Innocent When You Dream by Barry Pomeroy

Author:Barry Pomeroy
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: songs, lyrics, fan fiction, tom waits, tom waits fan, island records
Publisher: Barry Pomeroy

I’ll Be Gone

The family seemed to hang over them after that, the father a pair of bulbous eyes staring after them from a sticklike neck, the mother dry hands rubbing cloth as she endlessly prepared and never came to the feast. He tried various jokes as they drove toward the coast, but they were gas-tank dry and fell into the aridity like spit. He thought about telling her stories of his own parents, but knew even invented tales wouldn’t match the story she was working though about the meeting.

In the end they kept quiet about them, and the two bodies, one silent and withdrawn and the other scolding, hovered near them as they walked and laughed through afternoons and into evenings. He wanted to tell her it didn’t matter, that every glance she gave, or every time she lapsed into silence wasn’t an attempt to fill a prophesy that began in that small house and now was haunting her. They dragged their inability to talk about what was most important through the spring, as though the fresh green grass would allow it to sprout into a different bush than the one they both knew lurked below the ground. By the long, hot, dry, west-coast summer, the greenery began to falter where people hadn’t fought the water ban. By fall his songs were changing, and he had begun to think about how the Midwestern winter closed in on a person, at least one who was not mobile. The snow covered and hid, but it also made escape difficult, and he started his numbers with a list of the ways one could evade such an inevitable comfort and constraint.

Even before his audience was restless, he was starting to think about where he might next park his car, about the view out of other apartment windows, and when he was too near the coast, about the tiny white sails he saw on the horizon that suggested that people were on the ships, that another method of escaping the land existed. A dog digging for a bone will eventually come up with something, and before long their relationship stretched thin until it was taffied to the horizon and she found another place to live.

He didn’t know if she were carrying her parents with her, but they were no longer staring eyes from the window and a voice from the kitchen, so for him he was riding into the fall winds slightly lighter. He picked up a pawnshop guitar and began to pick at mandolins when he was in music stores. The staff let him browse, sensing that even if he was broke now, his passion for an instrument would drive him back with cash, just as an addict will return to the pusher. They let him try this instrument and that, exclaimed That looks like you, or You can really make that one sing, and then left him to fiddle with the tuning and work out different sounds that he’d been avoiding.

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