Aubrey [Part II]

February 25th, 2015 by George Martorano

“Look, Pam, you’re a nice person and maybe I got a big mouth. So I’ll say this right out. You’re in love with guy?”

Pam only watched the smoke drift up before she answered…..”Yes.”

“Oh boy,.” Janet crossed her legs. “Look, I know Aubrey all my life. We had a thing, a short thing, long ago, an yeah, he’s a looker, but he never dates a girl for long.”

“…..never?”

“Yeah, and there’s a reason, too.”

“…..reason?”

“Did he ever talk about his family?” Pam shook no. “Well, most of the old neighbors know. It’s just this neighborhood changed, a lot of people moving in from who-knows-where, like you. Seems this part of the city is in fashion or something. Anyway, the Browns are…..how can I say this…..nuts,” and she made a circle around her temple with a finger.

“…..nuts?”

“Yeah. His brother and sister. The girl was gorgeous. They are in a mental hospital, same as his mother, died there, poor thing. Aubrey never got married or dated for long, ’cause he thinks it runs in the family.”

“He told you that?” Pam’s spine went very straight.

“No, honey. He’d never tell anyone. It’s just the ones that liked him, from way back, like me knows, that’s all. So I got a big mouth. Better you should know, that’s all. You’re young, you’re in love, next thing you know you’re knocked up, then what?” Janet finished with a long drag.

Pam didn’t say a word any more. Janet could see she was in deep thought and just patted Pam’s are and left…..

Now, Pam knew why Aubrey was acting strange of late, knew why there wasn’t a picture of any loved ones in his house…..Aubrey Brown could go insane at any time.

********************************************************************************************************************************

The late morning had a statement all to its own. The kind of day the dead-end street was bright and oh so quiet. The kind of mornings that were very important to a waitress like Pam. A girl like her needed the right cup of hot coffee and a soft seat by a window, like right now.

Pam had to have just the right temperature for her coffee, not too hot or just warm. No, right in between and her slow gulps would go down just right and begin to loosen her up.

She hadn’t seen much of Aubrey. In fact, she’d been keeping away, purposely. He came around at first some days ago, knocked, but she wouldn’t open the door. She wondered why he didn’t phone, she even asked Janet about him not calling. All she got back from her was, “he is a nut, you know,” and Pam kept her mouth shut about him to anyone after that.

Sitting there, she saw Aubrey come out of his house and walk away…..he looked very worn out.

In a short span of time, he returned carrying a wooden ladder. He placed the ladder against the front wall, under a window, climbed it, opened the window to his house and went inside.

He did this repeatedly for the rest of the morning and into the afternoon. Not all that quickly, though, only every half hour or so…..and Pam wept.

It was a Monday night, very dark with a lot of hard, cold rain.

Pam just got back from work. It was very late. She knew she’d fall asleep quite fast.

She heard the crash, the breaking in of her front door. She knew it was Aubrey when he began screaming out her name at the bottom of the stairs. She heard his loud foot-steps banging there way up. All she could do was be frightened and hold the blankets to her dearly.

He stood in her bedroom door, very wet, unshaven, and his eyes so very crazed, crazed and then they went instantly sad…..He fell to his knees in front of the bed…..

“I, I can’t work any more. I’m, I’m…..!” Pam guessed he wanted to say sick, but he didn’t speak any more, just stood on his knees and rocked back and forth…..Slowly Pam got up, neared and stood over him. Still afraid, she reached down and caressed his wet hair. When he felt her touch, a long moan released from within him.

Hearing, Pam fell to his side and hugged him so.

“It will be alight…..” she only said.

[To be continued ]

By George Martorano
copyright: 12973
2/22/15

Aubrey

February 25th, 2015 by George Martorano

Aubrey

Fulton Street in South Philly has a way of life, a slowness of its own. It is a short city block with a dead-end. There aren’t that many dwellings there, just a few, along with a vacant lot.

Believe it or not, the lot of dirt and mixed cinder floor, with patches of city weeds, is quite clean. You see, someone keeps it that way, especially in summer.

Yes, the lean, somewhat tall and good-looking Aubrey Brown from the family of Browns, a family that’s been living up Fulton Street for decades. Aubrey being the only Brown left though. His immediate family have died off, ‘cept one or two that are not living in the Brown house at all any more.

When those hot summer days would center upon the city, Aubrey would walk out his front door in shorts, rubber sandals, and carrying an old patched-up beach chair, he’d sit in the clean lot and tan. In fact, Aubrey would do it on days that weren’t that hot, like in November or March. He placed the chair where the sun and not too much wind would get at him and tan.

Aubrey Brown was known for years for getting a tan year-round. Rich people would have to fly off to Florida or the Caribbean to look brown, but not Aubrey. No, he’d keep his handsome brown from month to month. Why, there were days in the dead of winter he’d wait in the house alone, waiting for just some hint of sun to peek down, and he’d go with his chair and point his face toward the light rays.

You see, Aubrey was a union waiter; worked a lot and then would only work one or two days a week. So it was important that he looked his best, for the tips and all…..”One has to look good,” Aubrey would always say and it paid off, especially with the women.

Yes, Aubrey had a lot of those in his life, but never lasting. No, it was always a one-night stand. He meets a union waitress at a big banquet and takes her home and politely ends it in the morning. Or, if one of the dressed-up women sitting at those many tables in the huge hall got Aubrey to wait on her then she would be so delighted to be taken home, then usually mad in the morning ’cause Aubrey would say goodbye, forever.

Yes, Aubrey Brown did so enjoy his little life of tanning and being a waiter, that he needed nothing and no one else. You see, it was better that way and Aubrey knew it, knew it from the sadness that lingered within his heart and mind from loved ones he will never see again, even if they all were still alive.

One day a girl named Pam moved into the small apartment in the small row house at the very end of Fulton Street.

It was the month of May and Pam, being a waitress at the newly-opened French restaurant in the neighborhood, took to Aubrey and the lot right after. After all, the talkative, thin blonde with freckles was in the same business as he and, being from the warm state of Georgia, she liked being tan. Why, it wasn’t in no time at all that she was there before Aubrey in the late mornings and he’d have to sit there and hear her joking hour after hour. But Pam did look really good in the two-piece bathing suit, a suit she wore each and every time they were out there. And it only took about two months before they became hot lovers. But, this time poor Aubrey couldn’t say his polite goodbyes come morning ’cause Pam Morbee lived just up the very short block.

In three short months, she had just as much of her clothing at Aubrey’s as he had at home. But Aubrey didn’t mind, maybe some years ago he would but now that he was getting older and not working all that much, having Pam around wasn’t all that bad. Besides, Pam wasn’t cheap; she liked to pay for things, things like cheap red wine they’d always drink, and pasta. They ate a lot of pasta dishes. Aubrey said it was good for sex since they did a lot of that anyway.

“Honey, you haven’t shaved. I mean, in a couple of days,” said Pam. Aubrey sat across from her in the lot, ran his hand across his face.

“…..hmmm,”he said. He hadn’t noticed. In fact, Pam realized the last couple of weeks he hadn’t noticed a lot of things. Like his clothes for work, for instance. He started to wear them wrinkled. And at times he forgot to bathe. What really got Pam was the far-off stares he would do at the funniest times. Once, when he was screwing her, he just paused on top of her and stared off. She had to move her hips real hard to get him back into it. She kept asking him if he was alright and Aubrey only shook his head, yes.

Around Thanksgiving a new waitress, Janet, stated to work at the place Pam did. She was older than Pam, had a good build though. She and Pam got to know each other. They’d sit out on the bench alongside the building when they got off and talked.

“So, I didn’t know you’re seeing Aubrey. Manny told me.” Manny was the dishwasher. “I know him. We go way back” Janet kept talking, “and he’s a handsome one he is. It’s a sin for his family, though.”

“…..family?” Pam turned more to her. Janet knew by the look in her eyes, she didn’t know.

“Yeah, his family. His brother and sister ran away.”

“…..away?”

“Hey, maybe this is none of my business,” and Janet started to leave.

“No, wait…..!” and Pam grabbed her arm. Janet stood there….. looking down at her, felt she shouldn’t have opened her mouth. But then again, maybe she should. After all, Pam shouldn’t get pregnant, not with his family’s history.

Janet sat down again, lit up a smoke. Pam didn’t like that, the fact that she needed a smoke first, isn’t good.

[to be continued]

By: George Martorano
copyright: 12973

Of Dying Wheat

February 15th, 2015 by George Martorano

He has nothing as he walks and walks under star and moonlight: wearing soiled cloths, shoes patched with wire and tape…. Oh, and the desolate feel of barren road before him. Nay and nothing but endless fields of winter wheat; so still in the night, still at ever look of his eyes…. Cold clinging against hair, lowered face, numbing the very lips….Then, a thought! A thought enters him and he succumbs to the gravel and dirt; sits, and his mouth forming, he says, “Valentine Day”….. With a callous finger, grease under finger-nail he begins to write in the earth…. After, his head turns…. he speaks to engulfing night. “Vast is lonely world. I am only one. There, is, a me. God, please send some one, some one to see, all this love with in me”.

By: George Martorano
copyright : 12973
2/14//2015

Strange Dalliance

February 10th, 2015 by George Martorano

Of me; I can write as I wish. Existing in this prison world, best that in the next life, I shall be…. Swan…. In regards to pain and suffering, surely, I will be a better kisser from it; when closing my eyes…. delivering the touch…. Ah an immenseness…..Thus, I must never let the pooling of dark blood, run my dreams off. You see I’ve come to know the shades of gray-sorrow; it aligns with whisper and a hissing from hell. After all this, I realize…. All cell floors need tears…. ALL, cell floors need tears!!!!

By: George Martorano
Copyright: 12973
2/10/15

Letter to some forgotten god

January 30th, 2015 by George Martorano

Dear forgotten god,

So, my heart’s guitar strings pick and say…..”Truly my greatest fear of prison, old friend, is to die and no one knowing of I, prisoner 12973, thus I must write. I also practiced the slaying-of-emotion to survive the 4th world…..Gosh,and I know my pen hand runs dark at times. I guess it is thee imprint that comes from endless, numbered days; pushes the words such and that way along the cheap paper…..Well, do you know forgotten god that prison doors all frown; there is only, in, and not out…..And then the time enters when sorrow sits next to you, you shake hands…. Sorrow and you then watch the sun go down…..You start to think in unison as safely goes the Heaven light…..Aah, sorrow and I sit very still, opening our minds, seeking seeing feeling no touch nor taste of free life…..But wait!….. Geez, sorrow and I have taught ourselves to “champion slave”. Tis better than storming high walls only to be shot down…..Hours pass ,we will fill our lungs before sleep. For we sleep right next to each other; sorrow squeezing up close . Yet, my face to cold wall. Where my eyes stare…..Stare and wait, wait for another pick of my heart’s guitar…..And may and maybe and who knows, come middle-night…..We’ll sing.”

Alas,as all cell doors lock….. I’ll write again. So farewell forgotten god, farewell.

By: George Martorano
copyright: 12973
1/29/15