Tuesday, June 26, 2012

2:39 am


Alone through death, alone by choice, cursed woman and tortured man. Tortured by the past, in each prison they lay at night. Eve is sleeping, but is awoken, the calling of a pigeon by her window. 2:39 the wind moans heat and she sweats with loneliness. As torture curses the man to dream til the waking hour. At 2:39. Innocence or Guilt?
Nineteen Ninety-Nine, I don’t remember the exact date, but it was late June. South Williamsburg Brooklyn; the afternoon sky boiled red behind grey clouds threatening rain. The sky, as colorless and dirty as a sewer rat was welcome only through the cool breeze. I gazed at its desolation and spat into the wind. My spit caught a current of air; it glided across south 9th street and into oncoming traffic. I watched nervously, anticipating the possibility of a disgruntled motorist. I got lucky; the spit eventually glided its way onto the opposite curb without hitting a target. As I continued my stroll little Hassid children were scurrying past at every turn, darting from behind lamp posts and dented mini-vans. This was not my neighborhood, but it was on my route. I enjoyed walking through the orthodox district. I liked to soak in the cultures of my neighbors on the other side of Broadway. From the sweet smelling bread factories, to the mysterious social pavilions, and Yiddish book bazaars. All was an assault on the senses. On this particular day I met Eve. She was walking faster than id ever seen a woman strut comfortably without giving the appearance of aerobics. I smiled, her black dress waving in the wind. I was not met with a response. Still the distance was enough for at least another attempt at communiqué. I waived, my heart raced as her face entered closer into vision, her flesh toned stalkings appeared as if they chafed at every movement. Her stone faced oblivion couldn’t possibly be a match for my charismatic whit.
            “Hello,” I stuttered, “Nice breeze this afternoon…No?” Eve began to cross into the street. Eve would not look me in the eye. In fact Eve did not look enthusiastic about being smiled at, waved at, or spoken to. “You dropped something!” I had to get her attention, “Miss… Miss… You dropped something!” Eve’s head swung around, almost like an owl, it twisted inhuman with large sharp green eyes with wicked stare; wise and terrifying.
            “What did I drop?” Eve was now staring through my soul, into the back wall of the chemical factory, through the machinery and possibly three blocks east.
            “Um…Well” I began scanning the ground between us for any sort of familiar objects. I saw a dime. “That dime there,” I answered.
 “Not likely.” Her neck began to turn, and I almost accepted defeat.
                        “What is your name?” I had to know. Eve’s eyes were hypnotic, her hair mesmerizing, her arms were hidden beneath that horrendous oversized cardigan sweater, a mystery, her hands, her slender fingers perfection. Her generic sports sneakers and flesh toned leggings were so horribly un-charming…and yet Eve was young, possibly no older than 25. I was 27 and I was doing something wrong. I was engaging a citizen of a private society. But why was it wrong? What invisible barrier protected me from her and her from me? Could I hurt her, was I wrong to want her?
            “Hello I am Eve, I am in a hurry, I think you are nice… but I have to be on my way.” Something in her response was revealing, her stare changed, the air changed. The sky was cut in twain and the red sun poured above the street reflecting off her jet black hair and lit her silhouette with shimmering radiance. She looked unhealthy, malnourished and her eyes cried for sleep. I felt like a fool. I was falling in love.
            She seemed fazed, affected, infected, you could almost say. She turned from me, walking away, but not as brisk of a walk, a slower methodical walk. She peered over her shoulder as if to invite me to join her. Her statement of hurry did not suggest rejection, and I took her glance as an invite for a stroll.
            “Hey wait up,” I jogged along side her, “You didn’t tell me your name,” I had to know, it was necessary to know.
            “It is Eve.” She stated, “What is yours?” she asked quizzically, eyes scanning as she walked, arms in movement, legs in flight. 
            “Adam,”
                        “Adam?” “Are you Jewish?”
            “Um...yes… I am,” that was a lie, at least a half lie, no a quarter lie. My mother was half Jewish; her father was a polish Jew who had escaped the war.
            “What’s your last name?”  She quizzed me further, with a look of doubt that I could come up with a suitable last name to impress her.
            “Uh…? Mordecai!” I responded without fear of discovery, I had an alibi, but I knew that I had to change it slightly so that it seemed my mother was a full Jew, that way I would be certain to gain the trust of my Eve for further discourse. “You see, my mother’s family escaped from Poland just before the war, they settled Mount Vernon and we have been there ever since.” She had no reason to doubt me, my story was flawless. Albeit a bit muddled, I was certain she would be moved by it, and would find me interesting to say the least.
            “Mordecai, that is a strong name,” each breath she took was wonder, each roll of the tongue accentuated in her mouth made me shudder with forbidden glee, “ I am Liebowitz, Eve Liebowitz, you see my family comes from Ukraine, but we have been here since before the war. The Zaporozhian Cossacks pushed our families west to Moldavia, The Moldavian revolutionaries pushed our families south to Crimea, and from there we lost hope, as the Crimean’s showed us the way to the Black Sea, where we found trust in the bowels of a peaceful Turkish merchants galley sailing to Greece. Then we came to Brooklyn.”
            “Wow Eve, you sure have a knack for Genealogy, I am impressed to say the least.”
            “Family history is an important part of my culture, and I must preserve the stories for my children to learn, so that they might in turn tell their children, and so forth. But alas Adam, I am alone in this world, my parents were killed some time ago in the 70s and I am the sole survivor of that lineage. My brother Schlomo, My brother Asher, and my sister Luka, all killed by a drunk motorist.”
            My body ached with delight, and sadness all at once, My Eve had no family, it was terrible for her, sad, misfortunate, but to me that spelled LUCK. I could pursue Eve without her family forbidding our romance, without fear of her great father’s wrath, her untrusting mothers scorn, the anger of jealous brothers, and the confusion of a betrayed sister. I was lucky, Eve was unlucky, or maybe she was lucky, maybe cursed? Who knew? Our lives were about to change. With her family out of the way, my mind was more at ease.
            “Eve?”
                        “Yes, Adam?”
                                                “Where do you live?”
            “999 Wallabout.”
                                                            “Do you live alone?”
            “I live with my aunty Elzabet.”
                                                            “May I walk you there?”
“No, but to the corner.”
                                                “Can I have your phone number?”
“No, but I can have yours”
                                                “Will you call me?”
“Yes, I will call you”
                                    “Could we see eachother again?”
“I will have to consider it.”
                                                “Is our friendship forbidden?”
“I will have to consider it.”
                                                “Thank you for talking to me Eve, you are very Beautiful.”
“You are Handsome, but now we must part ways.”
            “Goodbye Eve…”
“Goodbye…Adam”
            I reached in to hug her but she backed away with a smirk.
“There is much you will learn Adam, I will teach you this.”
            “My phone number?”
“Lets have it,” she pulled out a scrap of paper from her massive pocketbook. She jotted the number carefully. She turned from me, walking away, but not as brisk of a walk, a slower methodical walk. She peered over her shoulder glancing quickly, as if to suggest fulfillment, and I took her glance as a showing of acceptance.
            My phone rang promptly at noon the following day. I ignored it, choosing to sleep in. The answering machine picked up. “Hello this is Adam Forester, please leave a message after the beep.”
            “Hello Adam, this is Eve, we met yesterday over by the bridge, I am available this evening if you would like to meet by the bridge. I go for a walk every Wednesday at 730 in the evening for my exercise. I will be at the bicycle entrance.”
            I was immediately concerned that Eve would notice that my name wasn’t Mordecai at all and in fact Forester, which was in fact not Jewish at all. What could I do? What would I say? I was in trouble and I knew it. I was however eager and thrilled to meet Eve for our exercise date across the Williamsburg bridge.
            I stood at the foot of the bicycle path entranceway waiting for Eve. The blood in my neck pulsed vigorously as I scanned the cityscape in search of my Eve. I made sure I got there ten minutes early, so I could smoke a cigarette, or two without her noticing. I was convinced such things were forbidden. I waited smiling, It was now 730 and sure enough she was on time. I could see her shape from at least 500 feet away, scurrying toward the bridge. I dropped my cigarette and stomped it out with my foot. Her black and white form resembled a sea gull. As she waltzed toward the bridge she appeared to almost be flying, arms at her side moving in unison with her hips and legs. I chuckled to myself as I noticed her hair was twice as long and in a different shade and style altogether. This evening she wore a white long sleeved blouse with a black dull skirt reaching all the way past her ankles. Large faux pearls adorned her gentle neck and large gold hoop earings dangled shabbily from her disproportionately small ear lobes. With those same generic sports shoes clashing miserably with her charm less flesh toned stalkings. However horrid her style appeared, I convinced myself how adorable she was. I longed to show her a world of self-style, of beauty. I wanted to take her to Cape Cod, where my family vacationed. I wanted to show her films, books, drugs, I wanted her to need me, my mind raced wildly with thoughts of revelation.
            “You look beautiful Eve, I like what you did with you hair.”
                        “Thank you Adam Forester, why have you lied to me? You are not Mordecai like you have said?” she jumped right in. I was not expecting it, but I had a rebuttal. 
            “Oh yes well Forester is my Legal name, but it was changed during immigration as not to be sought after and we could lay hidden safe in our home at Mount Vernon. Out of fear of the SS” The fib was worth a try. I wasn’t really all that well versed on the history of fleeing refugee’s during the war. So I tried my best, and she seemed to buy it. I scanned my memory for anything relating to Jewish culture, as I really had little knowledge. “What do you do for work?”
            “I am a Nanny, I watch the children of my neighbors”
                        “A noble profession Eve, I am impressed.” “As a child I had a Nanny, she was a wonderful woman, and I believe all children should be raised by Nannies and Grannies and Aunties too” Eve giggled. I decided to go with some lightweight humor to make her feel at ease. We made small talk, and I listened to her tell stories of her Aunties love for Kabala and Haggi Gah! It was now getting late, and the sun began to wane, and the sky became that familiar deep red color, reflecting the fading light so intrinsically upon her darkened Whig. We reached the Manhattan side of the Williamsburg bridge as the sun was just beginning to hide behind the Manhattan Skyline.
“Here we must part ways, as it is forbidden to be seen with a man after sundown,” I was not surprised, in fact it was something that I did know about orthodox culture, I was just hoping she was going to break her cultural taboos for me. I decided to not push my luck, and accepted the evening’s gift of Eve’s company and reception with a simple gladness.
“Eve, will I see you again?” “Will you call me?”
            “I will consider it, but for now goodnight.” I reached in to hug her but she backed away with a smirk.
“There is much you will learn Adam, I will teach you this.” I decided to be bold.
            “Someday you will understand that there is much more that you shall learn from me Eve, and I will teach YOU this.” I said this in a sarcastic tone, half mocking Eve, but she had already turned around and was scurrying briskly up the walking ramp back toward Brooklyn by the time I had finished. I wasn’t even sure if she heard me. Once again, at a safe distance, she peered over her shoulder glancing quickly, as if to suggest fulfillment, and I took her glance as a showing of acceptance.
            I woke up at 2:39 am, a strange hour, yet familiar, a consistent pull from sleep, sameness felt in unrest, a weekly haunt, a nightly dread. Why? Cold sweat, fear, what am I doing with my life? Why am I seeking love in hopelessness, why is my conscience pushing me, at 2:39 fear grips, and sleep loosens. 3:18 restless legs, dehydration, I walk to the refrigerator, my cold cave void of liquid save half a sip of Gatorade, why did I leave it? Some thirsty foresight? A lazy afterthought? Some lingering childish languor? I let the sink run, till the ever dreary, dull grey tap runs cool for a glass. Bottles adorn the floor beneath the makeshift bachelors bar, and in those bottles could be cold refrigerated water, I let them rest, not bothered to fill them, I abandon forsight, I pray for slumber with my lukewarm cure. I return to my bed in defeat. Restless legs rule the night, its 4:39 am, my head aches and 10 am stalks my breath.
            She approached the Bodega, although she looked a bit different, she seemed taller, and her hair was not showing, save Bangs wrapped in a black cap with enormous tacky white pearls jutting from her exposed earlobes. Her hair was an off red and her skin was a shade whiter than id last seen, as impossible as it seems. In fact she looked like a ghost, maybe she was. I wondered what judgments brewed in her mind, I wondered and wondered, till my wondering became a Burdon, and so I pondered, and as I pondered I grew weary with mental meanderings and shut off my mind and opened my mouth.
            “Eve, so wonderful you called, I was hoping to hear from you, it’s been a week, how is your aunty Elzabet?”
            “Aunty, she… Died on Wednesday, you see… She was preparing for her favorite radio program, it was… I can’t speak of such things…”
            It broke my heart to see Eve, so ghostly, so beautiful, so trapped, so unknowing so enraptured with her life. Her world, where she resided, smaller than Central Park, her lineage, cut from her. Was she cursed? She would be married off to some undeserved heathen, some Zealot.  “Eve, have you ever left the city?” my mind raced.
            “I have never considered it.”
                                                            “Why not consider it now?”
            “I have distant cousins in the Catskills, in fact, that is where I must go.”
                        “Let me take you?”
            “I will consider it”
                                                “Is it forbidden?”
            “It must be presented properly.”
                                                            “Just say you are taking a bus, and I will drive you.”
            “I will consider it”
                        “Are the Catskills’ Liebowitz Hassid like you?”
                                                                                                “I have not met them, I do not even know.” she hid her face in painful shame…
            Eve and I had taken the precaution of sticking to the less densely Hassidic populated areas of South Williamsburg. I had gained her trust enough to walk close to her, without giving the impression that we were strangers and I felt closer to her now than ever, and I felt guilt. I tried endlessly to convince myself that my desire for Eve was not reckless, I felt ashamed for finding pleasure in her desperation, or did I just want to protect her? I didn’t trust my own instincts, did I have instincts? I wanted to take Eve, I wanted to leave the city, I wanted to escape. Did she? I awoke at 2:39.
            Alone through death, alone by choice, innocent cursed woman and guilty tortured man. Tortured by the past, in each prison they lay at night. Eve is sleeping, but is awoken, the calling of a pigeon by her window. 2:39 the wind moans heat and she sweats with loneliness. As torture curses the man to dream til the waking hour. At 2:39.                                                                              
           

             
-          

Monday, January 10, 2011

Glinda the Good Witch ...a tribute


Glinda the Good Witch
You pulled a real switch
floating around in your bubble
you werent the mean one
not like green one
you never asked for trouble
when there was danger
you were no stranger
Glinda you helped us a lot
thats why I write you
and care to invite you
to make sure that Glinda will not be forgot!