My rewrites of “Echosis” challenged not only what was on the page, but the back stories that supported the characters. It’s surprising to me that prosetry allows certain kinds of thoughts to find grounding I can’t otherwise resolve. In further considering of Theo’s back story, this experience during my first few years in NY, ala ’56 – ’62, created some layers of his character I hadn’t contemplated before.
Beer Neck Flower
By Odin Roark
Theo, my name, adopted by Roark somewhere in his neverland. Simple stuff, my game. Like…
Never knew why the ribbon, Pabst Blue Ribbon, that is. Pretty ordinary brew, it was, but
a good guy it stayed, the Pabst, that is.
After life of the sudsy held its water for a lady, and oh, what a lady. Don't know why,
really, any fool knows a silk flower isn't in need of water, but water changed each day it got
that flower, my Sophie.
Maybe it was a way to defy the artificial life. Manhattan can do that to you. Remember,
I'm just a made-up character as well, in this book, that is.
Echosis has given me quite a ride.
But I digress.
So…
Theo here, 3rd story guy, brownstone rear. Nice tree out the window stationed strategically between my 3rd floor and the 3rd floor across the way, hidin' draped laundry on jerry-rigged clothesline—always full. Oh, and on the sill, my beer bottle flower, takin' in the sun which makes it forget that stuff 'cross the way, screamin' Elvis records, reruns of Kukla, Fran, and Ollie, or good old fashioned man/woman fights. Gotta ‘preciate it, you know?
Water changed every day, even a pinch of soda for treats. Old habits for Nature’s livin' never die. There was a time, you know, when you loved my dumpin' the old, fillin' with the new, usually at night and...
Grinnin'?
Sure I'm grinnin'.
It was a sight. “My raunchy little friends,” I called them. Never late they were. Always ready. Flip the light switch—that closet for a kitchen, included with the rent—the cracked marble counter they loved. Squigglies comin' alive—late show beginnin's.
Damn they're fast. But, but they know I know. They peek. They don't really hide, ‘cause they know, they still know, can't bring myself to kill'em. Gotta die like all of us. Naturally.
Sometimes, I thought, why am I boxin' them up, you know,after their feet got to pokin' straight up, stiff, you know, ‘cept, now I know why. Keepin' them, that is. Friends. Just friends.
Little fuckers can get noisy when I sleep. Need my sleep.
Scratchy little paws, even on old stone counter. Especially loud on packaged food. You know, when they go explorin’.
Home of the brave. Those little critters a-scurry. Yeah, friends they were. Dependable they were. Waitin’, always ready, never disappointing, 'til they died.
Damn!
There I go again. This is about Sophie, not me. Not my other friends.
That's the lovely lady there. Yeah…right there. My blue ribbon Pabst lady. Gettin' ‘long in years, but oh, decked out in silk green leaves, velvety red petals, always smiling. She’s mine. All mine.
But today…
Today she's being laid to rest, this Fair Lady pride of mine. The silk finally soaked up all it could handle…age, you know. No amount of fresh water, thimbles of soda, sunshine or lovin' care can make it forever. “You know that, don't you?”
So…
No complaints.
Pabst, you did well. Not breakin’, so often slippin' from my fingers as water ran. Six years. Lots of fillin's. Lots of mem'ries. A long time in silk flower age, that is.
Okay. Time’s passin.
Today Sophie, you take a final glance from up high here. The sun through the tree
final moment. A smile at old swivel hips echoin' 'cross the way. Even the solitary sparrow
perched on its favorite branch, head atilt, seems to know. "Crazy fuck," it must think of me.
All those years, me sittin' on the sill beside my silk lady. But hey, this is New York. Get over it.
Now, Stop with the nerves a'ready. Just pick up Pabst gently, cradle Sophie's waverin' stem, walk carefully the creakin' stairs, down to the garden, her garden, the landlady's, that is. We gotta sit down there a few minutes, let Sophie see close up the cupid statue she gazed at from that 3rd story sill for so long. So far down there it was. So other world.
Jesus, Theo. Get a grip. We've talked this over. She came from another world. Brought some love. Even had me thinkin' everlastin'. This silk thing's impressive, you know.
So…
There...
We'll sit a few.
Hey, how would you like some of
Cupid's water there?
So he's peeing. He’s stone…stoned, granite stuff. You know. So what? Fresh from the ground. Better than the rusty stuff upstairs. See. Nice, eh?
Just sit. Pleasant day. Hot, but nice. Low humidity. But, probably rain tonight. Wow. I just thought. This might be your first drench. I mean, this feet/stem-in-the-ground thing. Over there. See the hole. Just a few spoonfuls dug out it took. Keep your bottom warm in winter.
Can’t help grinnin’, chucklin, laughin’. Oh, not at you Sophie. Just thinkin'. You'll be the only flower in bloom this winter. Freak her out, the landlady, I mean.
Okay, time to say goodbye, or better, really, just so long for now.
Liftin' you from the bottle…not easy, you know. But… there. In the ground. Even got some fertilizer. Organic, kinda. Few of my boxed friends from the sink. I know they wanted to stay worth somethin', you know? Just a few, but they'll maybe bring you back some strength. You’re kinda, well, bendy now. Your posture isn't what it used to be kid. But don't feel bad. Mine's givin' out too.
There…put a little here, a little there, not bad for an old city guy.
Oh, damn. Gotta hurry. I'll miss my bus. Goin' uptown Sophie. Check out the park. See how your old kin are doing. You know, the other kind of beauties. You're lucky though. You're still pretty. Hey, did ya know, transplants are the thing now? So...
You'll get used to it. Think of it as a new lease on life. Better than your ancestors stuck in those little apothecary bottles at Tavern on the Green, or all ‘round town eateries. They won't ever last this long.
Whoa…
Almost forgot, this dried fern stuff from the florist. Keep ya warm on a cool night. I’ll just pack it around...
There.
Done.
All done.
Oh, c'mon Theo. My God. Sophie doesn't need your dumb fictional tears now. Messin' up the petals.
Amazing really. You've still got it Sophie. Bloomin' red as red they ever were to me, you know? Your smiles.
Well...
Everything'll mend. You wait. You'll see
There. Wiped your petals dry. Just like new.
Gotta go now Sophie. I'll visit tomorrow. You take care. Sleep tight don't let the bed bugs bite, or my little friends.
Love ya.
Uh uh.
I love you more.
I really do.
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A couple of asides. While I never drank beer, one time my cousin and I were at the races at Road America when we happened on a fellow walking back to the pits after spinning out and losing his sports car in the mud. He complained about all the money it took to race. He was Augie Pabst, a fourth-generation member of the brewing family.
My twin brother made a good living as an industrial engineer, but was often let go in downsizing or fired because the innovations he suggested were not liked by management. Anyway, between jobs, he took up selling silk flowers. Even visited the guy who owned the company and lived quite well in Phoenix. Of course, he made no money and went nowhere with it. Silk flowers don't grow on people.
Ron