two old dogs walk across brooklyn, notes from there and here and there again

doing the thing i talked about doing but didn’t do but am doing now…..
that was the original title of the note, then things changed.

last week i came here, to floyd bennett field, at dusk all prepared to write something to somebody.
it could have been anything to anybody for all it mattered, but it did matter once i had set myself with the computer on my lap.
someone was particularly important, especially in light of the fact that i thought this person may have gone;…..gone to research that place i find myself at times in death, silence and dreams and chats on the shore with the others on “the eighth-electro-plasma-ocean of the ninth dimension” and it DID matter, particularly at this time because i am still subject to the whims of miraculousness.
i ended up writing something more when i got home and never addressed this “thing” about this person and chances are, because of my lack of willingness to stay the course in this, i wonder if i can remain welded to the point, or any point, really..
this person is my most-special friend who appears, disappears and reappears.
she comes and goes but never seems to be gone.
she glints in and out of my consciousness like distant stars in earth’s sky under less-than-favorable astromonic conditions, like a smoke-filled card game held on the hubble telescope.
according to google, “astronomic” doesn’t get props on being a real word.
well, it is here.

lately, i had to suspend stages of grief and reboot the celestial planes in my mind’s eye, deciding to never look at “an end” as “an end” again, not that i hold such thoughts so tightly.
not that i hold much of anything so tightly, considering the act of grasping, either physically or figuratively is, at best, more an ideal than an act, at least for me.
for a moment, i “grasp” my friend tightly in thought and hold her fast to me. then i get distracted.
i wish cancer’s grasp would end in this instance due to lack of interest.
i wish cancer had ADHD and was as scatterbrained as i.
my friend would be free as a bird and healthy as an ox.
when i think of her, the “wooden” part of me tingles and tightens.
(this part of me is the affected, radiated, poisoned and cut portion on the right side of my neck.)
i moved from the where i was and sat in the back seat of the car in the middle of what was runway number one back when it mattered.
it runs a diagonal path from where the old airplane hangars are, north toward jamaica bay, cutting the plot of land this encompasses, seemingly in half, at right angles.
i found a website that has loads of info about this place – you only need scroll a bit till the subject changes to Floyd Bennett Field – the layout is much clearer in the great aerial photos you’ll find.

i sat in the car writing and listened to the songs, squeaks and squawks; the chips and chirps, tweets, warblings and messages; the cries, crows and caws.
i drifted off as i wrote, by design or not….i don’t know.
my fingers froze above the keys….my head drifted back, then forward…..a salute to the dope-nod.
eventually, a finger rested on the keyboard,….
eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee – ran across the screen till i awoke again ……and so on…..
before this happened, i attempted to record these sounds, but every time i did, a helicopter flew by or a jet took off from kennedy airport.
i did, however, photograph the sandwich-paper carnation from a couple of weeks earlier. it’s remains my flower to my friend;

it’s the only photo i took this day. it’s all i needed. the rich green around this flower told me a million things about the universe in a blink of an eye.
i forgot most of them in that same amount of time.
i looked for the soccer ball i kicked where i could always find it and couldn’t find it. maybe it was swallowed up by all the new green. maybe someone else found it for their own dog to play with.
i took the baseball from my pocket and thew it along the runway and maxx ran and ran and ran.
it was after this i went to the car and wrote, by now a smattering of what’s here.
it was more about doing than completing.
it was about capturing the essence of my friend’s spirit the last time we linked along this math.

while i wrote, maxx sat behind me, where the back hatch was open.
the other car doors were also open and for a moment, i imagined we were at a rest stop somewhere in the dakotas……heading west…and….and so on.
i wrote, nodded, wrote, dreamed, welled up, wrote and closed the frankenstein laptop and put it back in the WFMU record bag.
i climbed out of the back seat of the car, closing the doors on either side and joined maxx sitting in the back with my feet dangling out of the back and took my cellphone, the one i absolutely hate, and called my friend and left her a message, awkwardly falling over my words.
i probably texted it.
i probably told her i love her, or something.
i can’t remember.
an SUV parked not very far from us and the inhabitants climbed out with radio-controlled cars.
it was time to go.
maxx would chase the high-pitched-buzzing cars and we’d be in a lot of trouble.
we drove away from runway number one and decided to go home.
when i reached the pennsylvania avenue exit on the belt parkway, the aroma of radiator steam pinched my nose.
the gauge on the dashboard gave no sign of a problem.
when i stopped at the next red light, i had problem.
steam billowed out from under the hood.
the temperature gauge ran into the red, just-like-that.
i pulled over and decided that me and maxx would take a walk.
a long one.
i was a block from a gas station that i knew could do nothing for me.
i pocketed the dog biscuits i had in the car, stopped there, bought a big bottle of water and a roll of life savers and off we went.
it was about a six-mile walk.
i google-mapped it.

i never once looked to see the time.
i don’t know how long it took to get home.
every now and then, we’d sit somewhere and drink water and rest.
i would eat a lifesaver to keep my sugar up.
sometimes i would stop at a “here” or “there,” somewhere on bushwick avenue and a moment would well up in me that i never thought was there.
i don’t know why.
i never walked where i was walking.
go figure.

when i got home, i ate and did some chores, then called my neighbor who has an old chevy suburban and a tow rope.

About stephen trimboli

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