by Bert Murray
“Huh. So how far are you and your Mom, I mean your friend, going today?”
Damn, this guy was painful. “Manhattan.”
“That’s $10 each. Twenty all together. You guys should have bought your tickets at the station. You pay a penalty when you buy them on the train.”
“I’ll get it,” Mrs. Vesquez said. She reached into her pocketbook and paid the conductor.
He gave us our receipts and moved on to the next passenger. Finally.
“What an unpleasant man,” said Mrs. Vesquez.
“A total jerk,” I said.
She changed the subject. “He doesn’t matter. Nothing can disturb us today. We are on our way to Strawberry Fields. This will be our pilgrimage.”
Pilgrimage. That was a good word for it. I didn’t want to think about anyone but John. “Tell me, what do you think John meant by Imagine, anyway?”
“I think he meant to expand your vision of life. See wider. See deeper. See more dimensions. Reality is what you perceive it to be.”
“That’s true.”
“Of course, he was also talking about peace and harmony for all the peoples of the Earth. A little naïve, maybe, but still a very worthy dream.”
“Maybe he was too optimistic.” I looked out the train window and caught a glimpse of the Hudson River.
“Well, someone has to take a stand. At least he tried. Give Peace a Chance was a challenge to end wars once and for all. Idealistic, yes, but worth considering. Peace is always an option. There is choice. There is free will.”
“Do you touch on any political issues in your writing?” I remembered how people had attacked John for speaking out and being blunt. He told it like it is. He wasn’t just going to shut up and play music. He had the guts to let people know what he thought about everything. The song Gimme Some Truth blasts people who are trying to pull one over on all of us by distorting the truth. That could be politicians or businessmen or teachers or religious figures.
“Yes, I do try to write about politics when I write. But you know what I told you before. I’m stuck with this terrible case of writer’s block. I can’t write a thing these days.”
Quixote woke up. He stretched his legs and looked up at Mrs. Vesquez. She opened her pocketbook, took out a small plastic bag and handed him bits of dried fish. He ate them quickly and licked his lips.
18.
WHEN WE GOT to Penn Station we quickly found a cab. We entered the park at 59th and Fifth Avenue, across from The Plaza, and started walking toward Strawberry Fields. Quixote followed us on a long leash. There was a pungent odor of manure from the horse carriages lined up waiting for passengers.
“You and I, Colin, we are part of the club,” said Mrs. Vesquez.
I didn’t get it. “What club?”
“Think Beatles.”
“Oh, right.” I hummed a few bars from Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band.
Mrs. Vesquez gestured toward a street cart and I nodded. I bought each of us a soft pretzel and a Diet Coke. I put a dab of mustard on mine. She squirted ketchup on hers. I’d never seen anyone do that.
“Colin, you are like a son to me,” she said. “You seem tired. Are you okay? I see how much you drink these days. You drink to numb your pain.”
“I just want to forget about Jasmine. That’s all,” I said between bites of my pretzel. I thought about how much John Lennon had drunk during the “lost weekend” when he was separated from Yoko. John loved Yoko so damn much. That taught me you could fall in love and it could last. Somehow it hadn’t turned out that way with me and Jasmine. But I still believed it could happen for me sometime again.
To our left there was an old man throwing breadcrumbs from a crinkled brown paper bag. Pigeons chased after them. It had begun to snow. Wet flakes spun as they fell from the sky.
Mrs. Vesquez offered the last piece of her pretzel to Quixote. He eagerly chewed it up.
“Quixote is turning white in the snow,” I said.
“He’s a cat. He will survive. I’m concerned about you. You can find her.”
“Find who?”
“Your soul mate. She’s out there somewhere.”
We finally reached Strawberry Fields. Everything seemed to slow down here. It was empty today, except for Mrs. Vesquez, Quixote and me. A stillness held the bushes and trees, the snow-covered branches and the Imagine stone suspended in time. For a few minutes we said nothing.
The memorial to Lennon held a special fascination for me. It was a quiet place to reflect on Strawberry Fields Forever and the other songs of John and the Beatles. It was a refuge from the hustle and bustle of the city where you were free to imagine. People, places and songs swirled through my mind.
Liverpool … Paul … George … Ringo … Menlove Avenue … the Cavern Club … Brian Epstein … bed-ins … Yoko … the Plastic Ono Band … Cynthia Powell … Julian … Sean … The Quarrymen … Whatever Gets You Thru the Night … Hey Jude … Penny Lane … Linda … The White Album … Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band … Instant Karma … Woman. “Thanks for bringing me here today,” I said.
“Breathe in. Some of the magic will rub off on us,” said Mrs. Vesquez.
“What magic is it?”
She waved one arm around us. “It’s John, Paul, George and Ringo. They are with us.” She pulled a red rose out of her black canvas bag and placed it on the Imagine Stone.
I looked at the wooden benches that twisted into a semicircle. The shadow of the nearby Dakota apartment building, where John had lived the last years of his life and where he was shot, seemed to make everything darker.
The snow began to fall harder and the wind picked up; it knocked over a trash can and whistled between the trees. Snow stuck to Mrs. Vesquez’s hair. She looked like the Snow Queen, but she had a heart of gold.
“Come, let’s walk to keep warm,” she said.
“OK.”
She put her arm through mine and we walked through the park in silence. We threw our soda cans into a nearby trash can.
“It’s always darkest before dawn,” she said.
“I know.”
Quixote rubbed the side of his head and whiskers against my leg. His tiny paws left faint footsteps in the snow.
“By the way, I’ve decided to leave Elerby after the semester ends,” she said softly.
“Why?” I asked, surprised.
“America isn’t right for me. I’m going back to Spain.”
I saw the merry-go-round in the distance. I thought of how much fun I had riding on the horses when I was a child. I could hear the upbeat merry-go-round music in my head. I wished I could stay in Central Park with Mrs. Vesquez and Quixote. I didn’t want her to go back to Spain. I didn’t want to go back to Elerby either.
“I wouldn’t have made it through the semester without you,” I said.
“We helped each other. Didn’t we?” She gave me her hand to kiss, Spanish-style.
I nodded and kissed her hand.
“Colin. Don’t try to force your future. You are too intense. Be patient. Let life happen. Swear to me you’ll try this.”
“OK. I swear.”
“Careful with the drinking. Don’t overdo it.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be okay. But you, too. Watch out with the Valium. And try not to smoke so much.”
“Then we have a pact, you and I.” She shook my hand.
“It’s a deal.” I hugged her.
19.
WALKING BACK TO my dorm after our trip, I wondered how I would survive the rest of my time at Elerby. Chester was gone, Mrs. Vesquez was flying back to Spain and Big Ty was always busy with fraternity events. I pulled at my coat’s collar in an attempt to block out the sharp, icy wind.
As I approached the quad, I saw a small group of students playing in the freshly fallen snow. A bunch of backpacks lay on a cleaned-off bench, and the owners were having an impromptu snowball fight. Between the joyful screams, I heard a familiar voice. I scanned the snow-covered figures and saw Liz. She ran over to another gi
rl and dumped a handful of snow down her back. The girl screamed, half in glee and half in shock from snow that fell against her bare skin.
I stood there and watched. Everyone looked so happy, and I yearned to feel that way again. I thought about the advice Mrs. Vesquez had given me in New York. I had to stop trying so hard to find my happiness again. It would come to me if I let it. Instinctively, I began to hum Let It Be. Everything began to make sense again. And it all seemed simple.
I started walking toward Liz, who smiled and waved wildly when she saw me. Her cheeks were bright red, and I could see the winter chill escape her mouth with her each breath.
“Colin!” she shouted as she ran toward me.
“Hey Liz, I just—” I never got to finish my sentence. Liz produced a grapefruit-size snowball from behind her back and hurled it at me. It hit my chest with a thud, breaking into a million white pieces.
“Got you!” Liz shouted.
“Oh no you don’t!” I screamed as I dropped my bag, scooped up a handful of snow and started to chase her.
When I reached her, I raised my arm, threatening to throw the snowball at her.
“No, don’t. Stop,” she said laughing.
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t,” I said.
She stepped toward me and kissed me gently on the lips. I dropped the snowball.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about you and me,” I said and stared into her blue eyes.
“Oh yeah?”
“You’re pretty amazing.”
“You’re just realizing this now?” she said sarcastically.
“Do you want to go out with me? Like really going out?”
She playfully bumped her shoulders against my chest.
“Is that a yes?” I asked.
She nodded and kissed my cheek. I ran my hands through her snow-covered hair.
“I should warn you. I’m failing three of my classes and my parents will probably disown me. I could end up penniless and homeless.”
“I’ve always wanted to be a sugar mama,” she said.
We ran over to her group of friends, holding hands.
20. EPILOGUE
OVER THE NEXT week, Liz helped me study for my final exams. Because of everything that had happened, I had trouble focusing, but she didn’t allow me to get distracted. She could be pretty persistent. I ended up passing three out of four classes. I wasn’t going to fail out of Elerby after all.
Liz visited me in Manhattan over Christmas break. She baked sugar cookies with my Mom and listened to my Dad talk about his summer plans in Cape Cod. She seemed to have a special talent for making people feel good. Dad and I got along better than we had in years.
I still missed Jasmine. Something about her was unforgettable. Every time I heard the Doors, I’d think of her. Part of me couldn’t let go.
Life with Liz didn’t make my heart race the way it had with Jasmine. Our relationship was different. It was less intense but more stable. Best of all, we didn’t dwell on the past or worry about the future. That was a new feeling for me, and I liked it.
I kept in touch with Chester and Mrs. Vesquez. Chester made it out of rehab. He lived at home in Vermont with his mother and saw a therapist twice a week. He got a job pumping gasoline at a Mobil station.
In his last letter, he wrote that he was saving money for classes at a local community college. He hoped to become a history teacher, and I had no doubt that he’d teach European history, with an emphasis on France.
Every month I received a postcard from Mrs. Vesquez. Instead of immediately going back to Spain, she traveled to Madagascar, Thailand, New Zealand and Israel. She never wrote any message on the back of the cards she sent, but I could almost feel her slowly healing.
A year later I received my first actual letter from her. She was back in Madrid and her writer’s block had lifted. She was trying to quit smoking and hadn’t taken a Valium in over a month.
She wrote that she’d finally found “Eldorado.” It was her 10th novel. The Lonely Hearts Club was about a young man’s search for his soul mate. It made it to The New York Times’ best-seller list, and I hoped to see her during her American tour. I sent her the amethyst necklace I’d bought for Jasmine. “To help you get rid of your addictions,” I wrote on the card.
Karl made three more attempts to be friends again, but I couldn’t forgive him. I met Big Ty for drinks at the Campus Pub every Tuesday night and he told me that Karl made the varsity baseball team and had started dating a junior in A.E. Phi. I knew it wouldn’t last long.
Liz heard through the grapevine that Jasmine was dating a human-ecology major and was madly in love. I made it my business to avoid the Human Ecology Quad. I hoped she’d find herself and be happy, but there was no way I was going be her friend. That was impossible.
I majored in theater and loved it. My dad still couldn’t support my love of acting, but he and my mom came up to see me play the role of Kenickie in Grease.
Many years later I would look back at my sophomore slump at Elerby in 1985 as the toughest period in my life. Things had become “helter skelter.” But I learned a lot that fall semester, and it had nothing to do with my classes. Let down by Jasmine, deceived by Karl, seeing Chester come undone and Mrs. Vesquez suffer, I got the best education one can get. An education in the geography of the human heart.
The End
About the Author
Bert Murray is an indie author and Colin Preston Rocked And Rolled is his first novel. He lives in New York City with his dog.
Visit his Web site
www.colinprestonrockedandrolled.com
