| Chapter 18
The olde greenhouse
Our 6th hangout spot was a hollow foundation to a pre-civil war house
built in 1853 and destroyed by fire in 1897. As we walked down sixteen
cracked and crumbling concrete steps, I noticed an inconsequential
amount of aggregate had been set in the mix to strengthen it. These
steps would take us to the far reaches of the cellar, where the humidity
seemed to peak. The four remaining steps had plant life growing out of
them, and yet they were undisturbed by the ever-moving process of time.
“How do you make this much mortar without a concrete mixer, and
even then, how do you get it all back here?” asked Peter, full of latent
enthusiasm, while looking for a place to sit in the boscage.
I responded by saying, “a hundred and fifty years ago, you didn't have any
trucks, and you couldn't use a stagecoach cause there were no roads yet.”
“Then how did they get it back here,” he asked, bemused?
“They put the satchels on horses and rode them in.”
“How many horses?”
“Hundreds. And before that, they used Bulldogs.”
*Suddenly, Peter begins laughing aloud*
“I gotta hand it to you; you really got me with that one.”
Whenever we got high, we joked around a lot, and part of joking around usually
entailed the art of prefabricating complete nonsense. This we would do as an
attempt to try and fool the other person, but mostly we did it for kicks. Indeed,
John was the reigning champ at this, but I was quickly gaining ground over him.
That's just a crazy little part of the way things were back then.
Everyone was carefree and lived peacefully within the order of society.
Now everyone has their own worries, jobs to go to, and never-ending bills to pay.
“I can almost see it beginning to take shape in my mind,” bellowed Pete aloud.
“Four hundred Bulldogs all over Staten Island lumbering around with bags of
masonry powder draped across their backs like they were carrying life's burden.
I can almost see them coming now, trudging through the woods with faces of despair.”
With that, he fell to the ground in a fit of hysterics and began to pound his fist into the
soft soil. “I can't handle it, man,” he said, as tears came streaming down his cheek.
“Such long faces.”
“In all actuality, and with no pun intended, they are one of the few creatures
on earth that actually appear to look sadder when the sun is shining.”
“Picture if you woke up one morning looking like that, Charles.
You'd wanna stay inside too!”
Pg 88
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
After the laughter subsided, we looked around and saw how everything had taken
form. In a mellow kind of way, it felt like we were in a large terrarium, one without
a top. At least five degrees warmer was it down here than up there, but it felt like
ten, where it exhibited a semitropical atmosphere. As I gazed about to find a world
encased around me, I could almost imagine myself being in the jungles of Vietnam
long after the war had ended. We made our way through a labyrinth of small
trees that had grown upwards toward the center and were now looking at bushes
that had accumulated around the corners. Not one thorn in here, thank God.
“Wouldn't it be cool to see a tree carving from the eighteen hundreds,”
asked Peter blithely?
“That would flip me out, man.”
“I know, right?” Replied Peter in a joyful tone. That would really be something.
A tree carving from that period of time would have to be at least a foot into
the tree by now. Eighty rings of bark is no whittle.”
*We laugh*
“Any carving, regardless of how deep it is, would certainly be gone by now.
But you must never forget that what is carved onto a tree will forever remain
on that tree, kind of like a scar. No matter how faint it appears to one's eye,
it will always be there. Now if we had a TF-1, we could find it.”
“What on God's earth is that?” asked Peter in a mystified tone.
“A TF-1 is a device with a small screen that allows one to see how old a tree is
by counting how many rings it has. The deluxe model comes equipped with a
fine- tuning knob that allows you to see in black and white what lies hidden
beneath the surface of the tree. A two-dimensional image that reads very
much like an X-ray. Meaning that anything that has ever been inscribed
onto its surface would now be made visible.”
“Where the hell do you get one of those?”
“You could probably find one in The Twilight Zone
under things entitled, what you need.”
“Don't tell me you just made that up,” said Peter, quite stunned.
“That was very convincing.”
I then motioned toward the rear of the building, where the remains of an old pot
belly stove were lying. I pulled it to its feet but could not find the top half. It
looked ridiculous in that position, so I laid it back down on its side again.
Peter was busy examining the wall on the other side of the cellar, so I used
my hands to part the trees in this wayward jungle. He then spotted something
lying in the weeds and bent over to pick it up. “Hey Charles, take a look at this.”
He handed me a deteriorated catcher's mitt that had been left by someone a
very long time ago, and for a second, I honestly wondered if the person who
left it there ever became a famous ball player. The lacing had all but withered
away and was black. “My God, this thing is ancient. If I had to guess, I would
say it has to be from the thirties or forties.” That old glove which had been
placed upon a three-foot cluster of lateritious bricks from a fallen chimney,
and discarded in another time by a passerby, was now under scrutiny.
Pg 89
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Looking at the partially calcified mass of white pimpled bumps on a sticky layer of
green virescent leather, I was undeniably repulsed. Even nature, in all its beauty, has
the uncanny ability to break down over time, and when it does, it is not a pretty sight.
What I saw was simply spores of mold growing on its decaying fabric.
If it was really left out in the woods for forty years, then it was understandable.
Through the heat of summer with the winds and rain. Brutal winters freezing it in hale
and ice before thawing it out again, to undergo the process repeatedly, then sure.
I soon started to think of that old catcher's mitt and how wonderful it must have
looked in the store when it was brand new. How it smelled and felt, and how it
held up next to all the other gloves and machine autographed George "Snuffy"
Stirnweiss bats. “Go, you damn Yankees,” I said aloud in my head with the
crowd of that era cheering! Like baseball cards themselves, it was the pride
of its day to every young boy growing up in the heart of North America.
Unfettered by time, free to live and dream without caring. Why was everything
better back then than it is now? Even further back to his father before him.
Free to craft heroes from a ten-cent novel, found at the local five & dime.
Free to build hopes upon wishes was the adventurous heart. So chivalrous and
true were those authors who made sure never to raise even the mildest blemish
upon the tender skin of the fair maiden, who I could now see riding off into the
sunset with her rescuer. The one who fought for her glory. To you, sir, I remove
my hat and bow, but you and that young boy have long since withered away.
To become as fertilizer for the earth.
Salt to the sea. A better place, perhaps.
One that beckons for my entrance.
*That dinner I am soon to attend*
There is a particular area in our cord-like brains that allows
imagination to fester, and at that precise moment in time, it must
have been lighting up like an early Thomas Edison light bulb.
These stories are best suited for dreaming, as I know all too well,
for the only thing that becomes of dreams are tears, and the only
thing tears are good for are to satisfy one's ailing conscience.
As Peter began petting a ladybug that had landed on his shoulder, a bead
of sweat rolled down the side of my face and neck. Feeling a wee bit restless,
I decided to take my little Case knife and whittle my initials into one of the
smooth trees. I began carving them directly above a faded World War II
medal someone had nailed into the tree years before. Pete seeing this said,
“I wanna throw mine on there too.” As I finished, Peter would carve his
initials directly under the war god's helmet. After muddling around for twenty
minutes, we walked back up the cracked and broken stairs to the awaiting
trail. Casually, we walked while listening to the peaceful sound of birds
chirping and insects buzzing until we reached our 7th little place of refuge.
The Esquires - I still love you
Pg 90
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Reviews for chapter 18
Michael Howard - "the partially calcified mass of white pimpled bumps on a sticky
layer of virescent leather" I don't even know what the hell I'm reading and I love it!
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
This review was posted on Aug/2622
Lameez' review
Beta-Read Report for 'The Embryo Man and Other Tales of Woe - Chapter 18'
Beta Reader: Lameez Rushin (Lameezisreal)
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
This review was posted on Oct/9/22
nehanegi1905 's review
The Embryo Man and Other Tales of Woe: Chapter 18 - The olde greenhouse
Reader's Report by nehanegi1905
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
This review was posted on Oct/24/22
iqrabashir871 's review
The Embryo Man and Other Tales of Woe: Chapter 18 - The olde greenhouse
Reader's Report by Iqra
 -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
This review was posted on Nov/3/22
alits29's review
The Embryo Man and Other Tales of Woe: Chapter 18 - Reader Report
Beta Reader's Report by Alitha Igloria (alits29)
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
This review was posted on Nov/21/22
Hajranoor's review
The Embryo Man and Other Tales of Woe: Chapter 18 - The olde greenhouse
Reader's Report by Hajra
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
This review was posted on Dec/10/22
kanchanninawe's review
The Embryo Man and Other Tales of Woe: Chapter 18 - The olde greenhouse
Reader's Report by kanchan
C
P
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
This review was posted on Feb/6/23
Alysorrow's review
The Embryo Man and Other Tales of Woe: Chapter 18 - The olde greenhouse
Reader's Report by Aly Sorrow
C
P
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
This review was posted on Feb/28/23
Reviewed by yashodha_95
F
R
I
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
This review was posted on Mar3/23
Tayyaba17's review
The Embryo Man and Other Tales of Woe: Chapter 18 - The Olde Greenhouse
Reader's Report by Tayyaba
C
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
This review was posted on Mar/11/23
LL
 S
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
If any image on this site is considered to be offensive, it will be removed. If it has been copied without
proper consent, please contact me immediately and the image will either be removed, or credit shall be
given unto the person or persons responsible. Whether it be an artist, photographer, cartoonist., etc.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
PG 88) The Oligocene Gardens by Jacek Yerka - http://www.yerkaland.com/
PG 88) Bull-dogs by Charles Burton Barber (circa 1881) - http://Bulldogs.com/y8fdboc
PG 89) Summer in a city by Jacek Yerka - http://www.yerkaland.com/
PG 89) The Sargass sea bishop by Jacek Yerka - http://www.yerkaland.com/
PG 90) The five and dime store, circa 1930's - http://tinyurl.com/lb6l8uv
PG 90) Thomas Edison long style (replica) - http://ThomasEd.com/y8fdboc
|
