Doc sez: Sure, but sometimes intention is enough (grin).
--- In FairfieldLife@yahoogroups.com, awoelflebater <no_reply@...> wrote:
>
> The dear doctor seems to be operating a little closer to the bone this
> morning. Next, it will be open heart or brain surgery. May I watch?
>
> --- In FairfieldLife@yahoogroups.com, doctordumbass@ <no_reply@> wrote:
> >
> > The Good Doctor observes: Another great piece of writing, Curtis!
> >
> > "The world really needs it." -- one slight, but significant, correction
> > here by Doctor Dumbass: Your world, Barry, needs it. Not mine.
> >
> > My world is not populated by the groups and cliques and false teachers of
> > the blind and dumb, as yours is. My world is filled with happy, bright,
> > insightful, intelligent, and independent souls, every one.
> >
> > --- In FairfieldLife@yahoogroups.com, turquoiseb <no_reply@> wrote:
> > >
> > > All of this writing just *has* to be a book, Curtis.
> > >
> > > The world really needs it.
> > >
> > > --- In FairfieldLife@yahoogroups.com, "curtisdeltablues"
> > > <curtisdeltablues@> wrote:
> > > >
> > > > Crowds of people are like schools of fish. They swim by an outside
> > > performer with the mentality of a single entity. The trick for a busker
> > > is to break them out of the trance so they will pay attention to me.
> > > "Pay" is the key word here. I need them to stop their internal dialog
> > > long enough to extract something green and crisp from their wallets and
> > > purses.
> > > >
> > > > Bring on the children! They are perfect for this agenda. Easily
> > > distracted by novel things in the environment (me and my instruments),
> > > and lacking the intense internal dialog of having mortgage payments and
> > > making it to their car before the meter maid, they are ideal
> > > co-conspirators. I invite them up with maracas so they can join the
> > > show. Parents get it right away, artistic enrichment for the center of
> > > their universe. Now that the stage is set, I have something hidden to
> > > show you.
> > > >
> > > > She was one of those little girls with something extra, the sparkle of
> > > magnetic charisma. I see plenty of them coming out of the good homes in
> > > Northern Virginia. The right schools, plenty of vitamin D enriched milk,
> > > and tons of confidence to project a beamer of a smile full of
> > > orthodontist approved, well-flossed teeth. She was around eleven. Her
> > > brown hair was pulled into a loose pony tail by some fluorescent pink
> > > scrunchy fabric. The only thing out of the ordinary was that she
> > > crowded me a bit after she got her maraca. Younger kids will do this,
> > > and as the Mayor of Munchkin Land, it is up to me to get them to back
> > > off and give me some performance space. Decking one of the kids with my
> > > heavy steel resonator guitar in one of my tip inspiring flourishes,
> > > leaving them cold cocked on the boardwalk, would definitely cut into
> > > profits. But a girl this age usually keeps her distance, so it got my
> > > attention that she was standing very close to me with one side of her
> > > body.
> > > >
> > > > I swiveled my head and my eyes caught something that instantly put me
> > > on red alert. The arm she was crowding me with was cut off right below
> > > the elbow and she was using me to shield it from the audience. Her arm
> > > was not this way from birth. Something sinister and terrible had done
> > > this, and it left a fiery red zipper of violated flesh. Our eyes met and
> > > I gave her a nod. We were thick as thieves in an instant and she
> > > relaxed into a nervous giggle. Like a Sicilian made-man, I was bonded
> > > to her through omerta. It was a matter of trust, and I felt it in my
> > > chest.
> > > >
> > > > We began to play close like Sonny and a miniature Cher. People
> > > probably thought she was my niece or something, who else would play
> > > together with this familiarity? Her father was all smiles. She was a
> > > brave kid, this is not easy performing in front of strangers. A crowd
> > > formed supporting the cute little girl and the bluesman. They had no
> > > clue to the fierceness of her jagged asymmetry. She kept herself
> > > sideways, showing the world who she wanted to be, and they bought it. At
> > > the song's end she shot me a conspiratorial look. I sensed something
> > > gritty in those eyes. A steeliness forged by the fires of pediatric
> > > ward hell. I wondered about her mom and dad, who had spent the hours in
> > > the hospital making the painful decisions that lead to this. Oh
> > > bullshit, I have no idea. She ran off back to her dad. His look
> > > combined sincere thanks with "you have no idea". Or maybe I just read
> > > all that in myself, it is so hard to tell sometimes. When our eyes met I
> > > forgot to breath for a moment. I saw people moving in with tips in slow
> > > motion.
> > > >
> > > > Someday I hope she finds a real stand up guy. A guy who will always
> > > take her left side, and wrapping his arm around her far shoulder, will
> > > press her close, feeling her arm halfway across his own back, and she
> > > will feel safe and brave, facing the world.
> > > >
> > >
> >
>
