Crescent Moon Howling At The Fool {Reversed}: 7:} The Night I Met Jimmy

I
never
had more
than one friend
during any period
of time while growing up.
Every single one {all four} of
them were picked off as soon
as they appeared in the
telescopic sights of
her calibrated,
cruel and
spiteful,
mind.

And
I know
it was just
because... In my
heart and soul there is
no room for doubt about it.
She never wanted me to
have any friends.
Period!

I
first
met Jimmy
while hanging out
in a sub shop near Brigham
Circle along with a few friends.
When he came walking in,
they grew
silent.

Around
his neck
hung a pair of
stereo headphones,
plugged into
the air.
He
got
a sub

and sat
there eating
while swaying to
rhythyms playing in
his head. I was sixteen
and later he told me he
was fourteen but soon
he would be
fifteen.

The
kids I
was with
stood in circles
whispering comments
about this brand-new face in
the neighborhood while politely
covering barely moving lips.
We would all become
very good friends
in the near
future.

I
don't
remember where
I scared up the courage
to walk over and begin chatting.
Maybe it was desperation steeled from
the conditioned worthlessness of my isolated,
anxiety-ridden and consigned place in the world,
but it became one of the rare
times fate has ever
smiled kindly
down upon
me.

Shortly
afterwards we
walked up Mission Hill
to his house on upper Hillside,
beyond Louie's store past
the corner of Hillside
and Calumet
Streets.

We spent
that night talking
in his dark bedroom,
smoking cigarettes as we
took turns listening through his
headphones {now plugged into his
impressive Realistic stereo receiver}
to the latest Stevie Wonder album, and
especially his favorite artist at that time,
Jackson Browne. Meanwhile Jimmy busied

himself launching perfectly
formed cigarette smoke
rings from puckered
lips with complete
abandon.

I
was
astounded
because, although his
mother disapproved of his
smoking at fourteen and a half,
she nevertheless allowed it!
His father had turned him
on, through one of his
many letters, to the
'far out' sound of a
cool, hip Cat by
the name of...
Stevens!

During
several of my
turns wearing the
headphones, the music
was cancelled out by his little
brother's relentless screaming for
a turn to listen along with us. Jimmy
warned him to go back to sleep or else he

wouldn't be able to get up the following morning
for school. The onslaught of John's head-splitting tirade
crescendoed to such an alarming level it alerted his

mother who began softly knocking at the door!
She pleaded for Jimmy to stop picking on
John because he needed sleep before
school in the morning! I was struck

dumbfounded Jimmy got blamed
for John's demonic behavior!
I asked him why he didn't
let him listen just once
so there could be
some peace and
quiet or that
his mother
wouldn't
come
back.

Jimmy
says 'don't
worry about
that', as he'd
take care of it
if she does, and
that if John were
to start listening just
once, he wouldn't stop

until after the sun came up!
And he wouldn't go to school!
And it was already past eleven!
Jimmy's loud authority commands
John to shut the hell up and go to sleep
or he would be looking for an ass whipping.
This again brought his mother softly knocking at
the bedroom door pleading for Jimmy to stop
picking on John and 'let' him get to sleep
before the neighbors complained
about the brotherly war that
would rage on for the
next dozen
or more
years!

And
now, with
the addition
of his mother
to the battle of
wills, he looked
toward the bedroom
door, completely pissed
off, and yelled back
"Maw! Get the
hell outta
here and
leave us
alone!

For
Christ's
sake! I can
never get any
peace around this
place! Goddamnit!
Come on, Mike!' And
I followed him outside
to sit on his small front
porch where peace and
quiet went after all hell
broke loose inside.