Upon the Arrival of Mr. Sorrow…

I was born @ Saint Agnes Hospital, August 2nd, 1969 in Fresno, California. The first Saint Agnes, the tiny one. Four stories… maybe five. It later became an old folks home. I delivered newspapers there. I didn’t even have to fold them, I would just kick them under the door - there was that much space under the door! - & the creepy nightwatchman, in his striped uniform, would always turn up on whatever floor I was on, leering @ me & mumbling under his breath. I don’t remember details of the birth. I don’t know if I came quickly or slowly(ha). I don’t know if my mother knew I was going to be a boy or a girl. I recall a story she told about a fortune teller predicting a boy. My mother consulted fortune tellers? I don’t know if my father was present @ my birth. I guess it would be nice to know. But what difference does it make really? There are astrological implications to the time I was born…I am unaware of them. I Know that I am, astrologically speaking, a Leo. My mother ran with this one. Lion posters, lion toys, stuffed animals, books about lions. I was aligned with the lion. The King of the Jungle. The only person that thought of me this way was my mother. I never felt like that. I was scared @ school. I liked the learning, that part was easy. It was the savagery of the playground that terrified me. I enjoyed being alone & I liked reading. My imagination was best employed with one or two choice friends. I was scared of girIs. My middle sister told me I stunk. My father thought I lacked fortitude… Come to think of it, I don’t think my father ever used a word like fortitude. He told me I was careless & aimless. Later on he told me I lacked goals & ambition. He was very upset to not find one picture of me in my High School Yearbook (this is real life Marc!)- other than the mandatory one of course…I wasn’t that far gone just yet. But, by then, lemme tell you, I was gone. So, he never said I lacked fortitude, but that’s what he meant. I can see that now. &, if he would have used that word, he would have been more accurate than using the others. I wasn’t careless or aimless. I cared. I was always thinking about a book I had read or more likely a comic book I read. I was deeply engaged in the life of Peter Parker & the Trials of being Spider Man. I loved Shang-Chi, The Master of Kung-Fu, locked in battle against his sinister father: Fu Manchu. I was always on the lookout for UFO’s or perhaps Bigfoot. I was determined to witness one of these. I was aware of the danger that lurked. I counted on Peter Parker & Shang-Chi to have courage in the face of fear. Now these cats had fortitude! I would pretend to be them. But alas, I was not. I was scared @ the Bus Stop. I was scared in Elementary School & I was scared in Middle School & High School. I was afraid of that asshole Russel Hernandez, who only stood about three feet tall. I was afraid of Pooky McPeters & I was afraid of Timothy Burgess(Birdshit) who punched me in the jaw so hard I couldn’t close my mouth right for a week. I was unable to stand up to my enemies, who, for whatever reason, seemed numerous in those days. & even now, I couldn’t tell you why. What were we getting on about? What was the problem? Girls? Certainly Girls. Yes. What else? I do not know. Maybe they were scared too? I remember seeing Lawrence Hand much later, years later. Lawrence was a bitter enemy & we had almost come to blows many times. He was one of the cool kids in school - he had a moustache! - I saw him in the beer & wine aisle of a grocery store & he was bloated & dumpy & quite a bit shorter than I remembered. He seemed so happy to see me! He shook my hand & asked how I was doing. He told me he was divorced & had three boys & he was in sales(!?). He wanted to tell me everything. We were friends I suppose & I just listened & listened & smiled & nodded my head: Yes. The items I was after, whispering from the shelf, “hurrry….” I, of course, was deeply involved with Mr. Sorrow by then. I’m not sure when He first arrived? It could be all the way back to when I was a little boy. Maybe from the jump? I couldn’t tell ya. I don’t think He spoke to me yet or even showed up in my dreams, which is where He always showed up…in different suits(striped) & different outfits(always striped). He was not without a sense of humour, Mr. Sorrow, & this is perhaps, why I liked Him so much. I do know when He made his presence known. Like I said, He could have been around, & probably was, from the beginning. But the first time He popped outta the cake, so to speak, was on my thirteenth birthday: August 2nd 1982. I had some friends over & we were watching movies on the VCR: Friday the Thirteenth, Halloween…. The phone rang. We had two phones, one in the kitchen & one in the hall, & my Father answered the one in the hall. You notice things obliquely as a child. You notice trouble in a distant way. The air is disrupted. The tenor & timbre of things disturbed. My Father was/is not a man of nuance or Poetry. His countenance was either that of Determination or Solemnity, Anger or, occasionally, Joy. The phone call had, however, brought something new. Beleaguered? Stunned? How had he come this far without these looks? I had never seen them. But there they were on his face when he took the phone call in the hall only to emerge minutes later, telling us he had to go out. There were many phone calls that evening & my Mother & Father were coming & going & the party, finally, already ruined, was terminated. The VCR turned off. The friends sent home. My Grandfather, my Father’s Father, had shot himself in the head & was found lying in his bedroom on the floor of his mobile home. The bureau rummaged through & his Black Socks lying scattered on the shag rug. I dreamed of Mr. Sorrow for the first time that night. He was sitting in my Grandfather’s mobile home on the recliner in only Black Socks & a striped, white undershirt, drinking my Grandfather’s chablis. The Bullfights in Spanish roaring from the television. My Grandfather’s ledgers open @ his feet. O Mr. Sorrow… What Flair! What Panache!! What a way to say, “Hello!” The cake was wheeled in for my birthday…A deadly Cowboy & Indian figurine scene embedded into the frosting, The knife & matching plates & napkins laid out ready to serve… But we did not eat that evening. No. We did not celebrate. Instead, like an obscene & tawdry stripper, Mr. Sorrow, mane full of cake, erupted into view. Ta-da!