10-15-04 - 4:36 p.m.
i have this morning ritual with my horse; we trade carrots for kisses and i hang on the fence, drinking coffee and watching her mosey around chez sage. call it my own version of breakfast at tiffany's. so i'm out there this morning, looking like shit in baggy jammies, nursing a lousy cold, and he pulls into my driveway. him, bad bald biker mel.
i was on my way to work, he says cheerfully, and i thought i'd drop by.
i could try to describe what i learned about this man in the course of two hours and two pots of coffee, but even as a reasonably intelligent and literate woman, words fail me. i know he spoke often about growing up jewish in brooklyn and i also know he mentioned the word 'incarcerated' several times. he talked about his brothers, and when i asked their names, he laughed at me; it seems his brothers are members of the hell's angels. he likes horses. one ex-wife was a playboy bunny. two days ago, on his day off, he was repairing his roof and fell off and lay unconscious for several hours until his worried pit bull licked him awake. he was once gutted with an icepick. he loves ice cold beer. he is 57 years old. he hates the gradeschool, playground mentality of the walmart breakroom. he admires my vocabulary. even with a lousy cold, i have a sensuous mouth, and sitting on my front steps, drinking coffee and talking to me is sheer, wholesome chemistry.
i'm blessed, he said, and for a second, i think i saw melvin, that little jewish boy from brooklyn, the one who got picked on until he learned to fight back; to break kneecaps or simply chill someone with a steely blue glance. then he swaggered off to work.