That Cat Stevens Song
I always said that he died to soon for me to meet him. Drowned in a bowl of soup. A very pathetic way to die, is it not?
He is not dead, I think. He’s probably somewhere in the metro, eating corned beef with diced potatoes every once in a while. Or mowing the lawn, if he’s got one. Or wondering what happened to his ID card back in 82. I had the card before. I don’t know where it is now. In the card was a 1X1 picture of him, smiling at the camera. In black and white. I liked how he looked at the camera. Full of confidence; looked like he could rule a world. Too bad he wasn’t there to watch me rule mine.
He liked Panchito. Dunno who Panchito was. They don’t show his movies these days and quite frankly, I think I wouldn’t have liked him anyway. I mean, Panchito.
Can’t say I have been searching for him for years. Tried Google. Nothing. Asked around, got a lead but it led me nowhere. Somebody said I should be a somebody first before I dare meet him. So I have something to brag about. I am a nobody yet so perhaps I won’t be meeting him some time soon. But I don’t wanna brag, really. I’d be glad enough just to see him and say hello. Nothing else.
He should have heard her tell stories about him. He should have seen her smile at every single drip of memory that she could snatch. He should have been there to see her cry at every single movie she saw on tv and at the cinema. It should have been more fun.
But I bet he saw another woman cry at every single movie she saw. He saw the same woman smile at him. And reminisce with him. I don’t mind that. Whatever works.
Damn you, Joe. Still got the tumor on your back?
*1st photo from http://urbanartdealers.com/cart/images
