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What Big Eyes
Jeff C. Johnson
Freedom.
It ain't an easy word to define.
Seems like it all depends on what kinda window
you're lookin out of.
Some people look it in the face every morning and don't even know it's
theirs. Some see it clearly and they live happily ever after. While others
blame loved ones for keepin the curtains drawn or the panes dirty. Never
realizin that the bucket of soapy water is right at their feet.
All the while, there's a bunch of people of all shapes, sizes and colors that
take it, play with it, toss it around, even beat it up. Till all they got
left is a thick musty aftertaste of misuse .
I believe it's those like us that can see it most clearly. Cause when the
moon washes white on a sticky summer night, it hangs there all lithe and
sweet, teasin with it's flirty kisses, just inches beyond our grasp.
A mile of inches that're divided by the cold steel bars between my fingertips
and...Freedom.
I was released from prison at 7:30 A.M.on a Monday,
a grey Monday.
All around me the tides of motion swirled and with wide-eyed excitement I
soaked up all of the things that I could; The deep luxury red of a "Stop"
sign, the bursting greenery in the cracks of the sidewalk, the smell of
perfume drifting through the breeze. Every step I took I was propellin myself
out into the bright open spaces of tomorrow.
With the little bit of cash that I had saved up, I took up livin at a motel
about seven miles West of town. Room 19, it wasn't the prettiest place on
God's blue earth, but I figured it'd do fine till I got a job and got back on
my feet. Every morning I'd get up to watch the sun rise over the horizon and
enjoy a homemade poppy seed muffin from the bakery down the street. Inside my
chest was the warmth of sweet satisfaction, the joy of an untouched moment.
Yet, searchin for a job wasn't so special. I endured a certain kind of look
that I ain't never come upon in my life. This sort of side-way, half-respect
squint of the eyes that made me feel like I was three inches tall. Now, I
always knew that bein a convicted criminal weren't the best start that you
could have in your life.
But I always believed that people were more forgiven', more sympathetic to
those that had done paid their dues and were looking for a new beginnin, no
matter how low they had to start.
Still, I applied day after day to places big and small, for jobs good and bad
and with each application I filled out, signed and handed back into their
hand, they left me with their look. That disapprovin gaze that made my eyes
water or the center of my back hot. Were my years worth nothing?
My nights were lonely and borin.
Soon though, I sought the aid of a bottle and its slippery genie.
And it wasn't long till that magic little genie answered one of my prayers
and hooked me up with Tara. A sweet girl of 16 that just seemed to know me
from the get-go and didn't care any about my past, my present or my
future...She just wanted to be with me in the here and now.
Tara was full of love and imperfection, the kinda woman poets write poems
about.
I met her in the parkin lot of the club where she worked. She was a dancer.
And I'll never forget the moment our lips met under those tall yellow lights
that buzzed away the silence. She said she ran away from home cause her
parents didn't approve of her boyfriend. That they expected her to be
somethin she wasn't, somethin she could never ever be. With me she said she
felt whole, felt changed, like the pretty princess of her dreams. In her I
found a freedom, a freedom of emotion and feelin that showed me that, no
matter what the age, a woman knew how to soothe the hardened areas of a man's
heart.
We would spend every moment we could together. I'd even go and see her at
work so we could just gaze in to each others eyes. Soon, I found myself to be
spendin more time with Tara than I did lookin for a job. But it didn't seem
to matter all that much, cause she gave me all of the self-respect and such
that I needed. She loved me fair and square. It was just money that we had a
problem with.
The money I had saved up was all but gone, what with rent at the motel, food
and all the partyin that Tara and I came to get up to. It was startin to
frustrate me. Inside me I felt like a lesser type for not bein able to
provide Tara with a good home and the things she wanted. I needed to find a
job, not only for us, but more and more I felt that my precious freedom
toward my future was connected to bein employed.
One sun-setting evening, after another round of fruitless job searchin,
drinks and a bar room screamin match with Tara, I found myself walkin home
alone. It wasn't the first time, but it didn't seem like every other time
neither. More like a slow-motion movie where, with every step, my head
swirled with failure, anger and beer.
I was under this influence when I came upon a little boy and girl standing in
my path.
"Hey I know you!" Said the little boy.
"Oh yeah? How? I slurred.
"You're that famous wolf that tried killing Red Riding Hood and her Grandma."
He replied.
The little girl stared blankly at me while chewin ropes of red licorice that
dangled against her chin.
"Leave me alone."
"I can't believe it's you...You are sooo cool...."
"What!?"
"...Are you gonna try and kill someone else!? My Dad said that you probably
would...well!?"
With the boys last statement, and the piercing stare of that little girl, I
boiled over and rushed off for the safety of my motel room.
Yet, when I finally reached the door, finger fumbled the lock and stumbled
inside the crisp air conditioned room, I noticed that Tara's things weren't
there. A maid perfect room; clean, tucked and dusted. Tara'd picked up and
left without the slightest hint, no sobbing note, no trace of sorrow or fear.
I sat on the edge of the bed and turned on the TV. I stared at the sparklin
screen but saw nothing. My ears pounded and my face felt flush as an anger
rose up from deep inside me. A rage at the world for keeping itself to
itself. A rage at her, at me, at them and in the end YOU for not releasing me
from my past.
I exploded.
With screams and tears I ripped, threw and kicked everything in sight.
Bendin, breakin, and destroyin the whole maid serviced room.
Quietly, I sat there starin at the result of my fury.
A lightnin flash feeling that had been suppressed for years. I thought it had
dozed off or snuck away after a lesson learned.
But at that moment, in room 19, I discovered that my rage was just lyin
patiently in the tall dry grass. Waitin for that perfect moment to pounce on
me and devour me whole.
The silence in my motel room gripped me.
The forest; That mysterious maze that was home to my wayward youth. It had
been so many years since I had traveled it's twisted paths and smelled it's
after-shower sweetness. I had missed it and it had missed me and it was
there, in a prickly pocket of branches, that I plotted a perfect plan. A plan
to finally seize the priceless freedom that I deserved.
Time was almost through with the morning, when I crouched down hidden along
the thin asphalt pathway. Waiting.
The trees above and around me wind whispered a sort of "Welcome Home" that
embraced me while fuelin my intensity.
I waited...Quietly.
Until I saw her, a beautiful young woman in a bright red sweat suit, joggin
effortlessly toward me. She was a stranger to me, but with her in view, my
feelings became all too familiar.
I waited...Deliriously.
Then, with a burst of adrenalin, I jumped out into the path and grabbed her.
I clutched at her wrist, yanked her hair and held on with a slippin grip of
her jaw . She fought real hard to shake me off, clawin, bitin and screamin,
as I dragged her deep in to the cool, dark forest.
Y'know, I guess it's kinda funny really, when you think about how everything
works out.
Here I am again in State Prison lookin out barred up windows at a world I
can't quite reach. Although somehow I don't feel all that bad about bein
here, no yearning, no churning questions eatin at my gut. Cause I had it and
I had enough of it, or it did me.
All them trappins and glitter tie wrappins of freedom made me feel trapped.
All the endless possibilities and uncertainties; I ain't prepared.
Why just the other day, sittin at the lunch table, a guy asked me what the
best thing about bein on the outside was.
After a minute to think it over and finish chewin on my potato salad, I
replied, "Knowin in the back of my head that I had some familiar place that I
could come back home to."
The End
Jeff C. Johnson
Freedom.
It ain't an easy word to define.
Seems like it all depends on what kinda window
you're lookin out of.
Some people look it in the face every morning and don't even know it's
theirs. Some see it clearly and they live happily ever after. While others
blame loved ones for keepin the curtains drawn or the panes dirty. Never
realizin that the bucket of soapy water is right at their feet.
All the while, there's a bunch of people of all shapes, sizes and colors that
take it, play with it, toss it around, even beat it up. Till all they got
left is a thick musty aftertaste of misuse .
I believe it's those like us that can see it most clearly. Cause when the
moon washes white on a sticky summer night, it hangs there all lithe and
sweet, teasin with it's flirty kisses, just inches beyond our grasp.
A mile of inches that're divided by the cold steel bars between my fingertips
and...Freedom.
I was released from prison at 7:30 A.M.on a Monday,
a grey Monday.
All around me the tides of motion swirled and with wide-eyed excitement I
soaked up all of the things that I could; The deep luxury red of a "Stop"
sign, the bursting greenery in the cracks of the sidewalk, the smell of
perfume drifting through the breeze. Every step I took I was propellin myself
out into the bright open spaces of tomorrow.
With the little bit of cash that I had saved up, I took up livin at a motel
about seven miles West of town. Room 19, it wasn't the prettiest place on
God's blue earth, but I figured it'd do fine till I got a job and got back on
my feet. Every morning I'd get up to watch the sun rise over the horizon and
enjoy a homemade poppy seed muffin from the bakery down the street. Inside my
chest was the warmth of sweet satisfaction, the joy of an untouched moment.
Yet, searchin for a job wasn't so special. I endured a certain kind of look
that I ain't never come upon in my life. This sort of side-way, half-respect
squint of the eyes that made me feel like I was three inches tall. Now, I
always knew that bein a convicted criminal weren't the best start that you
could have in your life.
But I always believed that people were more forgiven', more sympathetic to
those that had done paid their dues and were looking for a new beginnin, no
matter how low they had to start.
Still, I applied day after day to places big and small, for jobs good and bad
and with each application I filled out, signed and handed back into their
hand, they left me with their look. That disapprovin gaze that made my eyes
water or the center of my back hot. Were my years worth nothing?
My nights were lonely and borin.
Soon though, I sought the aid of a bottle and its slippery genie.
And it wasn't long till that magic little genie answered one of my prayers
and hooked me up with Tara. A sweet girl of 16 that just seemed to know me
from the get-go and didn't care any about my past, my present or my
future...She just wanted to be with me in the here and now.
Tara was full of love and imperfection, the kinda woman poets write poems
about.
I met her in the parkin lot of the club where she worked. She was a dancer.
And I'll never forget the moment our lips met under those tall yellow lights
that buzzed away the silence. She said she ran away from home cause her
parents didn't approve of her boyfriend. That they expected her to be
somethin she wasn't, somethin she could never ever be. With me she said she
felt whole, felt changed, like the pretty princess of her dreams. In her I
found a freedom, a freedom of emotion and feelin that showed me that, no
matter what the age, a woman knew how to soothe the hardened areas of a man's
heart.
We would spend every moment we could together. I'd even go and see her at
work so we could just gaze in to each others eyes. Soon, I found myself to be
spendin more time with Tara than I did lookin for a job. But it didn't seem
to matter all that much, cause she gave me all of the self-respect and such
that I needed. She loved me fair and square. It was just money that we had a
problem with.
The money I had saved up was all but gone, what with rent at the motel, food
and all the partyin that Tara and I came to get up to. It was startin to
frustrate me. Inside me I felt like a lesser type for not bein able to
provide Tara with a good home and the things she wanted. I needed to find a
job, not only for us, but more and more I felt that my precious freedom
toward my future was connected to bein employed.
One sun-setting evening, after another round of fruitless job searchin,
drinks and a bar room screamin match with Tara, I found myself walkin home
alone. It wasn't the first time, but it didn't seem like every other time
neither. More like a slow-motion movie where, with every step, my head
swirled with failure, anger and beer.
I was under this influence when I came upon a little boy and girl standing in
my path.
"Hey I know you!" Said the little boy.
"Oh yeah? How? I slurred.
"You're that famous wolf that tried killing Red Riding Hood and her Grandma."
He replied.
The little girl stared blankly at me while chewin ropes of red licorice that
dangled against her chin.
"Leave me alone."
"I can't believe it's you...You are sooo cool...."
"What!?"
"...Are you gonna try and kill someone else!? My Dad said that you probably
would...well!?"
With the boys last statement, and the piercing stare of that little girl, I
boiled over and rushed off for the safety of my motel room.
Yet, when I finally reached the door, finger fumbled the lock and stumbled
inside the crisp air conditioned room, I noticed that Tara's things weren't
there. A maid perfect room; clean, tucked and dusted. Tara'd picked up and
left without the slightest hint, no sobbing note, no trace of sorrow or fear.
I sat on the edge of the bed and turned on the TV. I stared at the sparklin
screen but saw nothing. My ears pounded and my face felt flush as an anger
rose up from deep inside me. A rage at the world for keeping itself to
itself. A rage at her, at me, at them and in the end YOU for not releasing me
from my past.
I exploded.
With screams and tears I ripped, threw and kicked everything in sight.
Bendin, breakin, and destroyin the whole maid serviced room.
Quietly, I sat there starin at the result of my fury.
A lightnin flash feeling that had been suppressed for years. I thought it had
dozed off or snuck away after a lesson learned.
But at that moment, in room 19, I discovered that my rage was just lyin
patiently in the tall dry grass. Waitin for that perfect moment to pounce on
me and devour me whole.
The silence in my motel room gripped me.
The forest; That mysterious maze that was home to my wayward youth. It had
been so many years since I had traveled it's twisted paths and smelled it's
after-shower sweetness. I had missed it and it had missed me and it was
there, in a prickly pocket of branches, that I plotted a perfect plan. A plan
to finally seize the priceless freedom that I deserved.
Time was almost through with the morning, when I crouched down hidden along
the thin asphalt pathway. Waiting.
The trees above and around me wind whispered a sort of "Welcome Home" that
embraced me while fuelin my intensity.
I waited...Quietly.
Until I saw her, a beautiful young woman in a bright red sweat suit, joggin
effortlessly toward me. She was a stranger to me, but with her in view, my
feelings became all too familiar.
I waited...Deliriously.
Then, with a burst of adrenalin, I jumped out into the path and grabbed her.
I clutched at her wrist, yanked her hair and held on with a slippin grip of
her jaw . She fought real hard to shake me off, clawin, bitin and screamin,
as I dragged her deep in to the cool, dark forest.
Y'know, I guess it's kinda funny really, when you think about how everything
works out.
Here I am again in State Prison lookin out barred up windows at a world I
can't quite reach. Although somehow I don't feel all that bad about bein
here, no yearning, no churning questions eatin at my gut. Cause I had it and
I had enough of it, or it did me.
All them trappins and glitter tie wrappins of freedom made me feel trapped.
All the endless possibilities and uncertainties; I ain't prepared.
Why just the other day, sittin at the lunch table, a guy asked me what the
best thing about bein on the outside was.
After a minute to think it over and finish chewin on my potato salad, I
replied, "Knowin in the back of my head that I had some familiar place that I
could come back home to."
The End
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