from a mountain bench

the 114

Written by

buddycushman

in

Middle road, tar path, someone hollers, “Yo, Cool Breeze.” Nobody but Japanese Maples and Hydrangeas. People on porches, Saturday coffees, Boston Common traffic. The Red Sox are winning. There’s Sister Ray, some of its endless, unexpected hiccups, former lovers scattered, autumn leaves swirling sidewalks, each pair of running shoes – thin, thin, thin. 

Junior + Senior years of college, ‘69 through ‘74, a collection of cats and rolled reefer, frisbee’d Star of the Sea, frisbee on the 114, two Billy’s and a John, a thing ghost-like quartet completer. Is it the pot, floating stretching, olympic-worthy mid-air catches? Look, look now. All the Bills gone. Jack’s in the shack.

So much alcohol, many meetings, cats, kitties, ten hundred stories. What’s help really, really like? Without pronouns. Without explanations. So, yeah, someone yells out, “Cool Breeze?” Wasn’t there always that one saved chair?

Speaking of no explanations – Any artist ever explained? Any poet? 

Comments

3 responses to “the 114”

  1. buskersdelight Avatar
    buskersdelight

    Thanks for the memory, but I am chuckling over your use of the “the” in front of a route number.  You’ve been on the Pacific so long that you’ve forgotten we don’t do that back here on the Atlantic.  My daughter theorizes that in the early days, Southern Cal’s roads and trails all had Spanish names beginning with “El,” and so when the automobile and pavement arrived, the “El” went with the newly assigned numero.  Sounds logical.  Call it “Caught in Translation.”  All I can tell you is that, in the front seat of a shuttle bus with her father-in-law at LAX, I once went into a tirade about it, belting out “the” as often as possible as if it were a sledge-hammer.  Everyone was in stitches, including the guy behind the wheel who begged me to stop so he could drive.

    Let’s see: 114, Salem to Lawrence where we picked up either 110 or (more likely) 113 (or did we hasten the trip on I-495?) to 119 in Groton and then on to Monadnock, a native word which means, “that which stands alone.”

    And here the shack, Charlie, Ann, and Jeano occasionally drop in while Loreen will stop her SUV and call up a “Hello” if she sees me sitting out front.

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  2. buskersdelight Avatar
    buskersdelight

    Thanks for the memory, but I am chuckling over your use of the “the” in front of a route number. You’ve been on the Pacific so long that you’ve forgotten we don’t do that back here on the Atlantic. My daughter theorizes that in the early days, Southern Cal’s roads and trails all had Spanish names beginning with “El,” and so when the automobile and pavement arrived, the “El” went with the newly assigned numero. Sounds logical. Call it “Caught in Translation.” All I can tell you is that, in the front seat of a shuttle bus with her father-in-law at LAX, I once went into a tirade about it, belting out “the” as often as possible as if it were a sledge-hammer. Everyone was in stitches, including the guy behind the wheel who begged me to stop so he could drive.

    Let’s see: 114, Salem to Lawrence where we picked up either 110 or (more likely) 113 (or did we hasten the trip on I-495?) to 119 in Groton and then on to Monadnock, a native word which means, “that which stands alone.”

    And here the shack, Charlie, Ann, and Jeano occasionally drop in while Loreen will stop her SUV and call up a “Hello” if she sees me sitting out front.

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    1. buddycushman Avatar
      buddycushman

      Love it. Thanks for such a spacious comment, the memories. Monadnock to this day is an active part of my conscious, and of my Zen practice. Something like, “Bring Mt. Monadnock on the Rhody bench.” I guess you have to be there (here). Love the fact of your visitors. Makes me happy.

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