Find Me

My son got outta taking a long shower after we went swimming today, his favorite things to do. I was taking my course online when I saw this from my desk chair. I thought he was just tired but he said something I couldn’t hear so I crawled over like a daddy tiger like I do and buried my head in his neck, like I love. He said, “Dad, I was just thinking about how everybody dies,” and then his face broke while he said, “and I just want to stay the same age and you to stay the same age and we can always be together!” And I had to hide the fact that I broke right then and there. I took a moment to feel all that and said, “Puppy, when you were a baby you used to fall asleep on my shoulder, and I wished you never would grow up. But now that you are bigger we go hiking and we go to Starbucks together and we do go on more kinds of bentures together because you’re big; and we don’t even know what kind of bentures we will have together in the future so it’s exciting, you know. And I don’t know what happens when we die but I like to think that since we love each other so much we are gonna find each other.” And he said, “I wanna be buried right next to you so we can find each other.” I love him so goddamn much.

The Film

I decided to change coffee shops this morning. ‘Cause I wanted to check out one on the North Side I hadn’t in a while, and I needed a breath of fresh air.

Sitting here now.

My character in my film is from here. I wanted to absorb what I could. It was everything I wanted it to be and more. The coffee is good.


I let my mind wander. My brain was in its perfect creative state which includes altering from several outside means including a lack of sleep. I couldn’t stay in bed today even though I went to bed this morning I was too excited about my film.

And then it happened. Cars were passing uneventfully, which is the best kind of event for me; under a dim sky and wet street, which are the best sentimentally for a writer- when I saw a man, my age, baggy jeans and long red hoodie that somehow fit him perfectly around his starved face. He was walking slow, as I imagine is the only way one can walk when wearing pants like that. He was missing teeth which I could see ‘cause he was smiling. I saw a woman, overweight kind of all around, and following her, not holding anyone’s hands-which he was too young to not be doing- was a kid. Kid was wearing a hoodie like dad’s but pajama pants, like they were pickin’ him up from a babysitter somewhere in the neighborhood. That neighborhood. He couldn’t have been more than 2 or 3, 3 malnourished I was thinkin.’ But that was just me thinkin.’ He coulda been younger; his walk was still a little shaky. He hadn’t seen a bathtub in a hot minute.

His father had a clear bag fulla toys- bright primary colors, like they had picked those up when they had picked him up. And my mind went to all the places they coulda been while he was there. All those places.

They were lookin’ at him, smiling, sayin’ stuff I couldn’t hear, to get his attention, which they didn’t have.

The boy stopped by my window to bend down and pick up a stick- not more than a twig; and he held it up fascinated by it, like it was his new toy-of-the-moment, and like he was already used to entertaining himself all by himself.

My eyes were wide open. The glare on the glass probably made it so he didn’t even see me, and in a moment they were gone, though the scene left me shuddering from the chills that ran racecars through my veins for a long time after.

Some smooth classy jazz was playing in the background, as if that wasn’t already enough to do it me. The waitress brought me a refill without me even asking.

That’s the thing about being a writer, and especially a screenwriter, and a filmmaker at that- you watch great movies every goddamn day.

Ceiling

I had my ex-stepkids over tonight because I love them and I miss them a lot, and we don’t get time together on the reg. School is out this week anyway. Sleeping quarters become creative in these times: my daughter on the pull-out couch, her brother in my son’s bed, my 6 year-old in mine. I was forced to retire early due to circumstances, while I normally write my film or watch one til I nearly fall asleep right where I am.

I laid in bed for some time, my son breathing heavily beside me, something I honestly missed from when he was younger, and I stared at the blank ceiling; until suddenly I recalled something similar to this from long ago.

I remembered when I was a boy, not much older than my son, when I couldn’t sleep. We didn’t have mobile phones or even television in every room. We had a small black & white in the family room my grandfather gave to us. There were 4 or 5 channels. We didn’t have VHS yet either. When I couldn’t sleep I’d stay up looking at the ceiling playing out the stories of Robin Hood or the heroes of old whose tales I knew somewhat from those who’d told me. And I’d insert myself in them, dreaming of the day when I’d grow from being just a boy to be a real hero like them.

And suddenly I felt a great shiver travel through me, as if I could feel the younger version of myself look at me through time, and all those decades were divided only by the ceiling, and the boy I was was looking at me from then. And all the stories of the heroes faded back into the corners of his room til all he saw was me. And I wondered how I measured up.

Rises

I passed a couple bar-hopping, unintentionally making them hop to one side. The Under Armor fit better now, having lost so much weight for my film. I ran the usual route: passed Clinton Square where I had saved that woman being attacked by a gang; up Adams Street, where I had rescued that family stalled in the middle of the intersection. I ran by Golisano and pointed to the children’s windows as I always had, in case one of those poor kids couldn’t sleep from the chemo and happened to glance outside to see me. A couple leaving Crouse let me pass first. I didn’t argue with them, seeing that that would scare them further. I was wearing the mask I wear in winter, because in many ways in Syracuse it still was; although the emblem on my chest was something that should only scare bad people. Maybe they just had guilty consciences. It seemed that they had forgotten me: a symbol of hope. A college student held out a twenty dollar bill to me as I ran by. “Did you drop this?” he asked, frantically. I motioned to him- “no.” The road sweeper stopped to watch me sprint the “Rocky stairs” behind Newhouse that led to the Dome; he circled back to see me looking out over the city. I had missed this. All those nights driving through the outskirts had kept me away - until now - I was back in Gotham.

Quarter

Stopped at Aldi’s near my house to pick up groceries on my way home from work. Had on my black leather jacket and food stains on my black work pants.

I saw a couple of suits walking around, not shopping, while I was there. I’m not dumb. I asked the cashier: she said one of them was the president of the company.

They all were retreating into a locked room as I was leaving; but I had the urge to talk to him, for a moment, about the sales company I have. An account like this would make me rich almost overnight.


But I didn’t go to the door. Instead I left, and then driving towards my apartment, I turned my car around and went back to the store.

I walked right up to him. He was tall and obviously the one by the way he carried himself. His haircut was off though.

I shook his hand and handed him the quarter I used for the shopping cart.

“Thank you,” I said. I told him how I had been through hard times and I was always able to take care of my son coming here. Told him I had just come from work and I pitched him my business on the spot.

He replied in typical dick fashion and gave me back the quarter with a quick smile.

I walked out to my car, flipping the coin, feeling the blood pulse through my arm like it never had. When I got home I taped it to my wall.

I feel like I got somethin’ better than all the money I woulda got if I had landed that long-shot deal: I knew I wasn’t afraid of anything.

Sam Cooke

Had an hour to kill, my 9:15 moved to 10, so I went to the mall to get coffee ‘cause it was close by. It’s not my normal thing.

The barista was 3 or 4 generations after when I had come here a lot. Met my son’s mother here. I always tell him that - upbeat - ‘cause I want it to be a good thing he remembers. Maybe that’s why I don’t do this anymore.

Thought I’d kill some time walking, had my headphones in playing Sam Cooke. I was dressed in my only suit and looked amazing. A gay shop keeper passed me like I passed hot girls in school.

Those are the only people here in the mornings: people who work here and mall walkers, and gym rats who I observed piling in the side entrance like they were late in all sorts of ill-fitting spandex.

Some of the mall walkers were already sitting in their VFW groups. They all had coffee from a different shop. They talked and laughed; they looked alive, they looked happy.

Others were struggling to do the required miles as I passed them, dressed in the latest elderly wear. Lots of couples, no one walking next to the other just in close proximity.

I love this mall.

I chose to walk the old mall. It’s the smell really, the combined caramel corn with perfume stench that brings back all that childhood wonder. I don’t remember anything in particular, I just remember how I felt.

The coffee’s hot.

Got offered an audition for another movie last night. I stepped a little quicker and stood up straighter. I was different now. Shot my student film here with my brothers Dre and Drew. I buy Dre a business license today. Shooting that film was one of the best days of my life. Top 5.

I played Sam Cooke’s “Change Is Gonna Come” on purpose. Last time I was here I played “Chain Gang.”

I was different now: I wasn’t walkin’ in circles anymore; I was going somewhere.

Drive

Drove this lady in her 40’s. It was late. Picked her up at one of the lesser-knowns on Tipp Hill. I could tell she was distraught as soon as she got in my car. There’s an air about people I can sense from a mile away.

I was playing Kanye that I didn’t like too loud and she asked me to turn it down. She was on the phone. I heard “they didn’t tell me why he was in timeout!” and “would you let them spend the night there?”

She set the wrong destination and was mad when I went where it said, but I let her be.

I pulled in and she asked me to wait. About two minutes later she was back with two little girls. One might have been 5, the other in her arms asleep maybe 3. I didn’t get a good look.

I helped her fix things on her phone after we hastily left the driveway. An older lady followed the car most of the way down.

I switched the music to Moby’s ambients which made the car just glide over the black and orange pavement. A very gentle snow was falling now.

The older daughter asked the mother, “Why did we have to leave Ra’s?” and without missing a beat she responded “we’re doing something tomorrow.”

The younger daughter woke up suddenly, gasping as if from a nightmare. She sighed right after, realizing she was in her mother’s arms, and fell back asleep.

“What are we doing tomorrow?” asked the older one.

“Going to church,” said the mother.

“You said we could skip it,” said the child.

“Not anymore,” she said.