| General Fiction posted March 7, 2016 |
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Short Story
Goode Humour
by michaelcahill
I’m not complaining, well, I guess you know what that means. Expect a great deal of complaining when anyone begins a talk with, “I’m not complaining”. However, I’m really not complaining ... much. That’s better, I don’t want to be totally disingenuous. Oh, yes, I know some fancy edumacated idiot words. I’m a college boy though I’ve misplaced my Ivy League sweater with the nifty elbow patches. Of course, they consider ya a bit snobbish in the alley if you have elbow patches. We try not to be a snooty lot, you see.
I reckon ya’lls a wond’rin’ how’s I ended up on the streets of L.A. proper here, in specificity this here urine soaked alley. That’s street talk, see? It’s a kind of language we all understand among ourselves and it makes the booming tourist trade feel like they’ve encountered the genuine homeless experience. We like to add a little color for authenticity.
I’ve been on these streets for over twenty years. I came here voluntarily. I don’t suppose I have to be here even now. I choose to. Now, it isn’t the norm to choose this as a way of life I can assure you. So don’t use me as your example of “All of these people are just sponging off society and could get a job if they weren’t so lazy” crap I hear. Hell no. Most people here are barely living day to day and a great many of them need help tying their shoes if they’re lucky enough to have a pair. So judging anyone is your prerogative and believe me everyone here is more than used to being judged.
One of our favorite damned things is having a group of you people stroll on by our homes holding your noses shaking your heads. Yeah, we get it. Look at these people living like animals in their own piss and shit. How can they live like this? Why don’t they go to Walmart and get a job? Look, honey, that one hasn’t bathed in a week I bet. Oh, and there’s a couple. A couple living in this squalor, I never. Let’s get out of here, I’m going to puke. Okay, you two. Thanks for stopping by. Glad to entertain you.
Now where was I before I rudely interrupted myself. Yes, these poor old souls. Well, each soul has his or her unique story. I’m telling mine, but I interact and I’m affected and I’m moved. I can’t look at a fellow Veteran and not feel rage. I feel some for myself, but then I remember I’m here of my own volition. This is my choice. But most of these vets are here as a direct result of their service to the country. They are casualties of war cast off to fend for themselves. This is the level of care they are able to secure after their sacrifice. This is what is available to them. This is what they were able to find.
I owned a nice home in the suburbs. Alhambra, California to be exact--Los Angeles County. I could walk there if I had to and I could be there in twenty minutes from that bus stop right over yonder. I’m sure the city has changed since I last saw it two years ago. Yes, I visit from time to time. I walk by my house from across the street and look. She’s still there and even the kids are there from time to time it seems. Apparently my absence didn’t bring their lives to a grinding halt. I am grateful for that, truly.
Here comes my gal, right on time. She’s a beauty isn’t she? Leticia Lourdes La Valencia. Hell of a name. Puts mine to shame. Humour Simon Goode. A little birthday present from pops. He thought it would be a hoot on those occasions when they say the last name first, Goode, Humour. It’s almost like calling the bar for Seymour Butts, or some liquor store for Prince Albert in a can. Goode, Humour. Is Goode, Humour present? Yuck, yuck, yuck. Thanks pops. Well, Tish doesn’t have that affliction. She’s mentally ill or so they say, they being anyone who is in a position to decide those things for her.
I’ll admit she has some peculiarities. But she’s a good woman and who doesn’t have a peccadillo or three? She’s a poet, a good one if you ask me. I’m an insurance salesman though I haven’t closed a deal in over twenty years. I think my license may have expired. I’ll have to check into that tomorrow. Hey, wanna hear one of her poems?
This alley way, our home so dear
a thoroughfare where we grow old
we piss in this tin bucket here
‘tis be our fam’ly’s pot ‘o gold
Pretty damn good, isn’t it? She’s got a million of ‘em, all in her head. She won’t write ‘em down though. I sneak a few into my little notebook when she isn’t looking. I think of it as her legacy, something to leave behind.
Tish is in love with me. I’m in love with her. It’s an intricate amalgam of intrinsic nuances castigating all symbolizations of negation leaving a kind of synergistic nirvana, well, naked in the alley style.
I left my wife and kids because my wife didn’t love me. She claimed she did, insisted on the fact actually. But I didn’t believe her. So, I left. I don’t know how it affected her or the kids. I didn’t ever try and find out. As I mentioned, I returned to take a look many times and found her living her life. I can only assume she did okay. She was cold. She only cared about herself. She denied it. Nope.
I’m certainly living my life in a most efficacious way. Did I mention Trish? She’s a poet. Yeah, she loves me ya know. I love her too. You could say we’re in Goode Humour.
Story of the Month contest entry
I’m not complaining, well, I guess you know what that means. Expect a great deal of complaining when anyone begins a talk with, “I’m not complaining”. However, I’m really not complaining ... much. That’s better, I don’t want to be totally disingenuous. Oh, yes, I know some fancy edumacated idiot words. I’m a college boy though I’ve misplaced my Ivy League sweater with the nifty elbow patches. Of course, they consider ya a bit snobbish in the alley if you have elbow patches. We try not to be a snooty lot, you see.
I reckon ya’lls a wond’rin’ how’s I ended up on the streets of L.A. proper here, in specificity this here urine soaked alley. That’s street talk, see? It’s a kind of language we all understand among ourselves and it makes the booming tourist trade feel like they’ve encountered the genuine homeless experience. We like to add a little color for authenticity.
I’ve been on these streets for over twenty years. I came here voluntarily. I don’t suppose I have to be here even now. I choose to. Now, it isn’t the norm to choose this as a way of life I can assure you. So don’t use me as your example of “All of these people are just sponging off society and could get a job if they weren’t so lazy” crap I hear. Hell no. Most people here are barely living day to day and a great many of them need help tying their shoes if they’re lucky enough to have a pair. So judging anyone is your prerogative and believe me everyone here is more than used to being judged.
One of our favorite damned things is having a group of you people stroll on by our homes holding your noses shaking your heads. Yeah, we get it. Look at these people living like animals in their own piss and shit. How can they live like this? Why don’t they go to Walmart and get a job? Look, honey, that one hasn’t bathed in a week I bet. Oh, and there’s a couple. A couple living in this squalor, I never. Let’s get out of here, I’m going to puke. Okay, you two. Thanks for stopping by. Glad to entertain you.
Now where was I before I rudely interrupted myself. Yes, these poor old souls. Well, each soul has his or her unique story. I’m telling mine, but I interact and I’m affected and I’m moved. I can’t look at a fellow Veteran and not feel rage. I feel some for myself, but then I remember I’m here of my own volition. This is my choice. But most of these vets are here as a direct result of their service to the country. They are casualties of war cast off to fend for themselves. This is the level of care they are able to secure after their sacrifice. This is what is available to them. This is what they were able to find.
I owned a nice home in the suburbs. Alhambra, California to be exact--Los Angeles County. I could walk there if I had to and I could be there in twenty minutes from that bus stop right over yonder. I’m sure the city has changed since I last saw it two years ago. Yes, I visit from time to time. I walk by my house from across the street and look. She’s still there and even the kids are there from time to time it seems. Apparently my absence didn’t bring their lives to a grinding halt. I am grateful for that, truly.
Here comes my gal, right on time. She’s a beauty isn’t she? Leticia Lourdes La Valencia. Hell of a name. Puts mine to shame. Humour Simon Goode. A little birthday present from pops. He thought it would be a hoot on those occasions when they say the last name first, Goode, Humour. It’s almost like calling the bar for Seymour Butts, or some liquor store for Prince Albert in a can. Goode, Humour. Is Goode, Humour present? Yuck, yuck, yuck. Thanks pops. Well, Tish doesn’t have that affliction. She’s mentally ill or so they say, they being anyone who is in a position to decide those things for her.
I’ll admit she has some peculiarities. But she’s a good woman and who doesn’t have a peccadillo or three? She’s a poet, a good one if you ask me. I’m an insurance salesman though I haven’t closed a deal in over twenty years. I think my license may have expired. I’ll have to check into that tomorrow. Hey, wanna hear one of her poems?
This alley way, our home so dear
a thoroughfare where we grow old
we piss in this tin bucket here
‘tis be our fam’ly’s pot ‘o gold
Pretty damn good, isn’t it? She’s got a million of ‘em, all in her head. She won’t write ‘em down though. I sneak a few into my little notebook when she isn’t looking. I think of it as her legacy, something to leave behind.
Tish is in love with me. I’m in love with her. It’s an intricate amalgam of intrinsic nuances castigating all symbolizations of negation leaving a kind of synergistic nirvana, well, naked in the alley style.
I left my wife and kids because my wife didn’t love me. She claimed she did, insisted on the fact actually. But I didn’t believe her. So, I left. I don’t know how it affected her or the kids. I didn’t ever try and find out. As I mentioned, I returned to take a look many times and found her living her life. I can only assume she did okay. She was cold. She only cared about herself. She denied it. Nope.
I’m certainly living my life in a most efficacious way. Did I mention Trish? She’s a poet. Yeah, she loves me ya know. I love her too. You could say we’re in Goode Humour.
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