Making new friends
(an incident from childhood)

 
     When playing baseball and marbles, or flipping cards wasn’t interesting enough on a sunny spring Baltimore day in my youth, I decided to play another that would be a little more exciting. I wanted to do something to get the people out of their cars that were going by so we could observe them up close. My first prank wasn't original. I had seen something like it on television, although they’d used a wallet. I decided on a woman’s handbag. One of my moms handbags was just the ticket, for one reason or another.
     Dave and I found a good street corner for the prank. A nice thick hedge and an escape route in case there was someone who didn't think that this was as funny as we did. I had a couple of dollar bills from my birthday money stash as bait, the leather handbag, a spool of fishing line and high mischievousness abounding. Before we even started to enact the ruse, Dave and I were laughing uncontrollably just thinking of the frustration and havoc we were about to cause.
     We taped the dollar bills inside the handbag, so that they would protrude from the opening. Dave figured it would look better if we bent the bills, because that would make it look like there were twice as many of them. They wouldn't stick out as far he pointed out, but there would be more of them. Then, poking a hole through the bottom of the bag, we got a small piece of tree branch, threaded the clear fish line through the hole and after wrapping it around the stick a few times tied it several times with our best granny knots.
     Making sure that we weren’t being watched, we placed the bag on the curb by the stop sign. We then made sure that the bills were easily seen and that the bag was hanging off the curb just right. Then we retired to our hiding places in the hedge, to munch o'henry bars and make young boys in anticipation of high comedy noises. After a few "this is going to be goods", and other similar comments, our first customer appeared. The car slowed down at the stop sign, didn't stop completely, and then pulled away without even noticing or giving the bag a look. Dave said he thought we should have used a more brightly colored bag. I told him it would work and that some people didn't see things on the sidewalk or even in the street, because that's how dogs and cats got hit, and our handbag wasn't even moving.
     After a couple more cars went by, without a second look, Dave volunteered to go home and get a brightly colored scarf, to give the trap some "hey, look at this", he said. He came back with the scarf, a bright red silk one, with flowers all over it, and we tucked it into the bag so it was trailing out into the street. After this we returned to our hiding places. The next car came almost immediately. An older man was behind the wheel. It was a large station wagon with the extra seat in the back like the one our housekeeper drove. As he pulled up to the stop sign, we saw him looking at the bag. We were laughing, holding our hands over our mouths. This was great. The man behind the wheel took his hat off and put it on the dash of his car, moved the shifter, and then looked in his rear view mirror and all around. Then again slowly, looked all around. He opened the door, and as soon as he wasn't looking, as he was getting out of the car and walking around it to the curb, looking everywhere around him, we pulled the bag to safety under the hedge. He walked up to where the bag had been, but now there was only the scarf which had slipped out while Dave was pulling the bag to the hedge. The old man looked up and down the curb, over at the hedge where we were hiding, then picked up the scarf and looked under it, then at it. "God dammit, what the hell?". He put the scarf in his pocket, got into his car with a couple of grunts and took off. "What are we gonna do?”, Dave asked with a look of frustration on his face. "Tape the scarf to the bag next time”, I answered. "Well, I can't get another scarf until tomorrow". We decided to go get a soda and plan our next handbag incident.

     The next day, we were ready for bear. Dave had 2 brightly colored silk kerchiefs, one orange and one yellow. I had raided my cigar box, (the one I kept on the shelf near poppa rat) for a couple more dollars to make the bait a little better. We taped all the money together, folding it to give it the appearance of a sizeable wad. We tied the orange kerchief to the bag. This new kerchief looked like it was on fire except for the little balloons that were flying around bouncing into each other all over it. We poised it on the corner of the curb so that the scarf was in the street, with the bills fluttering in the wind. We bent them a little so they would look good and would take up as much space as possible. Dave was convinced that for realism, there should be some change scattered around in the gutter and the street, so we strategically positioned some pennies, nickels and dimes. We were ready.
     A young woman drove the first car. She looked at the handbag, and crept up to the stop sign, taking years. She then did what we had seen the man the day before do. She looked in her rear view mirror, then across the street. Then, the other way across the street. Then, in her rear view mirror again. Dave asked me, "Do you think they look around to see if the owner is near, or just to check if anybody is watching?” I admitted that I didn't really know, and that if he wanted he could ask her. We both laughed, but quieted down suddenly as she got out of the car.
     Dave pulled the bag with the kerchief trailing after it as quickly as he could. This time though, the bag was just barely sneaking its way under the hedge with its tail dragging behind as the young woman rounded her car. She was looking right though the hedge at us moving her head back and forth trying to see who or what was on our side. The scarf was trailing after the bag like a tail on fire. I was laughing so hard I could hardly breathe as Dave started barking like a dog. She was immediately smiling and asking us if we would bite. As she came over to the hedge, we were running for our lives barking excitedly. She shouted at our heels, "I guess all the change in the street is mine, right?" That was the last we heard as we rounded the corner and kept running and laughing until we were blocks away. Dave asked out of breath, "did you see that look on her face when she saw that the bag was crawling into the hedge?" "I thought she was going to scream until she started smiling at us", I laughed. We agreed that this was just as good as any game of baseball or marbles had ever been.
     We went back to the scene of the prank after going to the local mom and pop store and buying a couple of root beers and packages of peanuts. Sure enough, she had taken all the change. We scattered some more change around and set the bag up real pretty. Then we tossed the handbag with the fishing line trailing it through the hedge, set it up on the curb real nice and took our places. A little breeze came up and fluttered the money, and there was something unexplainably ridiculous when the money moved like that. Both of us looked at each other at the same time and started laughing like no get out.
     Another car with an older person went right by. Dave was worried that we hadn't "set it up right", so he went out and made sure everything looked really good. He was sure that the driver had been near sighted or absent minded, because “the bait” looked the best it ever had. We ate peanuts and drank root beer and talked about Mickey Mantle and Roger Maris and Whitey Ford and Roberto Clemente. During a heated discussion about whether Mantle or Maris was the home run king of all times (except for "the babe" of course) our next customer arrived.

     In the next car was a guy with an orioles cap on. His windows were down and we could hear the radio. He didn't see the bag at first, but when he did he jerked his head and leaned it over sideways and took a long look. Then, he did the same thing they all did. Looked in the rear view mirror. Looked across the street. Looked the other way across the street. Looked in his rearview mirror again. Got out of the car and put a cigarette in his face and looked up and down the street one more time. As he was pulling out some matches and lighting the cigarette Dave was pulling the bag to us like the madman he was, laughing and snorkling under his breath. This time though, it was all wrong. The guy heard the bag scratching its way along the concrete and turned to watch it sneak into the hedge. He threw his cigarette down at the sidewalk in a sudden move, pulled his hat down tight on his head, and came around the car quicker than was comfortable for us. I thought, uh oh, and almost choked on a peanut. Immediately we were moving as fast as we could, jumping up and grabbing the bag while choking with laughter. We could hear him yelling, "hey, both of you, hold it right the fuck there, HOLD IT!" Like we were going to listen to him. The chase was on. We were moving as fast as we could, knocking our bottles over, taking off in the opposite direction he was coming from. We could hear him coming right through the hedge at us. Right through the hedge! He didn't even take the time to go around it. I could hear Dave whimpering behind me as the sound of our running footsteps echoed between the houses and the yards we were running through. I heard a “hey, you can't run through there!” and that just prompted me to move a little quicker. I could hear Dave right behind me making tracks and little noises each time his breath went in and out. I could also hear and feel other heavier footsteps getting closer and closer. There was a tingling on the back of my neck. Just as I thought that I was going to feel a big hand reach out and grab me, or feel Dave crash into me, we reached the place where the two fences met, the two really tall fences that had a gap between them that we could just barely squeeze our way through. I hit that hole like the greased lightning kid I was. Tore my shirt, scratched my arm. Dave was sniveling but made one little squeal and was right behind me through that gap. I heard something rip big as he pushed me and we both fell and tumbled but were on our feet again and turning to face our new aquaintance.
     The big stomping footsteps and the body that they were attached to hit the gap between the fences with a sound that was like thunder. One big hairy arm reached through the fence as it creaked and groaned, grabbing air and flailing as he screamed some things I had never heard before. He kept ending all his screams with something and something and something else YOU LITTLE FUCKING BASTARDS. After he said that, his speech was broken and he was thrashing at the gap in the fence, but it didn't let him through. All of a sudden, like a miracle, his hat blew through the gap and landed right in front of me. I reached down grabbed it while the madman renewed his screaming even louder. I quickly helped Dave up from sitting on the ground while our new friend waved wildly at us. We then ran like the wind in a big wide circle through the neighborhood, all the way home.

     Later, I was sitting on the back porch, and was thinking that I'd never ever seen anyone’s eyes bugging out of their head the way our new friends did when I picked up his hat and smiled at him just before I helped Dave get up. Daves eyes were bugging out too. They looked like brothers or something. I was laughing so hard all the way to my house that my side started hurting. While I was laughing, and Dave was making the little weasing noises and starting to laugh too, I turned the oriole cap over and over in my hand thinking that, here was an unexpected treat. It was brand new and didn't even have any sweat stains or dirt on it yet. I Knew that I'd never wear it, but it would make a nice little pillow for poppa rat to sleep on. I took my Yankee hat off and held them side-by-side, wondering if we would ever try the handbag trick again.

I didn't think so.

     Dave and I saw that car around the neighborhood a few times later that week, he was always driving around slow, like he wanted to play the game again.

We didn't think so.

     We made ourselves scarce, laughing and reminding each other of how our new friend had looked with his eyes bugging out of his head. They were the same color as the scarf and the oriole cap.

     Weeks later we saw his car parked a couple of blocks away. We decided it was only fair to remind him of the fun we'd had. We went to our fort out behind Daves and got the handbag and the orange scarf, in case he didn't recognize the handbag. We put a note, the orange scarf, and a couple of dollars in the handbag and threw it through the open window of his car as we bicycled by. We were laughing like hyenas. Dave kept asking me if I was going to give the Oriole hat back too. I thought about how happy poppa rat looked while he was sleeping in it. I told Dave,

I didn't think so.

©2001jchrist

---

crimson drums

we are distinguished
biped mutations of the dna
lords, ladies, knaves, maids
and sacred clowns of life
the whole world in our hands
and under our feet
and on the run
increasingly, with passions
for the absurd and trivial
becoming the most important choices
echoing in our heads
we gather what we sow
we teach what we know
we come and go

at best we reach for and grasp
that which is intangible
as we are just what we do
and what we don't do
while lesser yet
no less important creatures
depend on us with their last breath
or last ultrasonic scream
in all these circles
within circles within circles

all our tribes are pounding
in unison one symphony
of crimson drums

perhaps
too near
to hear

---

crumbling mountain

made me feel broken
a crumbling mountain
D-9 cats tearing
at my soul
or like a forgotten
heap of demolished concrete
rebar protruding in disarray
when you put
your hands of greed
around your own neck
and choked the spirit
right out of yourself

I felt more empty
than you that time
for a moment
while you sat staring
into that flashlight
of a beam
trying to chase away
the darkness
within

---

cowboy buddha revisited

wild mustang reality
roams ranges gallops
bucks snorts
casts eyes
and shakes her mane
through shimmering air
that mimics there
the slouching
silhouette shapeshift
of cowboy buddha

he smiles somewhere beneath
cloud white hat
bare feet beyond shoe leather
wiggles into sand as
it moves by dancing
with the tumbleweed
to shadows stretching
and two-stepping away

a mandala spins
from outstretched hand
carrot circles orangered
as toes dig in
remembering boots
years walked on heels
and soles
instead of land
he crooks a finger
twinkles third eye and
whistles silently
a whirlpool tune
"home home on
the bareback range"
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