Fragments 103-112 from Selected Squibs [by Alan Ziegler]

103. I am four, watching two big kids play catch on Essex Street in East New York, Brooklyn. An arm thrusts forward and the ball takes flight, soaring toward the rooftops, loses steam, heading for a crash, only to land in the waiting glove. Over and over. I want one. I will always want one.

104. My mother would lay down a towel and help me out of the tub. I’d shuffle the towel across the cold floor, both of us saying “choochie choo.” One night: “Did your father tell you what happened today?” she asks. “Yes, your mother died.” I shuffle towards her, as I say, alone, “Choochie choo.”

105. When one of the older kids in the neighborhood is told he “has no balls,” he replies, “I’ve got two of them, how many do you have?” This is a question I have never asked myself. That night, in the bath, I nervously count. One. Two. And no more.

106. In eighth grade, researching an idea for a science fair submission, I read that a copper wheel can be induced to spin fueled only by a light bulb. I meticulously followed the instructions but could not get it to spin. I turned it in anyway, with a short paper about how it works, knowing it doesn’t. The teacher was fascinated and beckoned me to the front of the classroom. I plugged in the light bulb, hoped for a miracle, and feigned shock when nothing happened. The teacher consoled me, said it’s what science is all about, and gave me an A.

107. I waited and waited for them, but, to be fair to the Monkees, they only said “We may be comin’ to your town.”

108. When I am five, my mother’s dentist gives me a little vial of mercury to play with: “See, it’s metal and it’s liquid!” I love how the silvery substance slinks as I tilt the glass. “Is that safe?” my mother asks. “Of course it is,” the dentist replies. “It’s what we put in your mouth.”

109. A frigid night in a strange town, warmed by the sight of neon squiggles steaming from a cup. Many coffee shops claim they make the World’s Best Coffee. And they do.

110. How many pencils, pens, and markers are stored right now in mugs and other holders? How many are usable? How many have been nonfunctioning for more than a year?

111. “So, what brought you here?” the cab driver in Binghamton asks on the way to the airport. “I gave a talk at the college.” “You gotta be really smart to do that.” “Not really,” I say, modestly. He frowns. “I’m not smart enough to do that.”

112. Peter Yarrow tousled my hair and said “Oh you!”

 

Comments

[Mitch Sisskind]

Great again!

[Mitch Sisskind]

I've got one:

When I was five or six I had a subscription
to "Jack and Jill" magazine. I especially
loved the monthly stories about Baba Yaga
the Russian witch. I begged my parents to
take me to Russia. Finally they agreed.

This was in Chicago. One Saturday we went
to the station and boarded a train. I remember
being in the dining car, excited to be on the
way to Russia.

Finally we arrived. I jumped off the train and
started running down the platform. Then I saw a
sign. It said "Milwaukee." I went to my father
and told him, "The sign says Milwaukee." He nodded.
"That's right. Milwaukee, Russia." I was again overjoyed.

[Alan Ziegler]

I love this--especially going all the way to Milwaukee (bypassing Kenosha, Russia)! I'm a big fan of Do Not Be a Gentleman When You Say Goodnight--what a range ("Then all hell breaks loose")!

[The Best American Poetry]

And then the Braves of Milwaukee, formerly the Browns of St. Louis (and of Boston previous to that) win the World Series with a lineup lacking a single Russian. -- DL