<p>November 2003</p><p>The KaleidOscope</p><p>A Literary and Art Publication of New Directions</p><p>Art knows no boundaries. Self-expression, from all artists, is what we seek. Names of artists, in a perfect world, should not even be necessary for the heart to be touched or the mind opened to new ways of seeing. </p><p>We invite artists to submit your poetry and art to us via email. [email protected].</p><p>INSIDE:</p><p>Conversation with the artist: Carl Yeager - 2 “Cliff Walk” - Carolyn Constable - 5 “There Is” – “Inspiration” - Cynthia Marcolina – 6 “Where Have I Gone?” - Anonymous – 7 “The Happiest Moment” - Ted Peck – 8 “The Diner” - Phyllis Lewy – 8 “Will to Fly” - Lawrence E. DePietropaolo – 9 “Three poems” - Stephen Bonelli – 10 “Psychotherapy” - Carolyn Constable - 11 “Here and Gone” - Ruth Deming – 12 Man of Destiny</p><p>CONVERSATION WITH THE ARTIST:</p><p>CARL YEAGER, PHOTOGRAPHER</p><p>He had a good Catholic upbringing in the Olney he earned his living as a maintenance mechanic. He section of Philadelphia. The nuns were strict. It wasn’t and Kathy bought a house in Lansdale on a cul-de-sac. much fun for a kid with a thirst for adventure and Once a week they go over to the local pub for a roast exploration, but, maybe, he thinks, it helped his self- beef dinner and a glass of beer. Life is better than it’s discipline. ever been. </p><p>His creativity is out of the bag. The volume is set on high.</p><p>But it wasn’t always so. He was born with a bad gene. A very bad gene. His mother and his aunts had it also. The gene for a rare neuromuscular disorder. The same disease crept slowly into his body until it was impossible to ignore. </p><p>Destiny.</p><p>Pain and weakness. And depression. Difficulty breathing. A tracheotomy. For years he railed against There was a station wagon he used to see from his the mean-spiritedness and injustice of a universe that upstairs window. It would regularly drop off a bunch of would allow this to happen to him. His spirits were kids. He remembers seeing a girl in the backseat. Her shot down. For years. And so was the artist inside him. name was Kathy. Twenty years later they would marry His creativity was shot. Giving into despair and rage, and have two sons. The boys didn’t attend Catholic he destroyed large amounts of his work, like a crazed school. artist.</p><p>He learned how to play the piano. “I soaked it up like a An unexpected worsening of his condition brought him sponge,” he says. He formed a rock band. They called to Abington Hospital’s intensive care unit. For 17 days themselves Virgin Spring. They got better and better he hovered on the brink of death. “We thought we were until they were playing at the Electric Factory, and going to lose him,” says his wife Kathy. finally opened for Chicago when they went on tour. They dreamed of being like Chicago one day. They The vigil on Carl’s life lasted for two days while Carl were good, yes, but he was destined for other things. and his disease wrestled for victory. Carl won. It was the turning point in his life. A reason to live. For Carl, A friend’s father died. The father was a photographer that meant picking up his camera and beginning to with a darkroom. Carl Yeager bought the darkroom and work again. With a vengeance. the equipment in it. He became a photographer, his eye attuned for the odd, the different, which, with his Below is his own life snapshot, taken from his web site camera, first, and later, using computer software, could – www.shuttercity – type in his name – and if you’re be transformed into something approximating whatever into cameras, you can glean the technicalities. meaning and consequence could be extracted from life. The last 20 years of my life I have been battling a Carl Yeager is now 54 years old. You might say he is neuromuscular disease. I live with a tracheotomy tube, like an old hippie, or out of the ‘60s, an Easy Rider a gift of life from my fine doctors at Abington hospital who drives a car of the suburbs. Until a few years ago in Pa. I have several limitations taking photos. Because my hands shake, I can only use a tripod. My </p><p>2 long field trip days are over now, and when I feel good reading the same thing over and over again in order to it is two hours max if I'm lucky. Till this day, 95% of understand it, to connect up the sentences. my time in the field I spend by myself. My love for this art is on a one to one basis, meaning my work is a 100 Wherever I go I get lost. I’ll be driving down the percent reflection of who I am. Thus it is a visual diary road, seeing the same thing over and over again, and of people, places and things in good times and bad I after about 5 or 10 miles, I’ll say, Where the hell am I! have cherished and learned to accept all through the I do this over and over again. A friend of mine lived years. It is unacceptable for me now to let time go by over in Collingswood, NJ, and I went back and forth 10 and not produce something from within. I could not do times and I still got lost. I’ve been to a point where – it any other way. I use two Analog Canon A1`s I’d be within a mile of my house – and I still get lost. cameras. I have always used Cannon lenses: 24mm f2, And then it hits me like a light – and all of a sudden I 35mm f2, 35-105mm f3.5, 80-200mm f4. Old stock but know where I am. It’s a mind blower. they do the job with outstanding results. I use a Canon Fs4000us film scanner to input my negatives into a I was diagnosed around ’85 with hereditary spinal Dell Pc using a 21in Sony multiscan E540 monitor. My muscular atrophy with vocal cord paralysis. It’s passed output is to a 1280 Epson printer. I have a fine wife on by the female gene. My mom had it, her mom had and two boys and live in Pa. Epilogue, life. After I was it, my two great aunts had it, but I’m the first male to diagnosed I became dormant for years thinking I was get it. I can’t pass it along to my sons. less of a man. It was not until September of 1999 my life changed for ever. I suddenly woke up in the ICU on After I was diagnosed, the neurologist, Jim Burke, he’s life support and for the next 17 days it took to realize at Abington Hospital now, did research on the disease. what my life was all about. The love from my family, He couldn’t find anything about it in his files. And then doctors and nurses let me live again. It was soon after he found out that there was a family over in the UK I recovered, my creative force came back to stay. that had something very similar. But he couldn’t find any other cases in the medical files back then. Here are excerpts from our KaleidOscope interview: It started off with hand tremors. Then after about ten I like to work a lot of times at night. I just have a years I started getting out of breath. little desk lamp, my monitor lights the room and I open After a while I was feeling a lot of bodily muscular my blinds – I live in a circle of houses – and I can just pain, not normal. I was feeling tired and depressed. So see some lights in people’s houses – it gives me a cozy I went to my doctor and he said, It’s depression. He feeling, a cozy eerie kind of feeling – your hooked me up with a psychiatrist who started treating surroundings help your imagination – and this is a me for depression, which, no doubt, I did have. So at catalyst to get me in the right mood – because mood this point I was still not diagnosed. will guide your work, it will guide you from your mind to your hands. After a while, I really got upset and my wife Kathy who is an RN, said to me, This is more than depression. You can’t force creativity. It has to come to you There is something else going on with your body. So I naturally. If you try to force yourself, you’re just gonna went back to the family doctor and said to him, Look, do a lousy job or get pissed off. It has to be a natural my body’s telling me to tell you something is wrong process and should not be forced. and to work with it. He said to me, Let’s first find out why your voice is raspy. So he hooked me up with an My brain runs on high rpm. You can’t process ear-nose-throat doctor. I went to him, they scoped me – everything because you’re thinking more than you can and I remember the look on this doctor’s face – and he take in. In other words, your brain can only absorb so went and got his partner and he looked in while the much. And sometimes the ideas come in so fast they scope was in me and they were amazed. cannot be processed. The mind is like a computer. What happens with the computer is it either slows And they told me that my vocal cords were paralyzed. down or it crashes. And also I think the first thing they noticed was my But a crash is not necessarily bad. It’s like, Oh, man, I tongue would shake. And that was the first thing they gotta slow down. You’re mentally exhausted. And you thought was very unusual. They were flipping out. can label the word “crash” but it can be taken in They had never seen anything like that. various ways. I told the doctors who were scoping me that my mother I’m a slow reader. I was recently tested and I have a and other family members had a tracheotomy and comprehension rate of 10 percent. I have to keep paralyzed vocal cords. They said, Boy this is really </p><p>3 unusual! And right after that, they did the background research to find a name for this disease. I like photographing Doylestown. I go up there a lot. I like the cemeteries. There’s a lot of history there. I love It’s a slow disease. In other words, I’m not going to the old Victorian houses. I used to take the wrong road die tomorrow. It’s a very slow degeneration of the to Doylestown. I’d get confused. So I practice now. nerves and muscles. My mom had it and she died of a Drive it a few times so I won’t get lost when I go there. stroke in her mid-70s. All the ladies died in their mid- 70s. But none of the girls’ hands shook. I’m the only I’m taking a vacation from working now. I’m getting one whose hands shake. But I’m the first guy to get it. my name out there more. Getting on more and more webs. I like watching TV. It’s a break from my work. After I was diagnosed I really felt a big relief because my wife was right. It was more than just depression. I look at an object and say, Well, what can I do with People were surprised because I look normal. But after this? I know what my ability is and I want to bring the a while I got so down and just gave up. I threw object up to its full potential. And sometimes it comes thousands of photo negatives away and it took a to me, but a lot of times it will come to me in a month disaster in my health to give me that kick in the ass I or a year or in two years. The mood has to be right. needed. My artistic ability came back at such a high Sometimes it pops up on its own. It’s all a theme and rate because I was making up for lost time. It’s like, variations. I did this one photo of pasta in a vase. I when you get on a roll, you just go, go, go, go. Before I worked on it in the backyard. We have some beautiful knew it, I was working at my highest level of creativity crystal glassware at home. I like working with really in my life. nice glassware. I took a crystal vase, very small, and put pasta in it, and photographed it. (photo, page 17) When I do real hard work I’m at the computer 12 and 16 hours a day. I look at the clock on my computer and I was intrigued by destiny. My photograph “Destiny” my clock seems to have a mind of its own. Before you is very original. I was just trying to understand what is know it, it’s, like, 2 in the morning. Time goes by fast. destiny? And do I have more than one destiny? And if You get so wrapped up in what you’re doing – boom – so, how can I find it? So I asked my psychiatrist last the time just goes. week and he said a profound thing. He said destiny is an ongoing process. Like I’m destined to do this You have people that travel all over the world. But interview. Destiny is being acted out right now. there’s so much within a 100 mile radius of where I live – you’ve got the Poconos, Bucks County, My psychiatrist and I have only seen each other Lancaster County, Jersey. So many beautiful areas. twice. We have a lot in common. We came from the You could live five or six lifetimes and still not get it same neighborhood, went to the same high school and all. You couldn’t even touch the surface when it comes are only two years apart. We hit it off right away. He’s to art. It’s like grains of sand, it’s endless, like the the first doctor I’ve ever had, I’m 54 and seen a lot of universe. doctors, that can understand me. He’s been around a lot of artistic people. I enjoy seeing this guy because he’s Things are constantly changing. Your mind changes. interesting and he finds me interesting. The seasons change. I’ll go some place and then I’ll imagine what it’ll be like at a different season. I’ll <> imagine what the trees will be like in the fall or with a little bit of wet snow on the trees. That’s the way I view things.</p><p>4 CLIFF WALK </p><p>Darkness overcomes us. We climb boulder to boulder. Plumes of ocean surf smack rock outcroppings. Eighty-three year old Mother in Birkennstocks clings to son-in-law. Daughter coaxes her to jump from rock to rock. Other daughter can’t see trail, grasps boundary fences of mansions. All inch forward of precipitous coastal trail.</p><p>Where is our exit passage? We slither through marsh grasses. Night fisherman with catch of Bluefish pass us wondering why four people are groping through darkness without flashlights. Sky overhead with fingernail moon sheds miniscule light on path. Not wanting to turn back, we continue for two miles, stumbling amid rocks, tip-toeing on narrow sea walls, bush-whacking through salt marshes, holding our breath.</p><p>Off in the distance, we see a street light. Traversing a narrow plank, scaling a stone slope, we reach a small parking lot. Four of us, family together have survived the ordeal! Feet now firmly planted on macadam, we leave Rhode Island’s Cliff Walk Trail. Walking the remaining two miles past Newport’s gracious mansions, we arrive at our car.</p><p>Despite our terrifying experience, we will always remember the mystery of the night sky, music of the ocean, the mist, the challenging trail, and our feelings of togetherness in this vast and wonderful wilderness of sea, shore, and sky.</p><p>- Carolyn Constable September 2003</p><p>5 TWO POEMS BY CYNTHIA MARCOLINA</p><p>THERE IS</p><p>There is a place… “Daffodil Hill” that gets covered every spring by the flowers beginning with the Crocus …my sweet cousin just died.</p><p>There is a yard… on White’s Road where the Wisteria and Lilacs bloom every May …my sweet cousin just died.</p><p>There is a red fox… in the neighborhood and it’s seen each day foraging for food …my sweet cousin just died.</p><p>There is life… all around and now everything is glowing green from all of the rain …my sweet cousin just died.</p><p>He is dead… and he is no more. He is gone! But the perennials? They will be back …next year.</p><p>- Cynthia L. Marcolina ©2003</p><p>6 INSPIRATION</p><p>Inspiration can come from solitude and silence, bicycling or driving. A baby’s birth. A friend’s death. Or it may come from nature, beauty, pain, life, love and lust.</p><p>Cynthia L. Marcolina ©2003</p><p>WHERE HAVE I GONE? where have i gone am i listlessly floating amidst the garbage of my mind or am i trapped in a net a thousand feet below the surface never to see the light again i know not how this has come about only that i cannot escape this pain this non-feeling this hatred for what i cannot do i want this to end i am tired of drowning in this murky depth always resurfacing but never the same never untouched never unharmed forever marked for all to see for all to shun and fear but the fear eats at me fearless yet always fearful of the one trip i will never return from can i save myself should i save myself can i ever find the surface and begin breathing again - Anonymous</p><p>7 THE HAPPIEST MOMENT</p><p>For the woman, the happiest moment is when she hears the turn of her lover’s key in the lock, and pretends to be asleep when he enters, clumsy, bumping into things, and she can smell the liquor on his breath, but forgives him because she has him back and doesn’t have to sleep alone.</p><p>For the man, the happiest moment is when he climbs out of bed with the woman, having slept for an hour after making love, and pulls on his trousers, and walks outside, and sees the high October sky full of stars and pees in the bushes, and gets in his car and drives home.</p><p>- Ted Peck</p><p>THE DINER</p><p> by Phyllis Lewy</p><p>My friend and I went to a restaurant and marina located on Osborne Island, a community where fisherman earn A gray-haired man, with a paunch, slowly finished his a living from the sea. It was a warm sun- soaked day breakfast. His weathered hands were evidence of years when time and movement are lazy and slow. of manual labor. A black and white dog rested on the next stool, lifting his head, hoping for a savory taste of My friend and I sat down, reading the menus. There food. When I asked him about the dog and its breed, he was nothing out of the ordinary about the place. It was told me the dog was not his. It was simply the marina a diner with a long counter and tables. The smell of dog, who followed him whenever he came to the diner. grease from hundreds of cooked breakfasts and lunches saturated the room. A very young mother entered, carrying a toddler on her hip. Familiar with the diner, she walked around, The silence of the diner was filled with the twangy gathering crackers and juice for the child. voice of a Country-Western singer. A father and his young daughter, teetering on teenhood, lingered over It was a typical diner on an ordinary day. But the the remnants of their breakfast: French toast, eggs, experience was magical. It was a moment frozen in coffee, Hawaiian Punch. The tall girl walked over to time, a visual snapshot of an event that would hold true her father several times, circling her arms around his in 10 or 20 years. And that sense of constancy filled neck, nuzzling him. me with peace.</p><p>8 WILL TO FLY </p><p>There's pristine gold in the brain of a child, imagination always runnin' wild He can go anywhere, do all that he chooses, ' till the world drags him down, and this he loses - his will to fly</p><p>Be strong in spirit, stay young inside, be careful - don't lose, your will to fly </p><p>Beautiful music fills his mind, as the boy builds his plane, and goes for a ride Somehow transcending space and time, he flies in his plane to the other side Planting a garden, only he can grow, tasting the tastes, only his tongue can know Walking on planets he can call his own, until reality brings him back home</p><p>Be strong in spirit, stay young inside, be careful - don't lose, your will to fly</p><p>He can be the hero of thousands of stories, or simply make up one of his own He's free to explore the world that's inside him, 'till the yelling and noise take him back home - To stark reality - that's where he lives, they're screaming at him, something's got to give They're dragging him down, and as he cries, what the child may lose, is his will to fly</p><p>Be strong in spirit, stay young inside - don't let them take, your will to fly</p><p>And when he grows old and his eyes are dim, his imagination may still burn within' Setting him free, if he's still young inside, and no bounds will hold him, so free he may ride - If he still possesses – the will to fly </p><p>Be strong in spirit, stay young inside, don’t ever lose, your will to fly</p><p>- Lawrence E. DePietropaolo</p><p>9 THREE BY STEPHEN BONELLI</p><p>LISTEN TO THE STREAM</p><p>The water flows over the rocks the colors are green and blue listen to the stream</p><p>Oh, quiet words it says Oh, water flow so gently Soothe, the border Listen to the stream</p><p>Down the mountain side Through the valley Oh, listen to the stream</p><p>Stream, talk to me I say I am gentle I am swift I shall lead you I shall quench you</p><p>Listen to the stream</p><p>I AM TIRED</p><p>I am weary, I am resting I am strong I am getting old I am tired</p><p>Silver and grey are the color of my hair my bones ache my fingers hurt</p><p>I am tired I travel by my feet I carry my case I go to door to door</p><p>I wear glasses My eyes are weak My needle I sew My threads are colorful</p><p>I am tired</p><p>10 DANCE WITH ME</p><p>The music is a tango I am dressed in white You I see dressed in red Dance with me</p><p>The music starts The lights are low Dance with me The tango is easy</p><p>Your feet are the master You look eye to eye Smile at times Dance with me</p><p>Dance to the tango Dance with me</p><p>PSYCHOTHERAPY</p><p> intricate process giving and taking dispensing wisdom examining thoughts doctor, patient relationship true self unfolding releasing emotions accepting reality spinning security trusting, confiding independence, dependence struggles, conquests compassion, caring conquering mental illness, one session at a time.</p><p>- Carolyn Constable</p><p>11 HERE AND GONE: TRUE STORIES</p><p> by Ruth Deming</p><p>One time when I was driving down Terwood Road I and they could be just a handful of letters on the made a terrible mistake. I asked God for permission to Scrabble tray. and instead of the j x q z, these were the write everything down. “No problema,” he said in a letters that counted: a t g c voice that sounded suspiciously like my own. And all you did was toss them up in the air – the “a t g c” – and watch them spiral downward – is it a matter of seconds or eons till they hit? – and you hear them THE TURNPIKE clatter with a hollow sound onto the board, and, presto, you’ve got the makings of a brand new world: Here I am lost again, this time fighting my way back a universe of speciation and verdure. onto the Pennsylvania Turnpike. And I’m in King of Prussia or Plymouth Meeting. It doesn’t matter. They and, here we are: we’re men, we’re women, we’re a all look the same: Geometric office buildings built for dogwood in full bloom, or a tiny chipmunk with kings. Silent as the sphinx. Signs out front, marquees, puffed cheeks stepping out from under the porch - and flowers encircling, tended by faithful crews of amber- our eyes flutter at movement – like the frog tonguing a skinned men, in caps, whom you can’t help but admire fly. for their fortitude and ability to withstand heat, even as you drive by without waving, on your way to the and we’re derivatives all of us, as large as the stars, or turnpike. And you are almost there, almost there, as small, and like our unless there is construction going on. derivatives, we do what they do. it’s all we know: we line up, we choose our partners, we dosey do, we create And there was a lot of construction going on. Untold a universe, we protect it from all harm, we let it shine, commotion: Drilling noises, jackhammers, men in we let it shine some more, we extend the day. And then orange vests and matching orange cones you weren’t we take it down like the boy putting away his Legos supposed to knock over. before going to bed.</p><p>And I’m holding my own in those crazy made-up lanes And me. I’m still hollering to get onto the turnpike. where you follow the car in front, weaving in and out of newly chalked lanes, drifting leeward until all of a And then I see it: the holy tollbooths just ahead. And I sudden the guy in front’s disappeared and you’re all enter, consecrating the act by taking a ticket and alone in some lane that never existed before. And the tucking it under my right thigh. That way it won’t fall sign you’re looking for has suddenly jumped three under the seat with the pens and the quarters or be lanes over, if, in fact, that’s the sign you were looking blown away by a swift wind. And then, gathering for in the first place, for the signs are all written in speed, I drive to the bifurcation in the road. And numerals, which you hate, not in letters, which you lavishly prominently fearlessly… go right. adore, and the numerals have no personality whatsoever, oh, they do, everything has a personality, You don’t of course know you’re going the wrong way but the numbers are so much harder to relate to - why until a little while, until you see that the green fields not come right out and say: “Blue Route, Go Right,” or beside you are going on forever and are getting more “Philadelphia, Go Left” – but they don’t - and these and more beautiful. There are clusters of swaggering numbers were all derivatives of 76, there was the 276, goldenrod and the last of the snakeroot left over from the 476, the 76. summer. There are dainty white thistle and clusters of gangling young trees. And you are on your way to and you say to yourself, derivatives, it’s all about Downingtown. And you are supposed to be going derivatives. Like Sarah’s a derivative of me and so is toward Willow Grove: To the massively populated, Dan and we’re all derivatives of DNA which is a thickly town-housed, assisted-living, no farm-fields- combination of 4 derivatives, an unassuming foursome, left-anymore part of the country where you live against thymine adenine guanine cytosine (a t g c) all odds in a house as yellow as a canary and sleep on a mattress on the floor amidst piles of library books and</p><p>12 used Kleenexes. And it’s lights out before you get to And then, I imagined a story where this woman drives page 7. onto the turnpike and spends the rest of her life there. So does everyone behind her. But none of them know But I was a long way from Willow Grove and the smell it. The woman might, but we’re not sure. They all go of my house. round and round, up the hills and down the hills, over little bridges with vast views of rivers she has only I began to perspire in large quantities and took huge heard of: the Susquehanna, the Monongahela, the gulps from my water bottle. “It’s not as if you’re going Lackawanna. Beautiful names all of them, wrested to be here forever,” I cheerfully consoled myself, from the Injuns long ago. pulling off to the side of the road. I got out of the car and threw my jacket onto the backseat. Then I yanked After a while, the woman on her forever journey finds off my pinching shoes and flung them onto the back it’s not so bad after all. She uses the rest stops and floor. I got back in front, slammed the door and took finds which of the fast food places have the best coffee off at high speed. and always looks for the salad bars with the chick peas and the pink Cool-Whip desserts with the tiny And got off at the next exit. marshmallows. Sometimes she might meet the same family she saw at the last rest stop, a guy standing in More bifurcations. the Whopper line with the kids, the mother waving hello as she’s running out of the bathroom. Hard to believe, but I did this a couple of times, two, three, maybe four. With each subsequent detour, my And here I am on the side of the road making up mind sank lower and lower on the horizon, like the stories. And tears are streaming down my face. I hate dripping sun. I thought of the people in nursing homes. rest-stop coffee, it’s stinging hot and burns the roof of Like me, all they all wanted to do was go home. your mouth. And the lettuce is all iceberg. </p><p>There was one of those emergency phones on the side I got behind the wheel and checked my side view of the road. I wondered if I should call in the mirror. I waited until the tractor trailers roared by, they authorities. I pulled over to the side of the road. Then I often travel in flocks and are mighty to behold, and got out and walked in my stocking feet over to the then I flew onto the turnpike after them. phone box. It was yellow and you had to open it in a particular unconventional manner. This time there would be no mistakes. When I do my U-turn, I’m going to ask the first person in authority I was preparing what to say: “Hi, my name is Ruthie what to do. I’m going to write an encyclopedia of and I'm having a nervous breakdown here on the side notes. Then I’m going to crawl up to the bifurcation, of the road. Would you mind sending over an put on my flashers, study my notes, and won’t care if a ambulance?” thousand cars honk behind me.</p><p>So I open the crazy yellow box and it’s filled with I’m approaching the blinking tollbooth complex now, buttons to press. You had to choose one. Like when heading this time for the employee parking lot. This you’re taking the SATs and they ask you which one of will be my greatest effort, my comeback, like a great the four choices is the best answer. Not the correct baseball player –Carl Yastrzemski - pulled out of answer. But the best. And try as you might, none of retirement to step up to the plate. We’d watch at home the choices fit. I slammed the yellow door shut and on TV. He’d look down at his cleats and knock them walked back to the car. I steeled myself against the with the bat. He’d attach his eyes to the ball and never trunk, then opened it and drank my emergency water. If let go. He’d feel the heft of the bat in his arms. He I was still here at nightfall, I could always drink the wouldn’t hear the roar of the crowd. He wouldn’t see water in my radiator. I was in a state of profound the sky was blue. He was all alone at the plate. And up despair. “How can this be happening to me?” I railed in the bleachers was a hello kid eating a hot dog with inside. “It’s so simple. And I can’t figure it out.” I mustard and drinking a foaming root beer. And the kid looked out over at the fields on the other side of the was shouting, “Yaz! Yaz! Home run, Yaz!” And his metal railing. How nice it would be to climb over, sit faith was so strong and unyielding he could feel even among the tall grass and see some grasshoppers. now the hot sting of the ball in his bare hands. </p><p>My hands were shaking as I shut the trunk. “Don’t I’m approaching the tollbooth, veer to the right and worry, don’t worry. You’re not going to spend the rest park in the employee parking lot. I’ve regained my of your life on the turnpike. Never worry. God is nigh.” composure and calmly wedge my feet back into my shoes so they won’t see me barefoot and think I’m a</p><p>13 sex kitten. My eyelids are caked with dried tears. I take a manila folder lying on the back seat and fold it into I wrote down everything on the manila folder: “U-turn. quarters so I have something hard to write on. Go Right.” </p><p>“May I help you?” a voice called out. I was startled. It While I was writing it – and I was hurrying because I was a tollbooth officer still in his booth. I was going to didn’t want to keep him waiting - I snuck glances up at say “still in his cage,” but I remembered he had a the signs, trying to figure out how I’d gone wrong. I sliding door from which to emerge – you see them studied the numbering system of the two signs and bravely walking across the lanes, shouting to their noticed something big. tollbooth friends, “Where’s Alma? Ain’t she comin’ in today?” - “No. Remember? She did overtime last And I wrote it all down on the folder. Why my eye weekend so they gave her the day off. She and Ricky always stumbled. I felt triumphant, like Goldilocks and are up in the mountains visiting her mother.” the Three Bears. It wasn’t my fault.</p><p>My guy is off duty. “ Listen,” I said, looking up at the Soldier towering above me. “I’m not going to belabor this analysis He stood in his booth in full regalia. A man in a thing,” I said, “but can I just tell you something?” uniform. A soldier of the Commonwealth. With a stitched-on shoulder patch. I always read what the “Go ahead,” he said. patch says. His had lots of yellow and turquoise, with industrial stitching. I imagined myself in a smart “I want you to know I’m a very intelligent person,” I uniform with a patch. said – “Oh, I know you are!” he interrupted – “and that there’s a reason why I made this mistake over and over He was ensconced in his booth. It was the end of his again. May I share my discovery with you?” shift. He was ready to go home. The orange cone was in place. I’d never been face to face with an orange “Sure,” he said, his eyes glowing. cone before. It was blazing! And I showed him the manila folder and the way the And there I was, standing alone in the blocked-off two signs were numbered. zone, feeling – what? – important? - certainly, an approved transgressor - standing where no cars dare “ You see!” I cried tapping it with my pen. “A enter, protected by the darling cone, proud as a bowling discrepancy in the numbering system. One set of pin. numerals goes up, the other set goes down. A lack of consistency! See!” The officer was a take-charge kind of guy. And he laughed and he snorted and he bared his teeth I posed my question. at me. “Listen, Goldilocks,” he said. “You’re not the first person who’s told me that. And you won’t be the “ Here’s what you do,” he said. “Watch where I’m last.” pointing.” “ Really!” I cried triumphantly. “So, I’m not the only The two of us turned around and looked where he was one.” pointing. He was pointing straight to the entrance with the tricky bifurcation. He slid open his door and came out with his money tray. I followed him, shoes clopping over the asphalt. “ I know that entrance!” I shouted. “I’ve seen it a thousand times before.” “There’s nothing any of us can do about it. The signs already went up,” he said shaking his head and I started to elaborate. disappearing into the building.</p><p>He cut right in. “Don’t analyze the situation! Just do I got into my car and pulled down the sun visor. “Pay what I’m telling you.” no attention to the numerals,” I wrote on the back of the visor. “It’s the letters that count.” “Oh, okay, sure,” I said. </p><p>14 RELATIONSHIP WITH THE DEITY R will tell Latif, “Go over and ask the reference librarian.” Points toward reference librarian. Latif leaves in a different direction, after failing to distract Part One: Dad the victim.</p><p>One summer when I was very little, my father and I R has mechanical problems with picture-frame prop. were sitting out on the front porch steps and the Sees Latif sitting alone at a table. Goes over to ask his Christian Scientists came by. There were two of them, help. Plops her pocketbook in middle of table. marching up the sidewalk, nostrils flared, carrying their Book. It was blue, with gold lettering written in script. Shows him picture frame prop and asks for help. My father, a man obsessed with religion and the meaning of life, took a liking to them and talked to He laughs softly, “Now you want my help!” They them for what seemed a very long time. Finally, he laugh. Attempts to fix picture frame. Fails. R asks, excused himself, probably going into the house for a “What’s your name, anyway?” glass of water. Before he went in, he whispered to me, “Whatever you do, Ruthie, don’t take their Book.” I “Latif.” was four years old, very cute, and sitting beside the tall arbor vitae. And as soon as he went indoors, the R returns to display case. By now, friend Victoria has Christian Scientists shoved the Book into my hands and arrived to help. disappeared down the road. And I was in a state of utter panic. Stuck forever with the Book: The writings R asks Victoria to watch R’s pocketbook while she of Mary Baker Eddy, the tablets of Moroni, the visions goes to office for help in fixing picture frame. of Swedenborg. And I was all alone on the porch and my father came back out. I looked expectantly up at R leaves. Returns. him with the forbidden Book in my hands. He took the book, whacked me and put it up on the shelf. Wallet is hanging out of her pocketbook.</p><p>Dives for wallet. </p><p>Part Two: Appointment in the Parking Lot Credit card is missing. </p><p>Tells Victoria, who says, “But somebody needed help Fifty four years later. Our heroine, hereinafter known on the computer so I….” as R, stands out on the porch steps ready to follow instructions. R clenches her teeth. She must get her credit card back. Her mind is moving a thousand miles per minute. A car Drive down York Road to library. dealership is up the road. The thieves may be headed Set up display case on “Teen Depression.” that way to charge a 2003 Honda Accord onto her Take display props out of box and spread out on floor. account. She stifles her terror. Lean pocketbook on far end of display case. Go into artistic trance. Latif and his friends are huddled near by. She has never noticed they are a trio. Like all things noticed, they Three con artists will already have entered library and have been there all along. are searching for a victim. “Latif,” says R softly. “I’d like to talk to you.” A tall man whose name, she will later learn, is Latif, will approach R and ask: “I don’t know how to work He comes over. His team follows. R is still in trance, the computer, can you come over and show me?” but rationality now moving in. </p><p>This is known as “attempting to gain the confidence of They are assembled together near the Books on Tape the victim.” section. She feels a deep pang of hopelessness.</p><p>Confidence game will then proceed. “ I’ve got my wallet here,” she says, cloaking her sadness. “My credit card’s missing.”</p><p>“Oh, no!” they chime. “Maybe you misplaced it.” </p><p>15 “No,” she says, opening wallet. “I keep it right here.” R is mystified. She thinks Latif had given the girl a She taps the place she keeps her credit card. signal, a nod of the head. But later she will think, No, “Somebody stole it.” it was the girl. Listening in. </p><p>“Oh, no!” they say, in turn, like a beautiful arpeggio Requests that the four of them go outside to speak. from Smokey Robinson and the Miracles. As soon as they get out the door R cries, “Latif! How “I’ll tell you what happened,” she says looking at their can you do this to me? I’m such a nice person. You’d assembled bodies. “I’m the victim of a con game.” like me if you knew me.” </p><p>“Oh no! That can’t be!” they cry. The day is overcast. The patrons go by in a blur. </p><p>“Yes,” she says. “It’s true. And you know what?” She Latif says nothing. takes a deep breath and says the words. “I think you guys conned me.” R asks to be introduced to the others. He does the introductions. Silence. There is the beautiful young girl. And there is Sam, “Us?” they plead. “We wouldn’t do a thing like that!” prancing around on his heels. </p><p>She realizes they’re not going to reach into their pocket “What’s the matter with Sam?” R asks with concern. and give her back her credit card. “Oh, he’s afraid you’ve called the cops.” “Latif. Please come over here with me,” she says. “I need to talk to you.” “I didn’t call the cops,” she says.</p><p>The two leave the group and move deeper into the “She didn’t call the cops,” Latif tells him. stacks. She notices for the first time what he looks like. He is very tall with a massive chest. R is so short that And then she looks at the girl. She is wearing stud she is nose to nose with his chest. She cranes up to look earrings and looks like she ought to be in nursing at his face and his scraggly beard. school.</p><p>She speaks in whispers so as not to disturb the other R asks her age. patrons. “Latif, you’re the spiritual leader of this group…” “Twenty-two.”</p><p>He laughs. “Why are you hanging out with criminals?” she asks. “Can’t you find nice friends your own age?” “Right?” R begins talking fast. She has been a reporter long ago He shrugs. “I guess so.” and wants to find out certain things. First, she takes a good look at Latif. His teeth are straight and slightly “ All I want is my credit card back. No questions off white. He wears a plain black sweatshirt with stains asked. I don’t want to make a fuss.” on it. His face is immobile, wooden. Joyless.</p><p>Nothing. He looks like a convict. She learns he has been in prison for 10 years. She asks questions fast. She has a She repeats her request two more times, still need to know. whispering. He is still shrugging. Then, out of nowhere, a beautiful girl in blue appears. R narrows her eyes, deep in thought. R is stunned by her beauty and her youth. She hands R the credit card with the Blockbuster card underneath She is a storyteller. She only writes true stories. She which had been accidentally lifted. imagines herself writing a story on Latif and his friends, sitting at their kitchen table scribbling furiously in her notebook. She wants to hear them talk amongst “Thank you,” says R, pocketing the card. themselves. She wants to hear the language they use. She wants to smell their cigarette smoke and see what</p><p>16 kind of food they eat, what music they listen to. In a flash, she can already picture it. They look each other in the eye. </p><p>She will never write about them. Or maybe she will. “Latif,” she says slowly. “It’s entirely up to you.” She She’ll content herself by writing a small story instead. pauses. “It’s between you and your God.” “Latif,” she says. “I want to write a story about you. May I use your first name?” She hopes it will take. Maybe not now, but later. These things are known to happen. His demeanor changes. He comes alive. He is infused with passion. They are held together by a mysterious bond, unable to leave one another. She once read that “attachment” is Astonishing words pour from his mouth. “I’ve always stronger than “love.” R wonders if this is both wanted to change!” he confesses with unfeigned attachment and love at the same time. longing. He pauses. “Do you think I can change?” The bond breaks and they disperse. He looks to her for an answer. Later that night, R is standing in her living room Her heart drops. She is 99.9 percent sure of the answer. looking out the window. It is dark night. She is But she doesn’t let on. But then she thinks, what, thinking about the encounter. Wildly obsessed by its anyway, is the meaning of this encounter. She knows meaning. Has her presence mattered? Does she matter? that none of them, the four of them, will be the same Is she but a speck on the stitch of the universe? All she afterwards. sees out the darkened window are the trees and the lit- up reflection of her many-colored kitchen in the It is called a charismatic moment and she will use it for background. all its worth. She will make a production out of it, a ceremony. Sometimes these things work. “Look me in the eyes,” she says. </p><p>(black and white from color)</p><p>Pasta and Crystal</p><p>October 2003. Photo taken in my back yard. As always natural light. I never use flash, reflectors and so on.... Carl Yeager </p><p>17 18</p>