Snippets of Time

To list all places that I have lived and its impact on my life would fill the pages of a book the size of Tolstoy's "War and Peace". Not unlike that famous Novel, the tumultuous and sometimes panoramic portrayal of the elite class, and its endearing struggle to adjust to an insane war, my life was parallel in scope and ambition. I have seen the battles large and small and have chosen only the sidelines for I know my capacity as a soldier. Soldiers are soldiers and whatever the cause or the fight they remain soldiers to the finish. My path as an observer and fight only when challenged best serves me. The honest realization of that path hit home one night. These eyes have seen the twilight of youth extinguished from the eyes of a boy, dying from a gunshot wound to the heart. A debt had been paid in blood and so, the two warring factions from opposite sides of town quietly and quickly vanished as if carried away by the wind. This was the life in the urban refuge called the Barrio of East LA.
Sometimes the diversity of people like an artist painting brings the brilliance of life in all its colorful display onto one canvas. Such was the life in the poverty-strewn quarters of the Counties "Project Housing Authority" called the "Projects". The pale gray colored two story brick dwellings occupied by Hispanics; indigenous to all of South America lay along a strip of land adjacent to the interstate 5 freeway. For those displaced not by immigration but through economics, say a few Blacks and Whites, life here was dangerous. The violent Saturday night encounters of non-Latinos and Hispanics were as common as watching Rawhide the Television series; but for those caught after dark, there was no Trail boss to save them. Sadly, as neighbors we had to listen as the drama unfolded on the walkways.
The only haven located at the entrance to this land was the only church within three square miles. It was perfect for those without cars because it was in walking distance. Although, it was a Catholic Church, Southern Baptist, Methodist, Protestants and followers of other faiths gathered here for a sense of hope and a few kind words. Then, after Mass a kind of peace settled over the land. It was as if a magical kingdom of Barbecue pits ablaze with Pork Chorizos, Pork Ribs, Hot Dogs, Frisbees and Soccer in the Project's square had materialized from heaven. This unhappy, hopeless region of land was again transformed into one of forgetfulness and peace. Not, unlike the Lotus petal eaters from that mythical land of Homer, the human spirit was given a temporary retreat from reality.
The curtain call for my parent's marriage came when in the spring of my early youth they decided to part. Being nine I profoundly realized for the very first time what deep and incendiary pain meant. This unique term that perhaps, I being the only mortal who knew the meaning would constantly be reminded. The break up was such an inhibiting factor in my life that the color of life changed dramatically for me. I became vulnerable. All the certainly and security of life went out of the window and for the next five years a mild depression claimed my childhood. These were unhappy years for me. It was an "E-ride" from the Central to the Barrio of East LA. I wondered who would pay for this ride-any takers?
Living with my adopted parent or should I say my parent of choice, for I blamed my mother for the breakup, was like a living nightmare. Ever had a nightmare that you couldn't wake up from? Nevertheless, I knew I had to stay with my Father for he needed us. My three sisters, his Mother, his Brother and I so loved this man that we would have followed him to the ends of the Earth. How could she leave such a good person?
My Mother on the other hand was super independent and chose the solitary life. We all knew that she was self-reliant and required not the love that we could give. Contact with her was usually out of need for some small article of clothing that we could not afford after spending all of our welfare check on food and housing.
The nightmare that imposed itself into my life with Father was unemployment and his frequent drug use. The unemployment was hard enough to handle but the drug use, as we were to discover brought into our lives another flavor of uncertainty. And like a recurring nightmare that haunts the corridors of a mental patient's anguished mind, the wholesale use of drugs destroys the very essence of the will to live. Its affect on those who care is devastating. That summer, a long slow death descended on us all. Unfortunately, we all had known better times.
It was a quiet midsummer's night. The world had stopped suddenly. There was no movement, the moon was high in the western sky, and the shadows of lost souls were clearly visible against the brick walls of my dwelling. I stood outside for what seemed an eternity, listening for the wings of hope. There was a cloud that obscured the view of the moon momentarily. A faint rustle of the branches of a nearby tree could be heard if you listened, and waited for the branches to sound again. The weight of the world was in a Stagecoach and was fast coming towards me at great speed. As I watched its coming closer, in its approach, the trail of steam coming from the horse's nostrils enveloped the wheels of the Stage as if it was gliding on a cushion of invisible air. I was suddenly shaken by the sound of Police breaking into my dwelling looking for my Father and his Brother Lionel my Uncle. The stagecoach had arrived.
Much later in time, In Ila Vista, a small suburb near Santa Barbara, California a recent acquaintance came to see me. We met in a vegetarian restaurant near the Universities Campus. I remember feeling happy to see her. She stopped by on her way to downtown for some shopping. No one was in the Commune so we spent a favorable part of the afternoon alone and just talking. What sparked our interest in each other was a mutual feeling of familiarity. There are some thing's one just can't explain at the time but we both felt a need to be with each other. So, I had invited her over an open invitation to stop by anytime. It was to my surprise that she opted to come over so soon, since it had been earlier in the afternoon when we had met for the very first time. Of course, I was happy to see her again. The thoughts of her stayed with me, and I had wondered when I was going to see her again after we had earlier parted company.
Lisa made me feel colorless when color meant so much to the world. A genuine affinity existed between us and at first I didn't fully comprehend the feeling, but as the moments passed I began to feel intimately pleased with this new sensation. She offered me a gift it was a gift from the heart. But, she didn't see and how could she, the raging battle with the ugly world of my past that still haunt my dreams and conscious mind. My soul begged for and wanted to adjust to the moment and take this lovely creature's gift. My worst fear was that I would corrupt this perfect angel and break her heart, for which I had no right. Then I thought that maybe it was her need to feel needed or perhaps she heard my call for help? I couldn't decide what to do. My tormented soul and the fire within spurned the voice of my heart. I suppose loneliness was too familiar.
Lisa played the guitar for me once below the bluffs near the ocean. Her sweet angelic voice soothed my soul like no other messenger of bliss. The seagulls flew away south all the while the sandy foam washed upon the beach and was lost.
Now, the pages have turned once written and a five-year plan seems to be the most appropriate scheme in this stage of my life. I am sure that setting aside money for a life away from Aerospace is the right thing to do. I'll work on a plan tonight.