Beck: Dammit!!
Me: What?
I had made my way upstairs into Beck’s kitchen which then leads into the dining room where she was sitting at the dining room table with her dinner.
Beck: You’re supposed to make a sound, any sound!
Me: What? The steps creak a bit, and that handrail just lost a screw that fell to the floor. You didn’t hear that?
Beck: (glance – glare)
Me: Ok, I’ll step harder … and find that screw (ahhhhh m’fer, I need a flashlight).
Beck: You’re supposed to sound like the troll that lives at the bottom of the stairs under the house (downstairs) like you’ve said. Can’t you grunt or something? I mean, you’re old and always breathy grunting anyway, or at least that’s what you tell folks. Don’t be getting’ all ninja-like suddenly.
Me: Sorry (though a little proud of my newfound Ninja).
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I’ve been living in my new found digs for more than a couple of months now, with my sister and my nephews, Jake and Matt, (24 & 18, old enough to discern for themselves that this uncle Steve thing may have been a mistake or not and I have found myself to be quite happy with such, whatever the determination). Circumstance called for a change from an old untenable situation to instead be the guy who lives at the bottom of the stairs “under the house”, in a basement, in what amounts to a pretty cool studio apartment replete with two cats, my beloved Bella and Cricket, waaaay too much shit for a single guy stored in the room next door (with a washer/dryer/clean underwear bonus) and space that that untenable situation didn’t allow.
And I can write in comfort.
Now, not that that old situation stunted creativity, it didn’t, I wrote some pretty good stuff then, but it was more of a just get it done now if you can, quickly, as you still have to wake up in the morning to the reminder of NOT comfort so get some furtive sleep.
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Buck, Beck’s guy, and a brother of mine from a long time gone if he and I had known each other years ago, in a different life for me it would have been, flying planes and high fiving ourselves in passing on the tarmac, had some friends over for the weekend. I had plans to not engage and just be that troll under the stairs, doing what I do, had a new poem to work on as a matter of fact, but, well, I am no good at that in the face of new people as my mother would be so disappointed in my lack of cordiality if so … so I engaged and told a few stories (yes Dad, you would have been story proud).
Hopefully they were able to sleep easy without any concern of that guy under the stairs who might somehow invade their dreams
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I just thought now to some new things.
Blade
Blade looked about the sea
“Now that is such a sight to see, an expanse not matched for any land lubbers who aren’t me”
The newbie, (that was me) exclaimed “what is it that you see … Blade?”
“I see Pirate dreams but you, young Harley, are not ready”
“Why?”
“Because my scabbard could have diced you just now ya see”
I stood on deck at a fine point just at my gut
“Don’t ask questions, just be, just be the sea” he said “or you will soon find yourself dead”
I took his name as he looked about then under the sea
Novice pirates may not have scabbards, but they can still have knives also pointed at the gut
Ya see
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I just shoehorned that one in there by the way. It has no connection to the story at hand. I just like it.
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But I have quieted myself even more than normal, no one needs to know that I am here, other than a couple of cats and an uncle, and hopefully friend, who is just that and Buck’s friends don’t really need to know of the guy under the stairs. Just in passing.
I know this sounds all very dramatic and really silly and I am sure there are those that wonder of a 60 year old dude who is living like he is still in college, a mattress and boxspring on the floor, which is not a change by the way, years, single and a not care of what may be but I am not going to constrain myself to bedframe convention, it is what it is. I like beds on the floor, plus it’s important to be proactive on possible monsters underneath. Beck has just nodded her head at it with a quizzical look and I will just go with it, as I always have, plus, I really am kinda quiet …
… though not quite quiet enough for some in my new part-time work locale.
Seems I have the ability to make a really strong first impression and drew the attention of HR in emails about my language and my just regular going about my day.
M’fr what is that shit all about?!
Now upsetting an apple cart of oranges is not really my concern nor my intent, I can’t control the overly sensitive nature of those that would probably find apples and even their own oranges to not be to their liking so …
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In the Moment
My head lolls like a blind cat
Yes I know
Cricket
On a swivel
On a bobble
On a swerve
On a Stevie Wonder
On a pillow if your head can loll such
.
Its way too early for thoughts like these
Though
I nod on that pillow
.
V (Victoria) noises above my head
At the top of the steps
Doing simple human things
The sink
The phone
The garbage with a clink
Routine
Maybe even the recyclables in a non recyclable bag
Being alone in her thoughts
Other than the phone
Which talks into the way
Of a V day and what it may bring
Or maybe has already brought
Though it is early
.
I feel comfort in the small noise
Of V
As I am an old man now
Have been for a time’s time it seems
And have found a new stead
Listening from under my head
My bed
At the bottom of the steps
To others attempts at a day
Start
Maybe toast
And butter
A little jelly even
.
I discover a new world in an ear
From under the stairs
That tells me things I didn’t know
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Beck: Seriously, make some freakin’ noise will ya? Ya old troll
Me: HeHe. I just did … I think.
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