Greenmanfruit- Mind at Work Mind at Play

Twenty minute writing exercise: 
A Day on a Page

The song is an onslaught of sound directed at a point so far from here that I have never judged the distance right.  My mouth is infected with the lyric and my voice opens up like a flower to deliver the message. Deep in my chest the fire burns and threatens to engulf me but my breathing cools it and the heat keeps the cords supple and sound rises up and out and fulfills the breathtaking moment. 

And the taxis drive by and the buses and next door Blue’s puppet is speaking and from somewhere around the corner the sweet aroma of a well rolled joint can be smelled.  

I open my eyes and smile at a wonderful face a golden blonde and I know and its true I have seen her in movies.  But the baby in the stroller and her relaxed smile tell me that she is taking time off.  

Down the street the buses empty out and the Japanese crew of the day will by here soon snapping pictures and smiling and crying out delightedly, having never been to a circus quite like Brattle Square.  

In the twilight I can hear distant drums.  

I smile to see Frank setting up his tightrope.  

Fish the Magician is doing close magic tricks in the doorway of the art gallery.  

Teenage lovers are everywhere, and a few sit down on the brickwork in front of me.  

The actress with the stroller is still smiling and tapping her feet in unison with my thumb picking out a bass line.  

There is a call, and the sound of wheels. 

Directly behind the heads of the lovers a boy on a skateboard hurtles by, barely missing, barely missing them.  

They turn around, the girls in awe, the boys in defensive postures.  Before anyone knows what’s happened the skateboarder has disappeared down the street.  

Wordsworth is closing its doors and the outer lights are coming up.  The sky is deep navy, with a thin, fierce layer of startling orange at the horizon.  

I can smell coffee from Warburtons, Pizza from Bertuccis, perfume as the actress steps forward 

to pick up a CD from my guitar case.  

She looks for a few moments, then puts it back down.  

Now she sits on the brickwork among the teens, and she pushes the stroller back and forth with the baby laughing in it.  Now the neon from the hardware store is on too, and my guitar is tightening up, taking on that more intense and clear stridence it gets when the sun and the temperature fall.  Laughter from over there, where Blue is.  

At the periphery of my hearing Frank bellows “Valerio” and I sing that song, introducing him as it were and simultaneously dismissing the group that was seated.  Now the actress comes over again as I’m putting down my guitar and turning equipment off.  She picks up not one, but two CD’s and asks me to sign them for her.  When I do I ask if she’ll autograph a page in my journal.  And she does and for a moment I share my memory of “Great Moments in Babysitting” and she laughs, surprised that I’ve seen it.  

Then she disappears into the night and I sit on my little plastic stool while Frank builds his crowd, and the last of the teens drifts over to put a few bucks in my basket.  “Was that...” and he says the actresses name, and I say “No, but it really looked like her” to put him off the scent. 

But he’s a smart one and asks “so why did you ask for her autograph?”  I have to laugh a bit at that.  Then I just shake my head and say “they prefer to stay anonymous here.”  

Much later I argue with the teen about why I have to shut down.  “Its only midnight” he says, and I reply “but I’m only legal until 11, and I have to catch a train.” And in the dark, I push my hand truck full of speakers and batteries and footpedals and microphones and the bundle of dollars the tin full of quarters, the single CD I have left, the manuscript I worked on earlier in the day, and satisfied, exhausted, I leave the pee puddled elevator and dash down the platform to catch my train back to Davis and Mikes restaurant, then home.