THROUGH THE WINDOWS OF A PONTIAC ~ Things Were Different Then by Sarvananda Bluestone

The old Pontiac got us around all over, Ma and me. It was Bessie, a third member of the family when Ma and I were on the road. Bessie had a ribbed metal stripe down her hood that ended with a small silver bust of Chief Pontiac. He protected us, too. We were on the road a lot during the War. Ma’s right arm was my safety belt and I never had to worry when she was driving. Never.

Seemed like there were no men around then. Daddy and Ma’s brother Siddy were all off to fight the War. But that doctor who set my broken ankle when I ran into the curb—he was still around. I tried to talk to him while it was hurting so. He was busy talking to the pretty nurse. Ma really lit into him and told him that Daddy was a doctor fighting a war and that he could at least pay attention to a hurting little boy. I felt much better then even with a broken ankle.

Was it only four years? It seemed like forever. I was two when Daddy went away. I was six when he came back.

Bessie had a broken horn. Every time she would go over a bump she would beep. Ma had taken a course on fixing cars. She knew everything about cars. But she couldn’t get a part to fix Bessie’s horn since it was the War. So Ma tried to keep away from bumps and would smile her “I’m sorry” smile at the angry faced men who turned around in their seats when we did go over a bump. When they saw Ma they didn’t look angry any more. People said she was very pretty like a movie star. But she was my mom.

When the war stopped everybody was beeping their horns. We didn’t have to worry about bumps any more.

We traveled all over before Daddy came home. We traveled to Mary Land to visit a friend of Ma, named Jamie, who worked for a super court judge named Stone. I liked that since my name was a stone, too.

Ma called Mary Land the “South”. She told me that while were there in “The South” I couldn’t sing “John Brown’s Body.” She was real serious about that. “John Brown’s Body” was my favorite song then. I didn’t understand. Why couldn’t I sing a song.

Maybe you weren’t supposed to sing around court things. Maybe it was like that time when Ma had to pay for a ticket in a traffic court. There were millions of people there. Then a man came out and everybody stood up. So I started to sing the “Star Spangled Banner.” Wasn’t that what you were supposed to do when everybody stood up?

Everybody started laughing. All the people started laughing. Even Ma. But the man who had made everybody stand up got real angry and red in the face and started yelling at people. And everybody got quiet. I don’t know why they were laughing or why he got mad. I was singing and people were laughing. Why did he get mad? I thought he was mad at me and Ma put her arm around me. Nobody else was mad at me. I guess you weren’t supposed to sing or laugh in court things.

Ma didn’t sing much in the car. We talked a lot. About everything. I think that during the War I saw the side of Ma’s face more than I saw the front of it. Seems like that.

It all changed when Daddy came back. He did most of the driving. And when it was just me and him we would sing a lot. I loved singing with Daddy. “I’ve Got Sixpence.” “Someone’s in the Kitchen With Dinah.” Fee Fie fiddly oh it was so much fun. I didn’t have to think of what to say. We just sang. It was harder to talk to Daddy than to sing with him. When we talked I worried that I would say the wrong thing. I never worried about that with Ma.

The cars changed. Ma got a beat up old Ford and Daddy got a brand new green Desoto with hydromatic drive. It really looked fancy but in winter it would get stuck at the bottom of our hill and Ma would have to go down with her old Ford and push Daddy’s car up.

Wherever we drove—Ma and I or Daddy and I or Ma and Daddy. and I—it would take forever. When we went from Yorktown Heights to Grandma and Grandpa in the Bronx it took forever. And then we were there. When we drove from Yorktown to Brewster to visit Daddy’s best friend, Bob Elliot and his family, it took forever. And then we were there. And Daddy would talk doctor talk with Bob and I would play with Janie and Jonny Elliot..

The roads seemed longer then and the endless trips seemed to go both slow and fast. In all those years the whole world seemed to go racing in front of me as it zipped past the windows of our cars.

I WANT TO STAY: I WANT TO GO by F. Marcya Edison

I want to stay….I feel sexy (my daddy liked sexy)….

We merge, we melt, we fuse, we sex…. not inhibited by familiarity, not complicated or diffused by a knowing of personalities…I love when you talk dirty…you take me higher….we role play, we have fairy tale sex, not roommate sex, as Bill and I would have all those years later…

I want to stay… you’re so beautiful to look at, with your thick Scottish brows and dark wavy hair that caresses the strong musculature at the nape of your neck...
I get lost in your voice – the deep timbre, the North England accent and cadence… I never liked my name, except when you say it….those few times that you say it…

I want to stay…for the excitement, the charge, the anticipation, the eerie psychic bonding, the ecstatic realization—sometimes after many months-- of my obsessive longings…

I want to stay….to wade in the bitter-sweet aching hunger for something I can never truly have or really know. You are a spiritual exercise for me…..


I want to go…from the masochism, the emotional sadism, the chronic yearning, the degradation, the piercing sadness, the ultimate loneliness in the prolonged down time/dead time without you…the emptiness of nothing in the absence of something.

I want to go…from the pain, the ache in the heart, the suffering, the sly elusiveness, the arguably cruel manipulation ….the promise of so much and the delivery of so little.

I want to go….from the consuming frustration…and then… again…
a crumb, tossed by you – I gorge on it for a fleeting eternity…..And, so, the cycle repeats…(I am unable to move on; to seek love , affection, nurture, to be cared for…to feel normal.)

I want to go…let me go, let me loose, unclutch me – no, Don’t, I want to stay – it’s enough – no, it’s not, it’s not enough – I want more – I deserve more - I want to go; I want to stay…