03/05/01

Phebe stopped by late last night after work and checked over my burns and changed the bandages. She didn’t really say anything about having me return home. We didn’t really talk about anything really.

I didn’t sleep much at all, got up and read a few books in Percy’s library. He’s got a whole bunch on the artists of the Hudson River School from the 1800‘s. Another book that caught my eye was this mangled book explaining String Theory that Percy’s friend Gary gave to him. I know this because there’s an inscription inside the cover from him:

Percy, I almost died rescuing this book from the center lane of the parkway after the day in Asbury Park. I wish I could say I think of you every time I read this book, but I‘ve only looked at it once. I don’t get this shit! Which is funny, isn’t it, because that’s what you’re always saying about me!
Gary.

Linda, the pretty college student next door---Cupcake, I have to call her--- says to me as I was heading out from Percy’s this morning: if you see dock workers and construction workers coming in and out of my place throughout the day, it’s not what it looks like. I’m not running a bordello. I have a certificate in Reiki massage therapy. It pays the bills right now. Just stay quiet about it, OK, or they’ll kill me with the zoning ordinances.

So I say to Cupcake, you know, I’m an old farmer with a creaky old back, maybe I ought to get some of that Reiki message therapy too.

So what does she say to that? Get it from Percy. I taught him everything I know. Gary preferred Percy’s messages to mine after awhile.

I bet he did, I say.

I didn’t get the sense Linda had much time to talk just then, so I held back from explaining to her that Percy was just a relative I was forced to stay with because my dwelling place was mysteriously firebombed, and it wasn’t certain if the wife had anything to do with it--- that I really wasn’t gay!

Too late for first impressions. Still, I’ll have to have that talk soon.

After I checked over the farm without finding the dog again, I decided to go right to Stash Skimington’s place and talk to him man to man. I figured if he had anything at all to do with what happened with the fire I could get some sense of it from the way he behaved towards me. I also wanted to see what he had to say about reading the shit I been writing when he went into my trailer that time. I wanted to see if he would acknowledge telling people around town what Hiram said to me about Phil Palfrey being buried in the old well. But he wasn’t home. There was a note on the door though:

Phebe, I had to leave town for a few days. We’ll talk when I get back.