Wednesday, February 15, 2006

Life Off Clarksville High at the Entrance of Bourdeaux

I talked to Mom briefly. I put on one of my blue jackets. I started the car, and backed out of the driveway. I did not like the commercials on the radio channels. I then put in Sean Paul. I drove out. I made a left, then a right and kept straight. If you keep straight pass the intersection, then you exit Royal Hills and enter Creekwood. So I entered Creekwood. Then I made a left, followed by a right, kept straight for a very short while, before making a left, kept straight, then made a right at the light. Straight shot to Walgreens and the heart of Bordeaux, the earth on my side of the bridge.

Got there. For some odd reason I changed to 92.1 FM. I listened to Luther Vandross sing "A House is Not a Home." Sat in the car for a little while. Then I walked to the entrance of Walgreens. The vibrations from a maroon souped up Classic Buick (year unknown to me), polished to the nines, and housing negroes I could not see due to the glare of the florescent light inside and outside the drugstore distorted my sense of balance. It was not a clear thump, but a bling-bling trumpet of a bass line that spewed bass in every direction imaginable. I starred, then smiled my tough guy smile and my eyebrows bunched together like I was eating something that tasted mighty good. I did not want to reveal that I really wanted to go home, get a wrench and a screw driver to tighten up some wires and try to save their damaged woofer.

I then walked into Walgreens. There was someone talking to my left. I wanted to catch the phrases and pronunciations coming out of his mouth, but I could not get my head around it. Sometimes I think people take me for a foreigner. My voice must sound very different to everyone cause everyone's voice sound very different to me.

I walked 7 paces forward and turned to my left. There was this very elegant woman in all black. I think she must have come from church. Her hair was short, winged cut and combed straight back, no flips, just clear off her profile. She was so brown and slim I wondered if I had read about her somewhere, like the teacher in I Know Why the Cage Book Sings, or the African woman shopping for Parisian eggs in the first quarter of Tar Baby. That is what she looked like. The model of virtue and admiration from a congregation or jealousy from chubby mountain women that man the phones at the doctor's office. She was so concentrated on the thing she was looking for, that when she dropped something, she bent down and picked it up, and then continued as if she was having a conversation with a person. It was as if she had to tell hersef that she had her own total attention. I quickly moved to the next aisle, I felt myself starring, preparing to stalk, preparing to go down the aisle to talk to her. I noticed her pleated skirt, and her high heels, and the lace bellow the line of her jacket. I noticed her lips were perfect, with no lipstick, could not tell about other make-up, I was too far, and the glare was too great.

Three paces further, I reached the aisle with the magazines. I picked up Flex. Thumbed through it, and then put it down. I have loss so much money on such purchases.

For paces to the final aisle. Turned right. I took 11 paces to the back pharmacy counter. Four workers tonight. No line. The normal guy told me to wait a second. The second pharmacist is the type of woman that is just starting to age, the tall woman with gray in the front of her hair line that looks so familiar, like I know her people or went to school with her sister. She moved with heavy feet to the other computer monitor. She parted her lips and said, wait one second. She continued to stroll with plastic bottles containing a bitches brew of high blood pressure medicine and shit for your eyes so you can see -- white bottles of that white magic, clinical juju, with coloureds in white coats working like harvest ants trying to make that mortgage. Then a tall beautiful young man with a weird fade asked what I needed.

"I need refills" I replied.

"OK " he replied. "What is your date of birth."

"February 12th" I said. I am so used to this I know they don't need the year.


"Littlemilk." I responded.

"What do you need?"

And I went down the list: three different pills; insulin; plus, test strips. I asked if it could be ready by noon the next day. He said yes. And I left. He smiled. I smiled and I walked 11 paces back to the end of the aisle passing all the Arizona Ice Teas and Red Bulls on that end. I made a right turn and walked about 12 or 13 more steps to the door.

On the way, I saw them taking down the Valentine's candy and displays. It is over, this holiday. I did not even notice. I might buy some half price chocolate later.

I walked out. And passed maroon Jaguar. It was polished and its entire looked so clean I thought an airplane cleaning crew might have shampooed the entire interior. There was a beautiful man inside. He was so beautiful that his face shown through the florescent lights and spotlights outside. He was talking on the phone. He looked like one of them dudes from Soulfood (the movie). It dawned on me at that moment that that beautiful woman was inside checking out and ready to get back into the beautiful car with the be beautiful man.

It was about 17 paces from the curb of the street and preacher man's profile to my silver car. It looks like a brand new ghost.

I got into my car, started it, put in my CD, and drove across the bridge.

I had to return my DVDs in West End.


Anonymous said...

It puts a little pang in your heart, how beautiful they are, and how closely and exclusively the associate with each other, doesn't it? (Heaves a sigh). That woman in Tar Baby, though, (dressed in yellow; wow, how do I remember that???) was very tall and very voluputous--far too feminine and round to have been your slim, prim stranger. (It's funny, I remember that unnamed character with exquisite vividness, as if I personally witnessed her stop at the grocery, and she appears in maybe one paragraph, practically a throwaway).

Kai in NYC

Littlemilk said...


It was that feeling of watching, starring, slightly stalking in the drugstore that inspired the comparison. Like I had stumbled up on something I only remember from literature . . . or from 7th grade, underneath some parent teacher conference. But the literature and their pictures were clearer.