- Home > Archive: July, 2018
Pete just finished a set
playing bongos in the Felipe Suarez Big Band.
Then his phone blew up.
“Yeah?” he answered.
“You broke his fucking nose?” a slightly shrill voice
yelled from the other end.
“He swung at me first,” said Pete.
“You broke his fucking nose! You’re a boxer,
you could’ve blocked or ducked him.”
“He swung at my nose. I just corrected his form.”
“Do you know who he is?”
“He’s the district attorney’s son.”
“So?” said Pete.
“He will ID you.”
“Yeah? And? He swung at me first,
it was self defense.”
“Five minutes.” the stage manager said, poking his head into the green room.
“You need to get outta town. “
He hung up the phone without responding
thinking of Havana in April.
Saint Michael, the prince of angels,
fought the dragon and defeated it.
He and his army went to battle
with Satan, his dragon and his army of angels.
The devil prevailed not.
Saint Michael, protector and warrior,
stood for the children of his people.
He fought for them and won again.
Like all angels, he is a messenger of God.
His nature is spirit. In action,
he is servant and messenger.
Moving like an electron between spaces,
making quantum leaps.
And although he questioned why God
wanted to create humanity, he was spared.
His army of angels perished in flames
for arguing that God should not have created man.
Why then, was Michael spared?
Perhaps because his loyalty was never in question.
“She was beautiful,” Carmine said. “Since we were kids, she always liked me. I knew how to make her laugh.”
“Her boyfriend was a wiseguy. He and his crew, they were young,
we were all young, maybe twenty five or twenty six.”
“Whenever he went off to jail, she’d come over and knock on my door.
She’d say ‘Let’s party!’. She liked doing heroine.”
“He was crazy jealous. Whenever he got out, I’d disappear,
make myself scarce.”
“One time he gets out and he sees my best friend, Izzie, talking to her.
Next thing you know, he and his crew jump out of a car and they beat him
within an inch of his life. He spent two months in the hospital. He was never the same.”
“He got sent back to jail for that. And Lizette comes knocking on my door.
I wasn’t going to answer this time, but I couldn’t say no to her.”
“So, one day, I’m riding the Staten Island ferry to work
and there he is, with his goons. They all walk up to me and surround me.
I looked him straight in the eye and said, “Hey, Joey.”
“I don’t know why, I wasn’t afraid. He shakes my hand and they all
just walk away. Fucking miracle. That was God working in my life.
He knew I was making time with her while he was on the inside.”
It was a summer theater production
of Edward Bond’s The Sea.
Part of the repertory
of a rundown playhouse
in a small Connecticut town called Ivoryton.
McFay was playing Hatch, the draper.
Drinking in the bar after the dress rehearsal.
“Witches! Hussies!” he bellowed across the bar.
“Keep it down. I’ll put you out on your ear.”
said McMahon, the bartender.
“I’ll have you know, I was once someone
people bought tickets to see.” said McFay.
“Is that so? I was once someone
who got a lot of tickets
and had lots of people to see.” answered McMahon.
“How about another?”
“You’ve had enough, my friend.”
“All’s well that ends well.” said McFay, suddenly deflated.
“What do I owe you?”
“It’s on me.” said McMahon.
“You’re a gentleman and a scholar.”
“I’m neither.” said McMahon.