Johnny Rebel Gives Advice

This here's my folks. My mother is always squinting in photos but even if she isn't exactly looking her best you could just tell by the way my father is looking at her that she is the most beautiful woman he's ever seen. I don't know how long they've been together in this picture. Johnny boy was her second marriage and she already came equipped with three girls, Donna, Janice and Linda...there was no need to start a family really. Just soak in what they had found in each other.

I can actually see my fathers lips! I've never seen them, in all my life I have never seen him without a beard. He looks like a charmer, kind of rough around the edges but real sweet underneath. It took me most of my life to understand that myself. When he use to roll in the door after a fourteen hour day at work all I saw was the rough edges and I forgot about the dad that use to give me piggy back rides.

Over the summer when I had first met Francisco (my guy) I actually for the first time in my life asked my father for love advice. I was crazy about Cisko...head over heels, but the waters were rocky. My dad put it this way, "one should not shit where one eats and you my daughter have committed this sin." Dating your boss is not recommended and by his rule of thumb doing anything to compromise what put food on your table was surely frowned upon.Francisco was more than a little bit rough around the edges. He was almost as grumpy as my seventy one year old father and just about matched in smoking and drinking habits too. I guess it's true what they say, you go for the ones that remind you of dad. So really could you blame me? Away from home and experiencing new things every day Francisco's gruff demeanor and late night stories over a shot of whiskey and a beer made the big apple feel more like home.


I asked my dad "did you ever meet anyone while you were still with someone else and just couldn't help yourself? I mean, every time you were near that person you weren't close enough?"

"yeah" my dad said gruff as if the alcohol from the shot of whiskey he just had actually stung as it went down; he lit up a smoke, " your motha."

"what do you mean?" I said.

"yeah that's right. You're motha and me. She was married to anudda guy, real louse, angry drunk. I was separated but the papers hadn't come through yet."

"How did you meet her dad?"

"She was a waitress at this little place. My friends bet me a pack a luckies that I couldn't get her in bed with me. Your motha was a real bombshell."

"So what happened?"

"Eh we chased each other like rabbits. Probably a lot like you and this franciskie are doin now."

"You know what they say baby doll?"

"No what do they say dad?"

"Theres an old Italian saying," he mumbles something that sounds Italian under his breath and makes a sweeping gesture with his hand as most old Italian men do for emphasis..."I forget how it goes, but it's something like a man will promise to give you the moon and the stars just to get in your pants. So you be careful with this guy."

"Is that what you did Dad, with mom?"

"more or less," he says with a devilish grin and a twinkle in his blue eyes.

"I'm guessing it worked whatever you did. If all you wanted to do was sleep with her and move along, how'd you get stuck?"

" I fell in love with her, that's how. Once me and your mother got together and did the deed, we never got out of bed. For months we did nothing else, we couldn't keep our hands off of one another."

"I suppose this miraculous event doesn't happen too often for the wandering man."

"not likely little one, so you be careful."

I sat with my arms forward, slouched with my face planted in my crossed arms my head down on the kitchen table cocked sideways to watch my dad. Now that I wasn't living at home anymore his stories meant that much more to me. I never realized how much of a story teller he was, having spent time listening to Francisco's stories I realized now more than ever how important my Dad's stories really were. I didn't want to miss a moment of his act. He was the performer, I was the audience and you never wanted to take your eyes off of him for fear of missing what might come next.

That's how I felt about Francisco. I also felt that my dad was right... though it looked like a fairy tale, and felt like a fairy tale, I was likely being sold a paper moon and plastic stars.

It was still nice to daydream a happy ending though. A meeting and romance that might be as interesting as my fathers tale as he told it to me, a story in which even I can't recreate it exactly as my father did the night we finally talked about something other than postal trucks.

I went back to the club the following evening and fell right back into the dance. First he told me how the scenario would go. Not overly romantic but that we would spend our first night together when we could in the Comfort Inn down the block. I took each moment like I was turning another page in a book. Like I was reliving when they had met. I set aside that the reality of the situation was that this was a man, my boss, who had another woman, his girlfriend and that he was talking of how he wanted me and where he wanted me and when it would be. The paper moon looked apparent but I clenched my teeth and played along. I thought of singers like Ella Fitzgerald who sang of love affairs that never went anywhere but oh the memories and how satisfying they were. I thought to myself if it's just going to be a love affair than I should really enjoy it and I whispered into his ear, " I can't wait that long."

I should have known in time how it would play out. The many nights that would follow where he would try and talk me out of being with him. Maybe he just needed to feel free. I'm not really sure but many nights he played barkeep... keeping the bar between us and the alcohol flowing freely. He would stay all night with his eyebrows creased telling me what I didn't know, telling me why I should stay away. Telling me that if I was smart I wouldn't get involved with the likes of him. It was so cliche I wanted to scream. Some nights I did. Some nights I was so sick of his act the one he put on offstage for all the help. The waitresses and the bartenders all gathering around to listen to the big little man speak. To listen to his stories. All the while playing a game they didn't see, flirting just enough to get under my skin, ignoring me just enough to make my skin crawl and pulling the boss card often enough to let me know no matter what he still held all the cards.

I talked too, but not in the open, not with an audience. I talked him into dark corners and into bottles of alcohol. I told him I could see through him and that I liked him better liqueured up because he was more genuine when his inhibitions fell away. He told me he could see through me too and that I fall in love too easily. That stopped me dead in my tracks and I placed all my bets that I wasn't gonna let him win whatever prize piece he was looking for out of me. I pushed up the heat and talked him farther into submission. I walked and he... he eventually followed.

He had the afternoon off. I thought maybe we would meet for the first time, outside of the club. Turned out he just wanted to list more reasons for why we weren't good for one another.
We came to the old Irish Bar between 8th and 9th that he liked so much. A place where late at night he could sit at the end of the bar and know there would be a shot and a beer waiting and where he could read a book in peace or write in his journal. He liked to sit at the end of the bar with eyes on both mirrors to keep a look out on the doors in case anyone came in looking for trouble. It was mid afternoon though when I met him and the sun was stretching in to the pub and illuminated the dust that was collecting on books stacked up on the shelves. A table separated us and we sat in silence for a bit just sipping our beers. I remember being a bit cocky, he had asked me how I was doing and what was new. Two chums out for a bit of tea I thought, this was hysterical, funnier than the jokes he told. "fine and you? Any new leaks we should be worried about, how do you think the weathers doing?" After a bit of meaningless chatter he laughed a little. His face got serious but concerned. "I don't want to make your life complicated, " he said to me. This was only the millionth time I had heard him say this. I sat there still thinking of what exactly he meant by this, how does it get more complicated than the situation we were in?