A.G.E's Joint

  This river has been part of my life since I was in sixth grade. I've floated it, jumped off its rocks, and hiked all of its trails from Buford Dam to almost West Point. I've had deer snort at me, watched hawks screech as they got squirrels, and listened to immense bird life that exists along the stream bank.  This is Morgan Falls Dam. Where I live now is to the left of the picture. Where I grew up is to the right. Some of the best days of my life happened here. It was where  this story  happened. Many nights (and a few breakfasts) were forgotten in the parking lot.   There are peaceful nooks everywhere you go.  And I hope to keep enjoying it forever. 

  "Breathe Deep, the gathering gloom..." 5:00 AM. I never had to look. 94-Q always played it the same time Sunday morning. Like Pavlov's dog, the gong seemed to give me energy. The poem matched my mood this morning. The paper drop had been late and I was at least a half-hour behind getting things done. It was humid and I was already sweating. I chug my old car into the open space and shut off the motor. Sunday sunrise wasn't for another hour, but noise didn't matter at Nob Hill. It was the pinnacle of the Swinging Singles lifestyle. 425 units done in a faux Mediterranean style, spread over 16 wooded acres. The parties had made it the place for up and coming image-makers. They were the Young Americans. The parking lot showed what was important, Morgans, Jags, and Mercedes. The only thing it didn't have on its main rival, Riverbend, was a river.  For a sixteen-year-old kid, it was paradise.  Buildings 10 and 11, by the small pool, had 18 customers and the crazie...

“ It had been raining for day s” Everyone cringed as the chalk scraped along the board. Ms. Stachowiak’s flowered skirt swished in time with the screeching. Billy dutifully wrote the phrase on his paper, while the sound of hoops and whistles echoed from down the hall. Couldn’t he be down there? It would be more fun than listening to this dead rose talk. The ticking of the clock bled through the cloud and he looked up. Ugh. Ten minutes to go. The teacher rattled on about the sentence being in some tense, present perfect. Or was it perfect continuous? He shrugged and suppressed a yawn. She droned on about how use of language was the difference between success and failure. He tugged his black t-shirt collar and shrugged. What does this dried up hag know about success? She was the one teaching a bunch of misfits. And nothing she said sounded like anything he’d ever use outside of class. There were only two things that kept him interested in being here. Music and Julie. She was trans...

High school was a strange time.   For the most part, I prefer to leave in the past, but once in a while a name will pop up that still makes me smile.   I was looking through Facebook to see if there was anybody I wanted to add and I came across Maz, a truly unique individual.   His behavior, especially towards girls would be considered harassment these days. Teachers would just sigh and roll their eyes, because his work was always done well. There just weren’t any niches to sink discipline into his thick skull. The attitude had gotten him booted from the debate team and a couple of other activities over the years. He was from a conservative Jewish family, his Grandparents having come to the US in the mid 1930’s from Southeastern Europe. They left when it became apparent that Hitler was on one side and Stalin on the other and they didn’t want to find out who was going to get there first.   The reason this piece of information is important was Maz was fluent i...