Added: Jessie Nava - Date: 28.10.2021 10:07 - Views: 40984 - Clicks: 5309
Janis Joplin at her desk regards Charlie Dickens at his, and wonders. That boy could be the answer, or one of the answers, to the long question that will trouble her. Will I be the loneliest girl on Earth?
The dog of loneliness is already at age nine nuzzling her. Because it is, after all, a dog, and nuzzling, and she nine, the dog of loneliness nuzzling little Janis Joplin at this point is merely cute. It will not be so cute later when she has bad skin and has wrecked her voice and swings that bottle Cute Joplin boy looking for someone now Southern Comfort at it as it tries to lick her face all sweaty on stages…oh my, this is poetic. Dickens a century out of his time—is already inane. We will stick to the facts and try not to be pretty.
She has heard Charlie Dickens use pretty big words early in the third grade. Unlike other children she has not been inclined to roll her eyes at him when he deploys a doozie. It is clear to Janis at least that he is not dissembling, to use a big word that cannot properly be in her brain either. What she means to think is that Charlie is not pretending not to understand the teacher when she wants other words instead of the perfect ones he has apparently just used.
It is not usual for a nine-year-old girl to have visions of mounting people but Janis is not a usual girl. Charlie for his part is unusual too. He tried later that night to formulate words not other than those he had used to describe his mean privation but to describe the kind of looking at him Janis Joplin Cute Joplin boy looking for someone now. It was shy, spittlely, askance when not directly at him; diffidentnot shyhe thought; perhaps sidelong rather than the awkward askance when not directly; spittlely was terse but not elegant, better to string it out with a little gobbet of spit in the corner of her mouth as if she were hungry.
Janis did look hungry, but not in the way his peers at the orphanage looked hungry. They looked like they wanted to eat Twinkies and Janis did not look like she wanted Twinkies. Janis had this odd way of looking like an old woman sometimes, an old woman in a bed like Miss Haversham, a woman he could see in his mind, the vision of whom mystified him: he did not know who it was or why he had a name for her and could recall no one remotely like her in his life at the orphanage outside Austin, Texas.
On television Janis has seen an interview with Ray Charles that has made her interested in Ray Charles and indeed in music itself in a way that she was not interested in either Ray Charles or music before she saw the interview. Charles had on magnificent, gleaming sunglasses and rocked his head around in the air like a bird dog looking for a scent, which she knew he did because he was blind, or was supposed to be blind. Too many singers claimed to be blind for them all to be blind, she thought, but she thought Ray Charles was probably not lying, about that.
If anything made her suspicious of his blindness it was simply how good his sunglasses looked. They had gone to some trouble getting those magnificent glasses, movie-star glasses that could have been on an Italian actress if they were not there waving around like solar antennae on Mr. Anyway, right out of those glasses came this white sizzly blinding light into her own eyes as Mr. She did not know why he said it or what he had been saying or what the question was.
In fact she did not know, really, what make love to a woman meantlet alone one at a time, but it was an idea that held a great appeal to her, clearly up there on the tree of adult knowledge. And when he said it she knew he was not lying about being blind, or about being a good singer, or about being a good singer being a good thing to be, though she did think he might be lying when he said you could only make love to one woman at a time.
It sounded like he was denying something rather than just stating a fact, whatever the fact was, or whatever the denial. She could eat two apples at one time. It was dumb because they both turned a little brown as you did it but you could do it. She wondered what in fact there was you could do one of that you could not do two of at one time.
She could sing two songs at one time, or five, and she did this in the bathtub and she mostly Cute Joplin boy looking for someone now it when she forgot lines to one song but remembered those to another but sometimes she did it for fun. Ray Charles was not on the level about that woman thing, but he was guarding his being on the level about the music thing. She thought: What if I be Ray Charles on the music thing and myself on the woman thing? She already sang very well, in the bathtub, and no one ever told her to pipe down, one reason she thought she was pretty good.
It was too much. At Blind Lemon Jefferson she gave up. Charlie Dickens raised his hand when the teacher asked someone to describe the weather. Most of the children had merely looked out the window and begun forming the notion that it was so obvious what the weather was that the teacher was either trying to trick them or was retarded. But Charlie was the kind of kid that would step into a trick with a smile and save them all from it. Despite his weirdness, they liked him. Many smart alecks you despised but Charlie was so far out there you could not despise him for being smart.
He was some kind of twilight-zone smart and he would use it, as in the present weather trick, to protect them all. As much mud in the streets, as if the waters had but recently retired from the face of the earth, and it would not be wonderful to meet a Megalosaurus, waddling like an elephantine lizard up Holborn Hill. Smoke lowering down from chimney pots, making a soft black drizzle, with flakes of soot in it as big as full-grown snowflakes—gone into mourning, one might imagine, for the death of the sun.
Dogs, indistinguishable in mire. Horses, scarcely better; splashed to their very blinkers. The children had been on the verge of erupting in a kind of excitement she had not seen of them before. Perhaps it was the Megalosaurus. The only child who seemed self-possessed anymore, actually, was little Janis Joplin, who had calmly studied Charlie during his weather broadcast without squirming or giggling or otherwise beginning to vibrate to his lunacy. Turner, as she was known to the children, was a private woman with an interest in biology that had gotten derailed.
She had not gone to graduate school as she had hoped and now found herself inexplicably wrangling this small herd of mostly privileged children. She was fending off the unwanted advances of a coach from the middle school next door, a man who came round in polyester stretch pants and expensive-looking noisy athletic shoes trying to talk her into going out.
This was an ordinary nuisance except that he, the coach, somehow reminded her of ordinary little Janis Joplin as she, Janis, sat there regarding the extraordinary Charlie Dickens. Richard Leech labored under the appellation Dick Leech, which did not make his life any happier. In a kind of blinding fatalism, Ms. Turner saw that her life was already fixed in this nothingness she was in and that she was not to escape it. This vision made things paradoxically a little easier to take: she might as well relax, and settle down. Thus she had come to let Charlie Dickens, for example, go on a bit more than she once had, short of his precipitating a riot among his peers with his performances, which struck them as tours de force of authority Cute Joplin boy looking for someone now or nose thumbing.
As we have seen, she was wrong in this surmise. He was among them a kind of early astronaut, and they liked astronauts, of any kind. Turner too. Things are happening. A girl quieter than even Janis Joplin, if that is possible, named Gail Crutchfield, who lives also at the orphanage with Charlie Dickens, and who wears the most out-of-date clothes the orphanage has to hand down, today a long red plaid dress belted at the waist with a belt of the same material and making her look like a Rockwell mother inthis Gail Crutchfield, who has not opened her mouth heretofore in any enterprise in or out of class, is standing up in her desk chair and smoothing down her dress and wringing her hands nervously.
She is breathing as if to prepare for something she has to say. She begins then not to talk but to sing. And to sing well. Powerfully well. At first Ms. Turner does not know the song, then she is amazed that she has heard it all her life and never heard it like this. Coming from the mouth of eleven-year-old Gail Crutchfield Gail has been held back, and is older than the other childrenit is spectral, not at all the bumpkin tune Ms. Turner had assumed it before. Gail Crutchfield loses her nervousness entirely once she begins to sing.
She concentrates on every note, and hits every one with authority, and uses a yodeling tremolo or vibrato where the song wants it, Ms. Turner does not know the musical term. When she is done, the children, who have been fidgeting and making small efforts to distract her a couple of paper balls have flown by her headstart howling derisively and clapping and booing at once, and Gail sits down, primly folding her hands and erectly staring forward, with one red-faced glance at Ms.
Turner as if to apologize for interrupting the class. Gail Crutchfield seems embarrassed to have interrupted the class but not to have sung the song. She says, to whom Ms. Gail Crutchfield has not received any notice from Ms.
Turner before this moment beyond that she lives with Charlie Dickens and a boy named Martin at the orphanage across the street. Turner is beginning to suspect that weird things are afoot in the room. The phenomenon of Gail Crutchfield this morning has put her strongly in the bozo-on-the-bus frame of mind.
As he walks by the outside of the classroom after school, Charlie Dickens is whispered to loudly from the bushes under the windows the children stare out of all day. In the hedge is Janis Joplin, squatting down and hooking her finger at him. He goes in. She kisses him wetly about his face.
He is overwhelmed by her into a sitting position, legs straight out, Janis on all fours, going messily at him. Janis for her part is certain he has called her a dog, a thing she could have predicted, but notices that Charlie Dickens is smiling.
This world is strange, Miss Joplin. That is strange to me. What did you think of her today? Janis Joplin wonders how a boy who insists on wearing a trench coat and who clowns around all day, and who once ran and slid baseball style under a table when Ms. Williams sang it. How to tell Charlie Dickens all this on her hands and knees in front of his face, the smartest boy in the world? Charlie Dickens regards her for a long time, just exactly as if he is thinking some large-word things up that cannot be put in other words.
I am not apparently coeval with my time. He does not expect that she can understand him. He suspects she means that she does not deem him evil, and this is good enough and does not merit an explication of his inveterate, inscrutable, ineluctable way of speaking, since that impossible speech is primarily what he is talking about. Your desperation is within reach of its targets, I mean, Miss Joplin. Mine is not. Mine is well lost. My desperations are behind me, as odd as that may sound, and yours are ahead of you, yet to be discovered.
This relaxes Janis. She can see herself kissing him again, and singing in the tub, and singing standing on her own desk chair, showing them the weak and shaky and real way to sing songs.Cute Joplin boy looking for someone now
email: [email protected] - phone:(109) 358-8956 x 8260
Cute joplin boy looking for someone now, Someone joplin hunt now looking boy for