My Friend Mark
by
Rick Brown
When I first retired in 2008, I reluctantly took a part-time job driving a bus for The Clintonville – Beechwold Community Resource Center. I say “reluctantly” because Bill Owens (the Director) basically talked me into it. But once I met my direct supervisor I felt right at home.
His name was Mark Balson.
We hit it off from the get go. We shared a similar sense of humor, philosophy and were in fact kindred spirits. Mark was a few years older than myself and he soon became the older brother I never had.
Seriously.
Not that we agreed on everything. Despite sharing a liberal political ideology, Mark was more of what I’d label an “activist” than me. He had himself been the CRC’s director for more than a decade, returning after retirement to become the Transportation Coordinator. He gave sanctuary to refugees … in his own home. He put himself out there in ways I do not have the savvy for. And despite his liberal lifestyle he was a proud Marine … a Vietnam Veteran.
Mark was a serious Marine who wore an “Impeach Trump” ball cap. He saw no contradiction. And after getting to know him well neither did I. The two of us shared an affection for contradiction ... implicit or obvious. It’s where we both found the truth. And we also shared a talent for writing. As Mark used to always say, “Never let facts get in the way of a good story.” And, as writers, neither of us did … despite favoring non-fiction tales … almost exclusively. I encouraged Mark to write a book. He responded with a rambling, semi-autobiographical delight of almost 600 pages.
A profoundly large man, Mr. Balson’s appearance embraced his personality. Rotund, yet light on his feet, he had the stature … and beard … of a Harley riding (he owned motorcycles in his lifetime) biker. Yet, he could never be intimidating because of his Santa Claus smile and glint in his eyes. His laugh infectious … and sense of humor … rapier … but gentle … again celebrating the contradictory … truth as laughter.
I recall vividly one lunch date early on in our friendship. I had the day off so I was picking Mark up at the Community Center. It being a pleasant spring day, I thought riding in my Miata with the top down was in order. When I bounded into his office (which he shared with about 17 others … really) I saw Mark was wearing one of his … and my … favorite “uniforms”: a silkscreened Beatles t-shirt with long cargo pants held up by suspenders. Perfect attire for a topless drive.
But Mark informed me that he most likely could not fit into my little roadster. Not being tiny myself, I scoffed at the notion … even though I knew I barely fit in the driver’s side. And when his hypothesis proved correct … Mr. Balson graciously offered to drive. I assumed he had a car significantly larger than mine.
He did not.
We were both soon sliding ourselves into a black and silver SMART CAR … a vehicle arguably smaller than a Miata … yet apparently more practical when it came to transporting two very grown up men.
Speaking of Mark’s Smart Car … this is the same vehicle he drove frantically through a severe rainstorm … me white-knuckling it next to him … on I-70 East … to have lunch at an all-you-can-eat Asian buffet.
At a children’s waterpark.
We were the only diners.
And it was delicious.
I could go on with stories. There are several … maybe 600 pages worth.
Instead … at least for now … I’d like to republish something Mark wrote. He graced the virtual pages of Naked Sunfish for several years. His “Fat Mule Eatery Review” was a wonderfully tongue-in-cheek restaurant column. He loved food and expanded my culinary horizons immensely. (Think: baby octopus at a waterpark!)
Mark Balson was one of the finest friends anyone could have. He was one of the most caring social workers and perhaps human beings … to ever cross paths with me. Sadly … on March 2nd of this year … he bid this life adieu. I miss him greatly … always will. His big, unselfish heart finally weakened and stopped. Maybe he had finally given too much of it away.
This issue is dedicated to him.
Rest easy big guy. You enriched my life more than you could ever know. Thanks.
Disquiet Fills the Void
We need a new metaphor.
We desire a new dream.
Something more
than the dark primeval forest
Something more
than the vast deep sea.
We have become the Other
and the Other has left the room.
Like Moby quick descending,
never to be seen again.
A barren land burnt golden
beneath the Dialectic's gaze.
We’re running looser than
a free wheeling tire on a
long stretch of Texas road,
rolling wild and lazy like
a meandering tumbleweed
across flat plains.
We need a new dream.
Something to wake us
from our sleep.
The slumbering giant
tosses and turns.
Disquiet fills the void.
Dennis Toth |
http://leavesofcrass.blogspot.com/
Elva Griffith's new book,
The Analysis of H Final,
is available at:
Amazon.com
|
Rick's Books, Naked Sunfish Caviar
& Best Bites,
are available at:
Lulu.com
Rick's
book, Best Bites is available at:
Lulu.com & Amazon.com
Jimmy Mak's new book,
Daddies Shouldn't Breakdance,
is available at:
Amazon.com & CreateSpace.com
|
Orange II
by
aNna rybaT
Blog: http://www.annarybat.blogspot.com
Pin up, Sun down
by
Gabriel Guyer
http://www.artofgg.com
Ford at Graceland Mall
by
Amy McCrory
Blog:
http://amymccrory.wordpress.com/
The Non-Fiction Theater of The Truly Mundane
proudly presents:
4 am
by
Rick Brown
Scene: A dimly light hospital room in a large Sarasota hospital. It is the middle of the night and Rick is sleeping soundly in his hospital bed, center stage, parallel to the audience. Immediately behind are doors for his bathroom (stage left) and to the nurses’ station (stage right). Soon, Rick awakens and groggily presses the big red “CALL” button on the side of his bed.
Voice from intercom - Yes Richard. How can we help you?
Rick – I’m sorry but I need to pee again.
Voice – The nurse will be right in.
Soon the door leading to the nurses’ station opens and a professional looking, 30s - ish woman nurse saunters into the room.
Rick – Sorry I have to go again. I pee a lot.
Nurse – That’s why I’m here hon. This time instead of walking to the bathroom, just use the portable urinal. I can help you hold it.
Rick - Help me hold it?
A brief, mildly uncomfortable silence ensues.
Rick – OH! You mean hold the URINAL!
The nurse chuckles a bit.
Rick – Well … ok.
The nurse begins helping Rick from his bed by unsnapping the devices on Rick’s legs.
Rick – I just LOVE these leg squeezers! LOVE … ‘EM!!!
Nurse (somewhat annoyingly) – They are called … Intermittent … Pneumatic … Compression Devices and they’re designed to prevent blood clots!
Rick – All I know is they squeeze my legs and it feels REALLY good. Helps me sleep! YAY LEG SQUEEZERS!
The nurse sighs heavily.
Nurse – It’s almost 4 A.M., just three days after major surgery, and you’re BEING FUNNY!! And where are your hospital socks! You can’t get out of bed without them! Hospital RULES!
Rick – Tied to the foot of my bed. I HATE those socks! I can’t sleep with them on. Too HOT!
The nurse finishes liberating Rick’s legs and put his hospital socks on his bare feet. She helps him stand and points the portable urinal at his hips. Rick begins relieving himself while uneasily looking at the wall … then the ceiling … then the other wall. When he finishes she caps the urinal and sets it aside.
Rick sits on his bed, tears off the hospital socks, and hands them to the nurse. She immediately starts snapping the Intermittent Pneumatic Compression Devices to his legs again.
Rick – Not to sound redundant but … THESE LEG SQUEEZERS ARE AWESOME!!! Can I buy a pair for at home?
Nurse – They are CALLED … oh … never mind. And yes, you can. The leg sleeves are inexpensive but the air pump is very costly.
Rick – Gee … I didn’t think about the pump part … just the squeezers.
Nurse (subtly sarcastic) – Well, I guess you could have your wife BLOW into them.
Rick (obviously sarcastic) – Hey! It’s almost 4 A.M. and now YOU’RE being FUNNY!!!
The nurse sighs loudly.
Curtain
Cast:
Rick – his leg squeezed witty self
Nurse - her “put your hospital socks on” proper, yet empathetic self
The Intermittent Pneumatic Compression Devices – their heavy breathing, squeezably pleasant devices selves
Voice from the Intercom – mysterious graveyard shifter
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