else.
Now that Great grampy was gone, it was time for the family to take care of this wretched place. The little camp had been vacant for quite sometime. We opened up the creaky aluminum door opening into the hand built veranda. Smells mixed with the heavy humidity was almost to much to handle. It fought the oxygen out of our lungs. After entering we all began opening up windows, scrambling to get some much needed fresh air. After we could eventually breathe, everyone began looking around, opening up cupboards, and doors. One cupboard was opened and out fell a large snake skin. This tiny place had been infested with everything living outside. Creepy crawlies, mice, rats, snakes had reclaimed the entire camp. After we all had enough we ventured back outside into the bright, exotic sunshine and tropical smelling landscape. This little piece of hideous history would have to go. No body would know an old man named Amon had ever before existed in this very place. His mark on Florida would be erased. Some neighbor's yard would be extended or maybe a three car garage would reclaim Amon Morse's piece of heaven.
Friday, January 25, 2008
Day 78
Ages 4-10
My small family unit consisting of my mother father and myself lived a gypsy-style life for quite some time. Our home was on wheels, 36 feet of camper hauled by a 1/2 ton truck. My everyday life was far different from the one so many other children were experiencing.
My small family unit consisting of my mother father and myself lived a gypsy-style life for quite some time. Our home was on wheels, 36 feet of camper hauled by a 1/2 ton truck. My everyday life was far different from the one so many other children were experiencing.
The camper water tank was small. My dad was the water conserving Nazi. Our showers went like this: Step in the tub spray your self for about 10 seconds. Shut the water off, grab the soap and lather everything. Turn the water on for another 10-30 seconds to rinse, and then step out and dry off. Obtaining the water we put in our camper water tank was a whole other adventure. My dad became an expert at finding fresh water springs. We'd drive around on old, overgrown logging roads with our truck loaded with two giant blue barrels and a siphon hose, searching for that ice cold clear spring water. I learned the art of siphoning at a very young age. Sometimes it was to transfer water from the barrels to the camper water tank, or other times to transfer gas in a big blue barrel to a small gas jug. One thing my dad had not let me do from a young age was empty our sewer line. I grotesquely enjoyed watching my father prepare to loose the sewer line. First he would dig a giant hole. Then open the hatch that revealed the sewer hose, he would take this hose out, place the end into the hole he had dug and then pull a lever up near the nozzle and stand far back. This job seemed strangely important. When I reached the age of 10, life had found us in Alabama. My dad had forgot to do the sewer line, and on his way out to the planting field he told me to do the job before he returned home for the night. I was elated that the responsibility finally graced me. I was in the middle of my studies later that morning and all I could think about was digging that giant hole, releasing the valve, and then later covering up the hideous mess with the piles of dirt I had dug. Eventually I reminded my mum that the sewer needed to be done and pretty soon or it would overflow so she let me out of class early for the day. I had a job to do and no one would be there to tell me how, I had free reign over this duty, how wonderful!
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Day 77
Age 7
We often rode bikes with my mum's best friend Brenda and her two children, Misty and Ricky. We would sometimes take a back road from the little town of Shirley Maine to Greenville. It was a logging road, during the summer the road wasn't occupied much by truckers so it was a great place to bike, through the woods over looking old woodlots, most overgrown. One day Brenda and my mum decided to take the main road from Brenda's house up through the bustling town of Greenville. This road was always busy, one of the main highways headed up to Canada. We all had our little bike helmets on and prepared for the hilly, busy venture to town. My mum lead our pack followed by Ricky, myself, Misty and finally Brenda. Ricky and my mum started the steep decent down the first hill. I began speeding fast to catch up. Suddenly I found myself somersaulting down the hill with my bike. The helmet made a sickening thud on the tar, the impact sending my face into the ground. The bike and myself might not have been rolling on two wheels any longer but we were still somersaulting together down the tar hill, my face scraping against dirt, tar pebbles and more dirt. The hill was so steep that the energy of our movement was continued far longer than if on flat ground. Behind me Misty failed to stop and bashed her bike into me and my mangled one, scraping me further down the hill. Eventually I am stopped, the sound of my mother screaming trailing through out the sounds of passerby vehicles. Tired and burning from my face I just lay there helpless, not wanting to move for fear I'd hurt more.
We often rode bikes with my mum's best friend Brenda and her two children, Misty and Ricky. We would sometimes take a back road from the little town of Shirley Maine to Greenville. It was a logging road, during the summer the road wasn't occupied much by truckers so it was a great place to bike, through the woods over looking old woodlots, most overgrown. One day Brenda and my mum decided to take the main road from Brenda's house up through the bustling town of Greenville. This road was always busy, one of the main highways headed up to Canada. We all had our little bike helmets on and prepared for the hilly, busy venture to town. My mum lead our pack followed by Ricky, myself, Misty and finally Brenda. Ricky and my mum started the steep decent down the first hill. I began speeding fast to catch up. Suddenly I found myself somersaulting down the hill with my bike. The helmet made a sickening thud on the tar, the impact sending my face into the ground. The bike and myself might not have been rolling on two wheels any longer but we were still somersaulting together down the tar hill, my face scraping against dirt, tar pebbles and more dirt. The hill was so steep that the energy of our movement was continued far longer than if on flat ground. Behind me Misty failed to stop and bashed her bike into me and my mangled one, scraping me further down the hill. Eventually I am stopped, the sound of my mother screaming trailing through out the sounds of passerby vehicles. Tired and burning from my face I just lay there helpless, not wanting to move for fear I'd hurt more.
Tuesday, January 01, 2008
Day 76
Age 5
My cousin Chris had told me about these bubble gum cigarettes. He unwrapped the candy cigarettes and pretended to suck on one side and then blew into the top, an interesting powder puff came out the end. I was delighted, how cool this was! Chris had let me have some of his candy cigarettes because my mum and dad wouldn't have let me have any.
My cousin Chris had told me about these bubble gum cigarettes. He unwrapped the candy cigarettes and pretended to suck on one side and then blew into the top, an interesting powder puff came out the end. I was delighted, how cool this was! Chris had let me have some of his candy cigarettes because my mum and dad wouldn't have let me have any.
One day at the town gas station I asked mum and dad for some, they rejected my pleas and went on shopping. I suddenly got a very dark sensation inside my belly. It felt sick but exciting as well. I was going to take a pack of candy cigarettes and not tell mum or dad and not pay for them. I sneakily tossed them in my pocket and went on into the car. I waited for mum and dad to come out. In the mean time I was unwrapping the candy I had taken and was puffing on it. My dad glanced in the window on his way into the car to see what I was up to and discovered my dishonest doings. He and my mum said I had to take the candy in the store and tell them that I had stolen it and pay the appropriate amount for it. I was horrified. Someone would find out what a terrible person I was, what would they think of me from now on? I most definitely would have wanted to be dragged to jail rather than go and face my dishonesty.
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