Page 33 - Rana Sampson Issue (1)
P. 33
The Things I hang on to
By Robert Tussey
The things I hang on to. Words and Music – pieces of a soul much
older than me. I’d pictured my life differently, perhaps fuller, but,
certainly different. The first time I heard Elvis I was six. Teddy
Bear. My mom would dance her little dance and dad would laugh.
These were two disparate souls bound together by me and nothing
more. But dance she would and laugh – my father would.
I loved space ships and aliens and comics and the unknown
depths of space. My closet was of immeasurable size and I’d ex-
plore endlessly the things I found there. Lath and plaster and my
little clothes hanging willy-nilly. At night the boogey man stood mo-
tionless in its deep recesses waiting, and waiting. I knew my time
Mirror would come and I’d perish horribly at his hands, but he was that
scary friend we all shied from but secretly kept around. Shhhhh.
By Joan Stevens I’d used reams of paper drawing those space ships I had seen in
my dreams. The stories with no words would meander throughout
the universe always landing on friendly planets. Always securing
humanity. Back at home there was no such solace so I hid on
Antares with my new friends, romping along the highlands with
I looked into the mirror one-eyed monsters that cared for me as their own. I felt safe.
But the safe harbor of alien worlds gave way to a cold war and fear
and I saw my grandma's face and hiding under desks in my good pants. Space travel and Sput-
The spots, the dots, the wrinkles nik. And a good looking man on television saying we would be
on the moon before anyone else. Thus shattered the mystery and
that Clinique could not erase feel-good drawings I’d cast into my cavernous closet to languish
with shoes no longer worn and shirts too small and the smudge of
But thankfully my hopeful side lipstick drawn hastily.
My father would close the door to the bedroom and play his 78’s
pushed past my dry crow's feet until either the Jim Beam was gone or he lay on the floor uncon-
With powder, paint and brush in hand scious. I’d sit outside the door and listen to those wondrous re- San Diego
the image was complete cordings and fall into a trance of my own. Benny Goodman, Duke Woman
Ellington, Gene Krupa, Les Paul. The music was endless and I
would, as often as not, fall asleep before the Jim Beam ran out:
And when at last Father and son, feet apart but a galaxy separating us.
the job was through And then, “She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah.” My world stopped! 33
My little green and silver AM radio was screaming at me. After
I walked away with pride ‘Little Deuce Coupe’ and ‘Dominique’ and ‘Papa’s got a brand new
Today I'd won bag’ came the simple strains of Englishmen and guitars and har-
When I was done monies and the promise of love. And this was all for me. This was
my place in the universe and I felt at home. No more wordless
I'd locked the doubt inside stories and friends I drew from dreams. I could leave Pluto and
Mars and land firmly in treble clef and draw with words.
But every time I see that glass My brother in law drove me to Gemco and I bought my first guitar
with money I’d saved from my paper route, $19.61. The price, with
my task seems harder still tax, was $19.70. I was crushed – I couldn’t buy my guitar. The
The day may come lady at the cash register reached into her own purse and laid the
when all that's left nine cents next to my money and said, “Here ya go.” I’m sure the
desperation on my face was too much for her to bear.
is just a bitter pill And the journey began. I took it everywhere and only put it back
in its box when I could no longer keep my eyes open. In the back
seat of the car, at the park, on the toilet, at my grandparents in
But till that day the wilds of Green Valley, I was never without it. I had a world
I'll smile away unknown to my parents: A place where their disjointed life couldn’t
and put my lipstick on intrude on mine. I’d thump out the theme from Peter Gunn in time
with their bickering and soon all I could hear was the E string in its
Despite the gloom baritone voice, Soto Voce, taking me – away.
I'll work the room This singular friend has never left me alone. Never abandoned
until my teeth are gone me for another. Never seen fit to alter the truth. Has always loved
me more than I loved it. Unconditionally. We have cried the bit-
ter tears of loss and celebrated triumphs as one inseparable duo
would. And she has never let me down.
This love affair has endured for forty-eight years.
The things I hang on to.
March/April 2011
