chapter 24

Back in the Den

     The dust cloud was now cloud clouds and as the jet descended

   through them the skyline of New York City appeared for Celia. It

   unchanged and she entirely so.

       LaGuardia airstrip was closest to her Astoria apartment so she

  made that the first stop and would get to her mother in the 

  morning. 

       Driving, drinkin, waiting, flying, transferring and then flying

  some more, though all done from a sitting position tuckered Celia

  out so she decided a bath, ahhh, shower, a think and then go find

  Harold, would be the way to go. Most definitely.

      Like when one visits his or her elementary school, everything

  now seemed so small, so compacted. In the cab Celia wondered if 

  the car would fit through the narrow streets. While waiting for a

  traffic light to turn green on Astoria blvd., she saw more people

  than she had in 3 weeks out west.

      She got out of the cab on her corner so to walk to her building 

  in the middle of her block. Her block now seemed tiny. She might

  spit from one end to the other. The double dutch girls,  

  chanting and twirling in the tight circle of illumination under a 

  lamp post stopped to greet Celia. Celia dropped her bag, embraced

  them all and requested a one rope turn as she was out of practice.

  Double dutch was the same. Not reduced or altered and certainly

  not beneath her.

     

                      “ If growing up means it would be,

                    Beneath my dignity to climb a tree …..”

     The apartment was tiniest of all. Dorothy in Munchkin land, you

  betcha. But there were her portraits, her books, paints, music,

  clothes and effects and they all now seemed to her as artifacts or

  maybe, clues at a crime scene.

      A shower left her clean and yet not cleansed. Not at all like the

  daily ablution she enjoyed in her deluxe tub with lion paws in

  Ardensville.

    The think, a regular feature of the Ardensville bathe, was not

  present in the 40”x40’’ shower. There was washing and there was

  done. That is all.

     “Aye Harold, you okay?” Philly called over in his penetrating

   baritone.

      No regular patron listening was accustomed to Harold dropping 

   a beat or hesitating segues or any disturbance to his fluid playing.

   Celia’s accounting of her bizarre visit to what once was Harold’s

   homeland was short circuiting his musical brain.

     “This secret is so secret Harold, I wouldn’t be surprised if

   blabbing it was a federal offense.” Celia tipped back the bottom 

   of her beer.

       Here were the two friends as before and the only thing changed

   was Celia’s worldliness due to having spent a few weeks in a 

   small town out west. Harold ceased playing and Philly turned the

   sound up on the ball game. Now the friends could face one

   another.

      “And they, all these ahhh, refugees, don’t even detect each

  other? I find that very tough to swallow.”, Harold queried

   incredulous.

     “Could I make this shit up Harold?!” Celia stopped realizing she

   had raised her voice enough to draw attention as detected by

   Philly’s caterpillar eyebrows. Without turning to the piano, Harold

   grabbed a big chord that expressed simultaneously his amazement

  and disbelief.

     “Wha chu gonna do?”, Harold asked in character though 

  sincerely and looked directly at Celia for a big and substantive

  answer. Harold waited. He waited a little more then got up and 

  took their mugs for reloads.

     “I won’t let my soulless mother and her soulless pride-less pride

   expose and destroy a holy place. I don’t know what I’m going to

   do. I don’t know what I can do. This is just awful. I’ll know more

   tomorrow.’

      Turning back to the piano Harold glissed down nearly the entire

   keyboard and landed on a thought.

                        “M is for the many things you gave me.”