Three River Landings, Third Landing, Summer 1972
I lived that summer on my Chris Craft, The Ingratitude; at the Covington waterfront
Yolanda ran our law practice from a bar stool on the Mike Fink
A bright shaft of sunlight would melt into the polished mahogany, slip its way along the bulkhead and pour out onto the deck all in time to the gentle rocking of the Ohio
I didn’t care much for the headlong pursuit of career or success. I wanted a twisted reality
On the gally table I would spread a lunch; olives cold cuts and salt rye
A glass of wine and four lines on the mirror.
Looking like it might wind up another afternoon stoned in the office
I was content in the knowledge I’d banked ten Gees
I’d squeeze the Raven 22 with my arm pit for the security it gave
I’d lock the cabin and sally down the dock to the Mike Fink
There they’d be, the same cronies on the same bar stools, lawyers and lap sitters
All but Yolanda, my partner in crime but sitting on no one’s lap
She’d have the little crowd around her yucking it up no better than the whittlers and spitters I knew back in Knott County
The public defender guy was saying to her: “I see you came with your pants off again Yolanda.” Yuk, yuk all around
“It’s: ‘without my pants’ Pinkas, did you even go to school? Sure I wore blue jeans yesterday but today it’s sunny out and I’m back in harness; skirt suit and heels.”
She saw me come aboard. “My man!”
She spoke to me that way. We were the only women in a man’s world and in public she tried to speak like a man.
I climbed up and ordered us a round; a shot of Beam with a Common Cream back.
She raised her shot glass to mine and said: “A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta brew so let’s have two.” Clink
I told her: “I’ve come to uderstand, Yo, that human beings are a world unto themselves.”
“You’ve got that right.” She chimed: “All the laws and secrets of the world are found in each one of them.”
“No need to study the world, Yo, just take one human being – – –
She interupted: “and a good hard look will show you all the good and evil; the mundane – –
” and the sublime. Just take Pinkas here.” I turned and Pinkas had gone over to the pool table to slap the prosecuter on the back
“Well,” I said, “we’ll have to take a hard look at you instead. Come on down to
The Insolipsism, we’ll sit out on the deck in the sun.”
We sat back of the wheel house and she asked me for a Schweppes. “Boy this Schweppes is schweppers.”
We fired up The Ineptitude and cruised down stream aways
The Markland Dam was coming up and I throttled down the twin Chevy 283s
I flicked un the running lights, dark was coming on
Wasn’t going to run the locks so we loafed in the pool awhile
Yo entuned: “Oh how I’d like to be the kind of gal I used to be. Wait, no I wouldn’t. That’s just a fascinating rhythm.”
“Gershwin, yea.” I pointed the Insipid back up.
The crows cawed even in the night
Out there on the water
We came up river
Past the Cave In the Wall
The Indispicable glided to her berth
And held there
Shut down the twin beasts
And we all had to breathe the fumes
4 thoughts on "Three River Landings, Third Landing, Summer 1972"
Leave a Reply
You must be logged in to post a comment.
Charlie: it’s already June 17 & I’m just now discovering that you actually signed up for lexpomo.
This story is dye-na-might. It should be published in the New Yorker as both a poem & short story. I loved the different names you gave the cabin cruiser.
Please give me some time (in short supply for us this summer) & I will read and comment on your entries.
This is Good Work!
P.S. please ask Mary to forgive my atrocious manners & thank her for the wonderful artful gifts for the baby.
your atrocities are your own, I’ve been reading yours allalallylong, keep trying, none offs are there
and your positive compass is so much appreciated Jim
I agree this story should be in The New Yorker. It is a masterpiece of life, wit and character.