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Tales from The Frontier
Jason entered the Frontier through the swinging glass door. He never frequented the 24-hour restaurant during peak rush hours, only mid-afternoon or late night lulls. Walking to the counter he scrutinized the overhead menu board.
"May I help you?" asked an attentive cashier behind her monitor. She knew his order because he had the same meal everyday. She had already placed his order by the time he said, "A combo plate and coffee." He handed her exact change. She gave him a receipt with his number. As he collected his utensils and napkin, he saw a friend at a window booth.
"Hello Henry," Jason said. "Mind if I join you?" Henry had iron grey hair and a ravaged dry landscape face. He wrote every day with strict assiduity. He was affable and combined his work periods with visitations. Twenty minutes was his limit for socializing and he kept a kitchen timer that would ding when the minutes expired. He wrote in notebooks from the UNM (University of New Mexico) bookstore, but never submitted for publication.
"I just finished a piece," said Henry. "Do you want to hear it?"
"Sure," said Jason. "My number is on the board, I'll be right back and be all ears." He covered his food with a ladle of green chile. After sitting his tray on the table he signaled for Henry to start the clock.
"Okay."
"Two friends, Harry and Joey, are conversing on a city bus. Harry says giving things up in life is a way to develop spiritually. This relinquishment need not entail asceticism. One can prepare to drop a drug habit after sampling copious amounts of over the counter and street substances. One can renounce salacious behavior for a salubrious celibacy only after watching hours of pornographies and having as many erotic encounters as possible on an all paid sexual sabbatical to Bangkok. We can move toward a goal if we know what we need and dispense with extraneous details. Giving up repetitively nugatory relationships or obsolete ideas or a detrimental lifestyle is important, but it also carves a channel for a new beginning."
"Sounds sententious," said Jason. "I like a plot line story."
"This is the book of ideas," responded Harry wincing at Jason's disapproval. He took another approach on the storyline by having the two characters enter the Frontier for coffee. He placated Jason by explaining, "Joey will gussy up the story with his account of a visit to Amsterdam."
"Joey goes to the Anne Frank House to chain himself to Anne's favorite tree that some faction wants to chop down because it is old and decrepit. Prune the dead branches but don't cut the tree down. Trim it down to a stump and lacquer it, shellac the roots, and paint it red. There were some local folks there to protect the tree. The grass roots level of protest had an impact as a judge issued a stay of execution. The tree was determined not to be of any imminent danger.
"After the protest he visited the red light district. He warmed up in a sex shop cubicle. Behind a locked door he inserted gilders into a slit and pushed the number three button for a woman with long wavy hair from Stuttgart. They were separated by a wall of glass with a hole cut out about waist high. The client stood while the girl sat in a velvet chair. The red light was on and the timer was ticking. He ran out of time before he could pop. Number three disappeared behind the satin curtain, replaced by a hag who gave him the heave ho when more coins were not forthcoming.
"He walked a half block along the canal to another woman in a doorway. There he broke out his currency in order to continue the adventure. Exuberantly he celebrated the glory of holes: Holes! holes! The holes we crawl in to escape the fetters of reality. The holes in the cerebrum from the loss of memory. Holes into the burrows of imagination. Holes into prefigured thought on how to reinvent the world.
On a tram to central station he met the woman behind the glass booth. "Let's pretend we are in love," he suggested to her. "Let's hold hands in front of a self portrait by Vincent van Gogh. I am wholly free."
Henry concluded his story and looked at Jason.
"That piece has teeth in it," Jason said in approval. "Let me read you a story now that I had published recently. It's titled: Outsourcing Parenthood."
Henry glanced at his timer and became attentive.
Jason began. "Joanne was a forest ranger, single and without children. She met Veronica at a Christmas party and they connected immediately. Veronica was a pleasant eight-year-old who suffered from neglect. Her father died in a war and her mother treated her as an encumbrance. Joanne saw a stagnant little girl in need of some fun. She visited Veronica one Friday afternoon and asked her mother for permission to take her daughter on an outing.
"Sure," the mother replied. "The little ragamuffin is always underfoot."
"I'd like to take her camping," Joanne explained, "an overnight trip into the Colorado mountains to show her the beauty of high elevations."
"Whatever, I'll pack her bags," the mother said. "I'll be glad to be rid of her."
As they drove out of town Joanne explained the itinerary to Veronica. "We will visit the ghost town of Alta. Many mining towns of the west were abandoned in the late 1800s. Alta was not shut down until the 1940s so many of its buildings are still standing, including a boarding house. This old town is made out of wood so the structures will not last much longer. There's a campsite nearby a small lake."
"Chop, chop," said Henry. "Your time is almost expired."
"Righto," replied Jason. "I'll summarize. Veronica gathered fuel for a campfire, roasted marshmallows, and perceived the magic of the night sky. After Alta they attended a music festival in Teluride. Veronica had a wonderful experience. When Joanne returned her back home she asked if the child could accompany her on future treks. The mother was glad to outsource her parenting.
Joanne continued to take her young charge through the looking glass of plays, art openings, historic sites, and wilderness areas. Joanne felt lucky to be connected to a young person and perhaps enhance her development.
Veronica graduated from high school and married when she got pregnant. Joanne altered her routine to short occasional visits. She did not feel needed.
"Ding!" sounded the timer. "The session is terminated," said Henry.
"OK," said Jason, "I'll see you tomorrow. Maybe you'll have another excerpt."
"You can bet on it," said Henry, "I plan for my protagonist to visit the Rijksmuseum and step into a painting by Rembrandt and become a cobbler in 16th century Holland."
"See you then my daily scribe," said Jason as he passed out the swinging glass door of the Frontier Restaurant.
Joe Speer is editor of Beatlick News, A Poetry and Arts Newsletter and a producer of short films. (June 2008)
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