Jimmy's Song

Jimmy’s Song Sometimes we are further apart than we want to be, Sometimes it’s by our choice, other times it’s not. I held a little boy’s hand in the park the other day, We were both efficiently doing nothing. He called me “Unca”, ‘cause I guess I am his uncle, He adored me, and I adored him, a walk in the park. We ambled alongside the edge of the lake, He squealed as “monster” frogs battered the water. I looked over to the other side of the water, And saw a woman standing there, a little girl in tow. The little girl beamed with a smile full of sunshine, And called her “Mama”, ‘cause I guess she’s her mother. Both were in plain dresses, their hair done in ‘rows, They looked to be very poor, but extremely happy. The girl threw sticks in the water, while laughing gaily, And whirled ‘round and ‘round, saying, “Look, mama”! Then I glanced to the side, and saw one who was not happy, It was a drunk, lying against a tree, empty bottle at his side. How old was he? I dunno, either thirty or eighty, He had his eyes open, but I could tell he saw nothing. Though he couldn’t move, his mouth kept working, Talking to someone named “Jimmy” he thought was there. He would gesture with hands, and talk loudly, then softly, Explaining the mysteries of life to his absent friend Jimmy. I decided to walk around to the other side of the lake, It seemed more interesting than the one I was on. My little nephew was more than willing to go, I think he wanted to check out the little girl, you see. So around we went, and soon we were there, chasing ducks. The woman and her child looked at us, and both smiled. Though we only spoke with nods of our heads, it seemed as if, We knew each other from a long time ago, far distant times. We all turned to look at the drunk, lying there on the ground, And listened to his ranting, probably for the first time ever. I caught snatches of his words, “Jimmy”, he said, “You’re a good boy”, he said, and the woman heard also. It sounded to me as if he were talking to a son he once had, And my eyes filled with tears, and my heart filled with dread. And I looked at the woman, and she was crying too, And the children were bawling, though they knew not why. I reached for my pocket, and pulled out a piece of leather, There was a dollar bill folded up in it. The woman reached for her purse, pulling out a piece of fabric, There was also a dollar bill folded up in it. Smiling, she handed me her dollar; I matched hers with mine. And went over to the raving drunk, still talking to Jimmy. I stood in front of him, and extended my hand, holding the money. “Here”, I said, “This is from Jimmy, with all his love”. Though drunk, he looked briefly stunned, then took the money, And went on talking to Jimmy, waving the money in his hand. But this time he was smiling, not frowning as he ranted, “Jimmy, come see! I’ve got your money”, he said. The woman and I looked at each other, then briefly embraced. Then we turned, and left in opposite directions. But our lives will be forever linked, by a drunk in a park, Because for once in our lives, we understood him, and ourselves. {Far away, in a distant land called Afghanistan, a young American marine trudged over ground near frozen. He was cold, and he was scared. Last night his best friend had had one of his legs shattered by a whistling bullet from somewhere; who knows where? His friend had been standing only two feet away from him……. The medics had hauled him off, but it was obvious his leg was a mess. His friend had cried while they were taking him away; the boy had cried also. For, now, he was alone, or, at least felt like he was; though he was surrounded by other young marines. His mother had died when he was an infant, of an overdose of something or the other. His father had stayed with him until he was about 8 or 9, but his father was a drunk, and soon left to seek the sweet life of living under bridges, and other places. The marine reached in his shirt, and picked up his dog tags. “Jimmy Taylor”, he read on the tags. Yeah, that was him. He had had to make it on his own since he was very young. His father had given him the name “Taylor”, but little else to live by. Jimmy had joined the Marines as soon as he turned 18; he realized that fighting couldn’t be any worse than living hand to mouth on the streets. He had gone and found his father one last time before he left to go overseas. He found his father sleeping under the I-610 Bridge on Airline Dr. His father had awoken, and said, “Jimmy, Jimmy, please don’t go, I’ll get you some money; I’ll take care of you”! But, Jimmy knew better, and had hugged and kissed his father, and left. Jimmy, and his unit, was tired; at last, they slumped behind some boulders to try and get a little sleep. Jimmy drifted into near-sleep, where he had a strange dream. There was a white man and a black woman, with children, staring at him. And, there, beside them lay his father, leaning up against a tree. Surprisingly, his father looked sober, if somewhat wild-eyed. He was holding up two dollar bills in his hand, and talking rapidly. “Jimmy, Jimmy, I’ve got your money, come back home”! the old man said. “Crazy old coot”, thought Jimmy, and drifted on toward deeper sleep.} Coyright2001 Brazos MasonWhat we see with our eyes is not all there is; there is often more, much, much, more....... Written November 28th, 2001 © on Nov 28 2001 12:40 PM PST, Brazos Mason   0 • 9