Wild Strawberries of Mars
by Bud Smith
if I ever leave this city
I'll walk straight out in chest high
meadowland grass
until I come
face to face with a startled animal
who couldn't know where it belongs
only that I am lost
if I leave Earth I'll miss the blue and the white and the unpredictable music
If I leave my day job I might discover myself
8 of us are in the break trailer at the refinery
our hands are washed but still covered in oil
I sip old coffee, Mike eats a tuna sandwich
Paul licks his finger, flips through the newspaper
“they're trying to colonize Mars”
“how?”
“sending people” Paul says, “one way ticket”
Jimmy asks, “not coming back?"
“nope, not coming back
building a bio dome and they'll stay there
till they die”
I'm trying to buy a house in NJ
leaving home feels as difficult as drifting through space
there are as many variables
calculations must be precise
“we never even went to the moon” Todd says
he's eating cold Spaghetti-Os out of a can
ripped open with a dull knife
we could never be astronauts
Paul's wife is making him quit drinking because he passed out in the driveway, looking up at a sea of blurry stars. In the morning, he was covered in dew, and she ran over his left leg pulling out to go get bagels.
Todd has another baby on the way, but the doctors say the baby will have life long developmental problems—he and his girlfriend have until the end of the month to decide what to do
Keith's engine cracked in half like a metallic egg splitting open
now he walks a half mile to the bus at 4am
and rides the bus up route 9 to the commuter lot
he won't buy a used car, he is terrified of viruses and bacteria he eats his donuts with a fork
Paul says, “8 men and 3 women are going and it'll take between 150 and 300 days to get there”
“I can't even do the 17 hour drive to Florida” Mike says, “I'd go bonkers in a spaceship”
“Imagine if we went” Todd says
I almost spit my coffee out
“good one”
“We'd have to kill each other over the women, resort back to primal instincts and stuff”
“I wouldn't kill any of you guys over a woman”
“Well, I'd kill you, man," Todd says, "To save the species or whatever”
"Girls are smart, they'd kill us off first"
Yesterday, I went and looked at a condo in Jersey City, the guy who was selling the place had the worst artwork I'd ever seen covering every wall of the place
One painting depicted a man in a space suit standing in a field of wild strawberries
The condo was big enough for me to want to live there with my wife, but the neighborhood seemed too dangerous for her, I was worried about her having to take the bus late at night here
When I asked the homeowner how the condo was cooled, he pointed to the windows on the ground floor, and said that he put in air conditioner window boxes. “What keeps people from pushing the window boxes in and climbing into your house?” He crossed his fingers
Luck
"Why are you moving away," my wife asked the lucky terrible artist
"I'm being forced out," he said, "it's not my choice"
Whoever chooses where they go?
“Mars is sketchy" Todd says. "What about aliens?”
“We'd be the aliens” I say.
I'd miss the stink of decay—salt water flooding the meadowlands
I'd miss the sound of traffic rushing on the night bridge
I'd miss the way the sun cooks the life out from temporary flowers. I don't think anyone leaves New York City willingly. They have to be carted off, screaming.
|
24
favs |
1691 views
24 comments |
702 words
All rights reserved. |
Author's Note
The author has not attached a note to this story.
Other stories by Bud Smith
Tags
This story has no tags.
**&* typo:he and is girlfriend have until the end of the month to decide what to do
Lake Woebegonian monologue on Dilaudid and/or psilocybin. *
The last line is dead on. I don't think I'll ever leave NY.*
What a prompt and what a slendid outcome.
My wandering side and my rooted side both love this.
The first time I left NY, I was happy and handed subway tokens out the driver's side car window to a panhandler collecting in the road. The second time I left I left because I could get an apartment lease without a co-signer if I left town. Yesterday, I swung my leather green handbag from its long strap in the mall parking lot. No one could mug me there. A parked car would not mug me. I'll never tire of reading about the City, wherever I roam. No one writes it more immediately than you, Bud Smith. This piece reminds me of the meek inheriting a condo in NJ. The guy being kicked out is not meek. And the travelers to space cannot soothe themselves without going away for life, without what is there or not there. *
Great stuff! Your jumps are brilliant, your landings always solid, Bud. The poetry's in the pauses, as they say.
*
(typo in line 33)
Jersey is a lot like Mars, I'm guessing...
*
The last 3 lines...
Sometimes I find the grittiest, grimiest, most industrial parts of NY/NJ the most endearing. Call me crazy.
*
*, Bud. So well told. Having worked construction and used a "break trailer", your eightsome talk rings credible to me.
*.
I'm a big fan.
not a window fan though.
Really good stuff, Bud.
Worst day of my life was leaving "the city." Great and powerful writing. *
Fantastic, always proud of you.
Great mix of ennui, realism, hope...a lot like New York... a lot like Bud Smith. Pure love ***
I like it.
The scene transitions are so natural, and the last three lines land the thing so gently, like a Mars rover.*
Damn. *
Dig this like I do everything Bud Smith puts his pen to! Fave.
I'm a great fan of this streaming kind of internal narrative. We are the aliens. Yep, here, too. *
"I almost spit my coffee out"--I was doing this cracking way before this line & right to the end! A fine piece, lots of nailed character types & spot-on dialogue. A fun read!
thanks of reading, everybunny. much love
I was waiting for the right moment to read this. I'm in an Indian Resturant in Paris. That's good enough. Great story, and I love this:
"Paul's wife is making him quit drinking because he passed out in the driveway, looking up at a sea of blurry stars. In the morning, he was covered in dew, and she ran over his left leg pulling out to go get bagels. "
Hi Bud.