8 Jun

the man who sold me my house
was a funny, little man.
not funny funny, funny weird.
creepy.
too nice, too accommodating, disarming.
the kind of guy whom I always kept in front of me.
after the deal, he came around and lent me a table and some chairs
and invited me to his church across the way from my new house.
he played drums in the church band
and he knew I also spent years on the instrument
and so he kept coming around, driving by,
inviting me to his church.
to play drums with him in the church band.
oh no sweetie, I said, I don’t go to church.
well, what do you do on Sundays? he asked.
nothing. I drink. both. I answered.
and then he brought his wife and little kid
a baby really, to try to convince me.
his wife was weird as well;
25 years younger, very attractive
but gave the wrong vibes, the creepy vibes.
found out she had travelled to Peru
and so I engaged her in a conversation about Lima
and some famous left-handed tennis player from the city
and the novel “Night Flight” by Antoine de Saint Exupery;
a brilliant story about flying above the Andes;
but found out she spent time in the countryside
as a missionary
and so she didn’t know about the famous
left-handed tennis player out of Lima
or the book about traversing some of the world’s most horrific winds
above the Andes, in Peru.
their baby looked strangely like a mix of human and insect
and even she gave weird vibes;
my own baby refused to even look at her
and was much put off by incessant whining and crying
so much so that she crawled away finally
and settled herself under the borrowed table.
again they asked me to come join their church
across the way from my new house;
again I told them I don’t go to church
but they saw that as a challenge;
after all, she had helped turn dozens of Peruvians
into followers;
and so she turned on a bizarre kind of charm on me;
I felt very uncomfortable, almost being hit on by this
weird, little man’s weird little young wife
all the while the baby was screaming;
a bad scene, bad vibes;
I told them they could have back their table
and that I’d never show up at their church;
and I asked them politely to take their weird baby
and leave my house.
I still get notes from him;
yearly reminders of his family’s picnic
held at a park nearby;
although I no longer own that house,
I’ve stuck around for different reasons, and
I drive by his church almost every day
on my way to the ABC Liquor store
to buy my gin and dry vermouth.

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One Response to “”

  1. Matt 11/06/2009 at 11:13 PM #

    Wow.

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