Writing for Literacy Club
A FAVORITE THING
My favorite thing is plural--actually things, or favorite memories, memorable times in my life that have made it worth living. The births of my children, significant family gatherings, my first big job just out of college, and a moped adventure with my wife-to-be, through the backyards of Palm Beach mansions are just a few examples. One memory stands out for different reasons.
Viva Zapata! is a Mexican-themed bar open on one side to the street, veranda style, in Key West. At one point after my divorce, I sat in the "eye of the hurricane" of my life in Viva's cool interior, taking a rest from the storm. One song says, "Freedon's just another word for nothing left to lose." Everything that I had loved had been swept away, or I had walked away from, and, in a strange way, it was freeing. A cute, little eighteen-year-old redhead had taken a liking to me. She considered herself a "post-modern hippy" and found me attractive for some reason, burned out, disillusioned drop-out from two previous professional careers hiding out in Margaritaville. Go figure! Almost every afternoon we would get semi-intoxicated and sing old Eagles' tunes with the jukebox: "Take It to the Limit," "Take It Easy," "Desperado," etc. Those old songs then somehow spoke to my situation. She found them nostalgic (!). We sang them with all our heart and soul; she even cried a little during "Desperado."
Like all foolish dreams, this one did not last long. Soon, I would have to wake up and face reality, the wreckage of my life, and the danger I was surrounded by. But, for a moment, I lived a romanticized version of suspended animation, a vagabond with no responsibilities, the tragedy of my circumstances put on hold as that Eagles' CD spun into place. Someone bought another round of drinks, a young woman snuggled up to me, teary-eyed, and the world stopped to let me get off.
J. Wallace
My favorite thing is plural--actually things, or favorite memories, memorable times in my life that have made it worth living. The births of my children, significant family gatherings, my first big job just out of college, and a moped adventure with my wife-to-be, through the backyards of Palm Beach mansions are just a few examples. One memory stands out for different reasons.
Viva Zapata! is a Mexican-themed bar open on one side to the street, veranda style, in Key West. At one point after my divorce, I sat in the "eye of the hurricane" of my life in Viva's cool interior, taking a rest from the storm. One song says, "Freedon's just another word for nothing left to lose." Everything that I had loved had been swept away, or I had walked away from, and, in a strange way, it was freeing. A cute, little eighteen-year-old redhead had taken a liking to me. She considered herself a "post-modern hippy" and found me attractive for some reason, burned out, disillusioned drop-out from two previous professional careers hiding out in Margaritaville. Go figure! Almost every afternoon we would get semi-intoxicated and sing old Eagles' tunes with the jukebox: "Take It to the Limit," "Take It Easy," "Desperado," etc. Those old songs then somehow spoke to my situation. She found them nostalgic (!). We sang them with all our heart and soul; she even cried a little during "Desperado."
Like all foolish dreams, this one did not last long. Soon, I would have to wake up and face reality, the wreckage of my life, and the danger I was surrounded by. But, for a moment, I lived a romanticized version of suspended animation, a vagabond with no responsibilities, the tragedy of my circumstances put on hold as that Eagles' CD spun into place. Someone bought another round of drinks, a young woman snuggled up to me, teary-eyed, and the world stopped to let me get off.
J. Wallace
posted by Purgatory Penman | 7:16 PM
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