Lo, in my 5oth year I saw him.
I was kickin' it in an old-style apartment in Sacramento,
California at the time, had an adequate night janitorial thing
going so my rent was paid, I got food-stamps when my worker didn't
fuck up, I had 2 cats--a big Yellow & a li'l black cunt-girl.
I'd just stroll'd back through city allies from Ric's Cheaper at
20th & H Streets with some Devil's Food Cookies, a loaf of 89-cent
Rye Bread, a slender black bottle o' Pete's Wicked Ale, a sack o'
Whiska Cat Food & a small bottle of Vinegar & it was raining.
The vinegar was to eradicate cat-piss smell from my bedroom carpet.
My littlest kitty hadn't learn'd yet where to pee. A woman had
suggest'd the remedy over the phone to me, the woman wanted me but
I didn't want her & I'd prudently refrain'd from allowing her to
find out wher I live'd but that's another story.
So I pause'd at m'open back door, key dangling in lock--and the
cats & I stare'd at the rain.
I consider myself lucky. I got a bodaciously big proud Elm in back
& some real grass. Mother Earth. I believe the tree is an Elm;
I know it's no Oak 'cause I learn'd the varieties of Oak when I was
a wood-cutting hippie-boy years ago in the Sierra foothills.
White Oak, Black Oak, Water Oak, Live Oak. I was cutting them down
for money until I got too ashame'd of what I was doing to continue.
The rain slackt & I watch'd water drip from the limbs of my frend
the Elm Tree. Then I pull'd the keys & set the groceries inside,
scoopt up the cat-box & head'd to the alley dumpster.
Yellow rain-coat, Red & Black Wool Shirt, dirty 501's & a small
moth-eaten blue beret: some homeless dude rummaging our dumpster--
he turn'd & lookt over his shoulder at me.
It was Jack Kerouac.
You have to have fell in love with his soul like I did 30 years
prior. You have to have love'd his methods, his style, his
attitude & his devotion. You have to have love'd what he left
behind for you: his books.
You have to have set your finger on a paragraph at times--reading
Tristessa or Gerard or Maggie--and lookt up from his page at the
empty sky and whisper'd with a silly grin "thank you, jack--".
His rep's been smear'd, cross-examine'd, dismiss'd, plagiarize'd,
patronize'd, over-tout'd--everything's been done to it.
His message perserveres. You have to CARE to read Jack. If you
don't care you don't get it.
And he stood looking over his shoulder at me with Dilated Pupils.
Tears bloopt up in my eyes. "Jack! You're suppose'd to be dead!"
"So," he said, turning slowly, "somebody still remembers me." He
had this reluctant yet agreeable grin...
"Christ, EVERYbody still remembers you--are you kidding? But--how
can you BE here? Have I flippt?"
He laugh'd. "Everybody's flippt."
"But I read Nicosia's MEMORY BABE & all the others--you are s'pose
to have died down in Florida!"
"I fake'd it. I had a doctor friend who admitt'd me to the
hospital. Then he slippt me out the side door & substituted an
anonymous cadavre found along the river..."
"Well you could blow me over with a herd o' Stallions. Was Stella
& yer mom in on it?"
"Nope. I got away clean."
"Jesus! It's YOU!"
He push'd his lips together. "Yop, guess so--seem'd that way last
time I checkt." He giggl'd with his chin tuckt down & turn'd back
to the dumpster. "Sure didn't rain long, did it?"
"Christ! Jack I got a million questions! You want a beer? I got
a kitchen table--"
"...well, see, i don't drink any more..." He turn'd back to me
with the kindest pair o' blue eyeballs I'd ever seen.
"--oh--"
"--plus--i'm not being unfrendly, but, see--i don't go into houses
any more..."
"Huh?"
"I just stick to the Big Frendly Out-of-Doors..."
"--well I don't wanta keep you--but man you got to know this is
such a thrill--"
Not knowing what to say, I lookt him over. Day's worth of whiskers
on a photo-familiar jaw, Big Rock'n'Roll ear-ring in one ear. And
that li'l blue felt-cap. He just stood there smiling at me.
"I don't remember no beret," I said.
"Yeah, I felt like doing the beatnik thing," he said with a big
laugh, "--appeals to my sense of humour."
I laugh'd. "And an ear-ring!"
"Well, yeah!" An even bigger smile. "I'm sort of a Slacker now;
you know, Pearl Jam, Hole--"
"--Jack I gotta THANK you for the SUBTERRANEANS--Mardou--she--gawd
I love'd her so MUCH--right along with you--"
He smile'd sadly. "You're welcome, Malcolm."
"Yah you were the one with heart, Jack--I mean I love to read
Burroughs but when he said you had a Sunday Supplement mind I
believe he miss'd your essence--"
His eyebrows came up and he actually lookt SHEEPISH. "Thanks..."
"--hey I got scrolls of you MEMORIZE'd, babe--like on the first
page of TRISTESSA wher ya tawk about "lumbering along in the sad
vast mist-tracks of life"--or the way you say "Adios, King" in CODY
--i always love'd those phrases you'd rip out--"
He sigh'd. "Boy that was a long time ago..." He lookt wistfully
off down the alley.
"You still look about 33 years old. Christ you look younger'n a
lotta yer photos!"
"I made it to Immortal."
"Wow!"
He raise'd his eyebrows again, stare'd up at the clouds, back to
me. "I figure'd out what Japhy & Gautama was talking about--and
what I flirt'd with so many times in my early North Carolina
meditations--"
"--yeah yeah--& up on Mt. Hozomeen--"
"--yop--whew--you read my books, din't ya pup--"
"--goddam right i did--IMMORTAL--jesus--wow--"
"--yeah, you know; just figure'd it out finally--& finally droppt
my need for a personal Savior--" he grinn'd & his eyes twinkle'd
with a MAD light. "And--" he shrugg'd. "Here I am."
"Oof!"
We watch'd a flock of crows pass over. I shuffle'd my feet. All
of a sudden I felt a tad bashful. "...Ya know Jack, the other day
I was pedaling back here t'my place thru residential streets,
through trees, coming back from Chief's Auto--or Von Housen's--"
"Yah?"
"--and I realize'd all my life I've never felt like I belong'd--"
"I know the feeling," he said. Twinkle. He turn'd back to the
dumpster and rummage'd through soggy newspaper and empty 1/2-gallon
milk cartoons and baby-food jars.
"Alla sudden I heard myself say it aloud as I'm pumping along!"
He chuckle'd, squint'd at the changing clouds, and spit between his
2nd-hand hike-boots. "Yeah, I know what you mean," he said. He
lean'd against the dumpster and we both fell silent.
Another flock of crows pass'd over.
Jack shook himself. He lookt at me. "Well, me Bucko...ther's a
lotta allies & a lotta dumpsters--sky & river too---I gotta get on
going, ya know..."
"Jeez. I dunno what to say."
He purse'd his lips thoughtful. "You wanna go with me a ways?"
Sunlight peek'd a moment through High Clouds.
"Oh for Christ's sake--too much--ya gotta be kidding!"
"I'm just heading along this way," he scrutinize'd the alley.
"Jeez--wher ya going?"
"Nowhere." He point'd down the alley.
But it was not an alley no more.
It was the ABYSS.
What had been the alley was now just Sunlight on Giant Moth Wings.
ALONE
"You're going THAT way? Oh gawd!"
He bent down & unlace'd his boots, pull'd them off & tied them
together and slung them over a shoulder. He stuff'd his socks into
a back pocket. Then he stept to the back of a huge humming moth.
And lookt back at me.
"Jack! I dunno--jeez--fuckin' SCAREY, dude! How do ya do it?"
He shrug'd his shoulders again. "Easy. No desire, no fear..."
"Yow!"
"You'r a decent pup," he said, bare feet on a purring fur-moth,
"you wanna string along awhile, let's go--"
I lookt back to my grass-yard & the open back door to my apartment.
My cats observe'd us from the porch. Sanguinely.
"Uh..."
"I don't mean to hurry you, but ya gotta make up your mind..."
"My cats. I don't feel like I should leave my cats..."
He smile'd. "Yeah I dig cats."
"Jeez I dunno ...I guess I ain't going--"
My heart hurt.
He chuckle'd. "Well, okay --see ya--"
"See ya," I echo'd.
He stept from moth to moth, lookt back, wave'd.
He stept from moth to moth.
And went away.