journal scribbles from prague #1

Discussion in 'The Creative Corner' started by motcon, May 3, 2007.

  1. motcon

    motcon TPF Noob!

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    'where you from?'
    'the states. boston.'
    'how old you?'
    '30ish...'
    'you kidding!?'
    'uhm, no. perhaps i do look a trifle older due to the slight balding..
    'no no! you seem younger'
    'ok....'
    'you have child in your eyes'

    her english was quite good, comparatively speaking. she put down
    the espresso in front of me, wandered off into the dimly lit ochre colored
    corner, then disappeared into a rectangular black void. ochre. deep brown.
    red. natural wood. fireplaces. czechs speaking czech. italians speaking
    italian. germans speaking german. humans speaking human. a conversation
    about age is like a conversation about the weather; boring, static, and
    unavoidable. i closed my eyes. inflections. volume. pitch. pace. crescendo
    and staccato conversational acrobatics. i enjoyed not knowing what they
    were saying. i thought back to my childhood. i'd sit in the large green
    chair at my grandparent's house and listen to my grandmother's voice in
    the kitchen. even if she were speaking english, i would not have been able
    to understand a word as her voice was quite muffled by the distance and
    the natural noises attributed to home cooking. i could tell by the
    inflections, however; that she was speaking italian. speaking italian to
    my grandfather who was 100% polish and didn't understand a lick of
    italian. it didn't matter; she didn't have the weather in her eyes, nor
    did he. even at my age i could see that they were happy. at my age at that
    time i surmised that was the reason the meatballs tasted so damned good.
    at that age one observes and experiences. i opened my eyes. the chair was
    of wood; it was not the green chair that was trained for a much larger
    buttocks than mine. it didn't matter. i was in my grandparent's house
    again; in Vicki's kitchen.

    my hand had been loosely wrapped around the demitasse and i
    could feel my fingertips beginning to chill. i was experiencing entirely
    in the peripheral; my eyes did not focus on any particular thing or event.
    youth fumbling through first dates. someone cleaning table #9. a group of
    friends laughing, presumably about Ludmila's 'mishap' at a local bar two
    februarys ago. the bartender jiggering a drink. it was all the same to me.
    it was all the same to them. leather skirt and done up hair trotting
    through the rain? who cares! crooked eye glasses and gaudy wingtips? who
    cares! forgot to pull up your zipper, but smiling? who cares!

    my fingertips were cold and i had lost the scent of espresso wafting up
    to my nose. cold and loss of the familiar can be jarring, but i have come
    to know this state of espresso. i focused on what i had in my hand and
    lifted it to my lips and finished....

    on my way out i met many eyes. eyes under wet hair. eyes under
    crooked glasses. eyes that didn't realize that the fly was down. every set
    of eyes bled, wept, smiled, and teared joyously. every set of eyes
    dismissed the storms, the things askew, and the things overlooked. the
    human element can be overwhelming. as overwhelming as the weather, as
    things out of place, and as things overlooked. these folks; these folks
    that are both native and in love with prague have much in common. cold
    espresso.

    i stepped out into the downpour. i twirled my folded umbrella and
    looked skyward. some things don't matter. some things do.
     
  2. Corry

    Corry Flirtacious and Bodacious Supporting Member

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    You have quite the way with words, Will. :)
     
  3. motcon

    motcon TPF Noob!

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    thanks, but if it weren't for this world in which we live, i would have no words at all.
     
  4. terri

    terri Administrator Staff Member Supporting Member

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    uh-huh....

    :)
     

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