Fourth Of July7.6.97
Yesterday, after our trip to the Toys R' Us, where Glynn got a ball and
bat, (Barry Bonds signature) and to the WalMart where he got a batting
glove, I came inside for awhile and psyched up for a trip to Greg and
Sharon's back yard barbeque. Sharon is my age, pretty, about a hundred
pounds overweight. Greg has the shaved head, intense stare, and physique
of a light heavyweight boxer. The barbecued chicken, and ribs, the
macaroni and cheese, and jambalaya were all very good, but the two ice-cold
budweisers in the ninety-five degree (sixty percent humidified) heat hit
me hard and I found myself slipping away to lie in front of the AC at my
house. I woke a couple of hours later, groggy, so I slurped a pint of
XXX strength iced tea. Now I'm wired and groggy.
Its about 8pm now and I go outside and cross the street to Mama D's where Evelyn is sitting on the steps. Evelyn is Mama D's thirty-one year old daughter. A slightly
mannish appearance, and an apparent sexual attraction to both Mandy and
I has not completely precluded all of us from being friends. I ask
Evelyn if she wanted to go around the corner to her front porch on
Orleans and watch the fireworks that would be going off on the other side
of the Quarter by the river. She wanted to go down to the river and hear
the music and see it all up close. I'm not up to it this year, I say,
and besides, I don't want to go off having too much fun while Mandy is
suffering under the weight of a bad monthly. Evelyn doesn't want kids
going either and I remind her that it is Glynn's birthday and then she tells
me she has been fighting with her neighbor, Gambino, but what the hell,
let's go, and Glynn can come with us. Evelyn's children are Julia, 12, and Fermin, 11.
Evelyn wants me to drop her at the Joy on Canal after
the fireworks and so we drive instead of walk around the corner. Its
almost nine o'clock now and the heat still feels like little lead weights
resting on every individual pore of your body. The air is completely
still and has a density that resists you as you move through it. And the
evening sky, black, starless, and thick, rests heavily on your head.
Gambino and Evelyn have been the greatest of friends in the past,
Gambino barbecuing weekly on the little strip of side walk in front of
their double shotgun, sharing regularly with Evelyn. But a dispute over
fish cleaning and a missing porch light has escalated into a run of the
mill neighborly squabble or...
As we turn left on N. Broad the night is lit with flashing red lights.
Police cars coming from all directions, approaching what appears to be a
pretty hairy scene up by the pumping station on St. Louis. We see a
Crime Lab truck and our minds bring up visions of blood on the streets,
again. Another dot on the murder map perhaps. The Saturday Metro
section informs us it was a bad accident. Six men in the back of a
pickup with two cases of beer and a clothes dryer spilled onto the road.
All hurt, two in critical.
Evelyn, Glynn, and I, park on Orleans in front of her house. Gambino and
his wife are out on their side of the porch. Gambino pleads with Evelyn
to stop calling the police and their landlord on him. She had a box
cutter in her hand the other night when the police came. She says they
told her she had a right to defend herself. I'm not really listening.
Gambino makes a gesture of taking the bulb from his porch light and
putting it in Evelyn's. Glynn is eager to get into the bag of fireworks
I brought with me. Gambino's wife is explaining to her husband that
Evelyn is a frustrated woman. "She just loose job, she got two children
to take care of." But these words sound a little bit sinister to me.
Evelyn is not too sure so she just shakes her head and says, "yes I am
frustrated." And it is much too hot for all this. Something is not
right tonight and the hairs on my arms are bristling. Little lasers of
refracted street light bounce off the sweat pouring from Glynn's
forehead. And the voices are getting louder. This thing is escalating
too fast. Evelyn goes inside and calls the police. When she comes back
out I see this rather wicked looking filet knife inserted, blade down, in
her back pocket. I start to tell Glynn something but no words come out.
He seems to understand and goes to sit in the car. I look up and Evelyn
is standing up with her shoulders arched slightly back. The blade is in
her hand, in the sneak position--unvarnished wood handle in her clenched
fist, blade point running backwards towards her elbow and pressed tight
up against the inside of her wrist. She is standing two inches shy of
the imaginary line which separates the two porches. If she steps over it
first, its attempted murder. He steps over and she can plead
self-defense. I really don't believe Gambino or his wife ever saw the
knife. I step onto the sidewalk and cross the line so I am standing in
front of Gambino's. The porch is elevated about two and half feet from
the sidewalk. There is a wrought iron railing between us. My voice
doesn't carry that well but I yell anyway and tell Gambino that he needs
to leave my friend alone. The look of shock which comes over his face is
disproportionate to the threat. I can only guess he realized he had been
flanked, a strategic disadvantage to say the least. He mumbles some
obscenities in Spanish and quickly steps inside his front door. Surely
to get his gun my mind informs me. This night was made for it. Fifteen
police cars and two or three ambulances a block and a half away and I'm
about to become pulp. Over a light bulb and some fish guts. Gambino
comes back out and walks off towards the Shell station at Broad and
Orleans ( twenty-four hour beer and liquor).
Fermin and Julia show up about ten minutes later and Evelyn tells them to
stay home for the night. I leave them some fireworks and Glynn decides
to stay with them. I drop Evelyn at the Joy for the ten o'clock showing
of Men in Black. I pick her up at midnight and drop her at her house.
All is well.
|
Yesterday, after our trip to the Toys R' Us, where Glynn got a ball and bat, (Barry Bonds signature) and to the WalMart where he got a batting glove, I came inside for awhile and psyched up for a trip to Greg and Sharon's back yard barbeque. Sharon is my age, pretty, about a hundred pounds overweight. Greg has the shaved head, intense stare, and physique of a light heavyweight boxer. The barbecued chicken, and ribs, the macaroni and cheese, and jambalaya were all very good, but the two ice-cold budweisers in the ninety-five degree (sixty percent humidified) heat hit me hard and I found myself slipping away to lie in front of the AC at my house. I woke a couple of hours later, groggy, so I slurped a pint of XXX strength iced tea. Now I'm wired and groggy.
Its about 8pm now and I go outside and cross the street to Mama D's where Evelyn is sitting on the steps. Evelyn is Mama D's thirty-one year old daughter. A slightly mannish appearance, and an apparent sexual attraction to both Mandy and I has not completely precluded all of us from being friends. I ask Evelyn if she wanted to go around the corner to her front porch on Orleans and watch the fireworks that would be going off on the other side of the Quarter by the river. She wanted to go down to the river and hear the music and see it all up close. I'm not up to it this year, I say, and besides, I don't want to go off having too much fun while Mandy is suffering under the weight of a bad monthly. Evelyn doesn't want kids going either and I remind her that it is Glynn's birthday and then she tells me she has been fighting with her neighbor, Gambino, but what the hell, let's go, and Glynn can come with us. Evelyn's children are Julia, 12, and Fermin, 11. Evelyn wants me to drop her at the Joy on Canal after the fireworks and so we drive instead of walk around the corner. Its almost nine o'clock now and the heat still feels like little lead weights resting on every individual pore of your body. The air is completely still and has a density that resists you as you move through it. And the evening sky, black, starless, and thick, rests heavily on your head.
Gambino and Evelyn have been the greatest of friends in the past, Gambino barbecuing weekly on the little strip of side walk in front of their double shotgun, sharing regularly with Evelyn. But a dispute over fish cleaning and a missing porch light has escalated into a run of the mill neighborly squabble or...
As we turn left on N. Broad the night is lit with flashing red lights. Police cars coming from all directions, approaching what appears to be a pretty hairy scene up by the pumping station on St. Louis. We see a Crime Lab truck and our minds bring up visions of blood on the streets, again. Another dot on the murder map perhaps. The Saturday Metro section informs us it was a bad accident. Six men in the back of a pickup with two cases of beer and a clothes dryer spilled onto the road. All hurt, two in critical.
Evelyn, Glynn, and I, park on Orleans in front of her house. Gambino and his wife are out on their side of the porch. Gambino pleads with Evelyn to stop calling the police and their landlord on him. She had a box cutter in her hand the other night when the police came. She says they told her she had a right to defend herself. I'm not really listening. Gambino makes a gesture of taking the bulb from his porch light and putting it in Evelyn's. Glynn is eager to get into the bag of fireworks I brought with me. Gambino's wife is explaining to her husband that Evelyn is a frustrated woman. "She just loose job, she got two children to take care of." But these words sound a little bit sinister to me. Evelyn is not too sure so she just shakes her head and says, "yes I am frustrated." And it is much too hot for all this. Something is not right tonight and the hairs on my arms are bristling. Little lasers of refracted street light bounce off the sweat pouring from Glynn's forehead. And the voices are getting louder. This thing is escalating too fast. Evelyn goes inside and calls the police. When she comes back out I see this rather wicked looking filet knife inserted, blade down, in her back pocket. I start to tell Glynn something but no words come out. He seems to understand and goes to sit in the car. I look up and Evelyn is standing up with her shoulders arched slightly back. The blade is in her hand, in the sneak position--unvarnished wood handle in her clenched fist, blade point running backwards towards her elbow and pressed tight up against the inside of her wrist. She is standing two inches shy of the imaginary line which separates the two porches. If she steps over it first, its attempted murder. He steps over and she can plead self-defense. I really don't believe Gambino or his wife ever saw the knife. I step onto the sidewalk and cross the line so I am standing in front of Gambino's. The porch is elevated about two and half feet from the sidewalk. There is a wrought iron railing between us. My voice doesn't carry that well but I yell anyway and tell Gambino that he needs to leave my friend alone. The look of shock which comes over his face is disproportionate to the threat. I can only guess he realized he had been flanked, a strategic disadvantage to say the least. He mumbles some obscenities in Spanish and quickly steps inside his front door. Surely to get his gun my mind informs me. This night was made for it. Fifteen police cars and two or three ambulances a block and a half away and I'm about to become pulp. Over a light bulb and some fish guts. Gambino comes back out and walks off towards the Shell station at Broad and Orleans ( twenty-four hour beer and liquor).
Fermin and Julia show up about ten minutes later and Evelyn tells them to stay home for the night. I leave them some fireworks and Glynn decides to stay with them. I drop Evelyn at the Joy for the ten o'clock showing of Men in Black. I pick her up at midnight and drop her at her house. All is well.
- jimlouis 4-29-2000 12:48 pm