Would I Leave Melanie and the Baby?

Capturing Beauty

by

Jon Presco

Chapter Four ‘Would I Leave Melanie and the Baby’

Having only seen Marilyn from a distance, before she and Judy darted into the doorway of the Drug Store, I was awestruck when she opened the screen door to her mother’s little house near the corner of Colby, and there she was, up close. There is no event to equal this. It was more of a religious experience, than love at first sight. When we looked into each other’s eyes, there was a silent agreement we would co-mingle our genetic material, and make children. Wondering how these messages are passed, so quickly, makes the world go round. The world is a wonderment……..Wonder Mundi!

There were babies about us, in their cribs. Like cherubs, they flapped their tiny wings. They were everywhere. They had fat cheeks, and chubby bottoms. They raised their little arms up to this simmering hot Kim Novak look-a-like, and begged to be picked up. They cooed to her. Some of them were in the act of being abandoned. Very young women did not mean to get pregnant. An abortion was unthinkable. Marie’s unlicensed Day Care was getting a reputation as a Halfway House. There was this divine pretending going down. The young half-mothers………..stopped coming.

When I beheld Marilyn pick up a baby, I heard the screen door close behind me, for good. There was no retreating. She wore a very serious look in those days. Her soulful eyes asked; “Are the type of man who would leave Melanie and the baby?”

I was a poet and an artist. I was an Observer of Life. I lived safely – from a distance. There was a note passed to the wrong young man. As I stood at my easel, my best friend came back from Marie;s little house, walked in the sliding door on Midvale, and said;

“There was a mistake. This note was meant for you!”

“Please come see me after school. I live at………..”

Marilyn thought it best I not come running the same day she disappointed Mark Owen, the Fuck Master, who was confused as to why he had not got in this hottie’s pants within five minutes of meeting the Love of My Life. What did he think of the cherub guarding the door to sensual paradise?

M took me to her room. She was thrilled that she had captured her El Greco. Only recently did she tell me of the clay relief she had done of my long face. I was her Spanish Jesus. She put on Mile’s Davis ‘Sketches of Spain’. If she had a green-eyed Siamese cat, it would have cuddled up next to me in order to see what magic this teenager can produce.

I was unbelieving of my good fortune. M was the most exotic creature I ever met. This un-believing would be our downfall. I tried to explain to her why I had trouble taking something for myself – in this life! But, this only produced the most amazing flood of tears. M blocked the door with these tears. She chased me me down the street, with these tears. My Love was terrified of being abandoned. When she cried, she was accompanied by a hundred little angels in heaven.

M showed me her copy of the Prophet. There was a Renoir on the wall, I am forever in love with. There bits of lace, and Beatnik things tacked, taped, and tossed about her Monk’s Cell, her enclave, her sanctuary. This was M’s ‘Den of Love’ that she made just for me. She knew I was on my way. It was just a matter of time. Now with the infamous ‘Note Mix-up’ that is the stuff great Russian novels are made of, it was too late to turn back. I hd to see it thru to the bitter end , the Agony and the Extasy of it. Our little drama there on Iowa Street in the Sawtelle, was given its day in the sun. The blue velvet curtain glided open.

Les MacCann understood to live in Los Angeles was to be in your portable movie theatre, to be, in your set. Critics scold him for composing elevator Music, but, he’s laying down a soundtrack. He married a blonde Parisian Torch Singer name Charlotte. That’s how they met. Marie sent her beautiful blonde daughter on the bus to her French Lessons. Les looked out his big picture window, and her she come Goldilocks!  When you behold Les’ book of black and whites, you get it, what he really wanted to be, a foreign film maker, a maker of Art Movies.

To this day, M and I can not find the EXIT to our Art Movie. She thought she had got away clean by producing this African Culture Thing at the Hult. She gave me a back stage pass. I sensed this was a trap. I ran away to the old Granary, where I would meet the Buddha. In weeks I beheld the Buddha. That night, I lay atop a mountain beholding shooting stars. Once again I got in touch with Our Majestic Voice, that we came her to share.

I have a Grand Cross in my Astrological Chart. I was born several minutes after the sunset 6:05 P.M. on October 8, 1946 in Oakland Calfornia. When darkness fell, an amazing star-shower became visible. My mother Rosemary told me she was too exhausted to go to the window and join the nurses in the maternity ward who were oohing and ahhing. She told me she had visions during labor and kept telling herself she must remember them. She could not.

When my Astrologer began her five hour (recorded) reading of my chart, she began with these words; “Jon, I have never seen a chart like yours, never knew it was possible. It begins where all charts in theory begin on the exact cusp of Pisces and Aries.. For this reason I had to move up the time of your birth ten minutes, or in theory you were not born. As it is now, you barely escaped becoming a veritable prisoner in this lifetime, that is, all the information you came here to share.”

Jon Presco

Copyright 2016