one hundred dollars for that picture

  one hundred dollars for that picture





     Somewhere back in time there are some fine young people, nicely stoned and focused on a sweet Simon and Garfunkel song drifting out of some cheap Pioneer speakers maybe on Marshallfield Lane or Seminole or Saturn street.

Old friends, winter companions, the old men

Lost in their overcoats, waiting for the sunsetThe sounds of the city sifting through treesSettle like dust on the shoulders of the old friends
Can you imagine us years from todaySharing a park bench quietly?How terribly strange to be 70
Old friends, memory brushes the same yearsSilently sharing the same fears

What made the classic album and beautiful songs even more poignant were the recorded "voices of old people" that preceded the song speaking about what thier lives had become. Greg was probably 18 and I was 23 when we repeated the words "I've little in this world, I would give honestly without regret one hundred dollars for that picture."  It was part of the small spoken word pieces fitting together as the "Old Friends" portion on the "Bookends" album that will forever be cherished by those of us who grew up around, the Creasons and the Sheehys. It was similar to Greg and I singing without restraint the Crosby, Stills and Nash song "Four and Twenty" like we were old troubadors reflecting on our long lives. As usual we would drift into a meditative state, dreaming our young man's dreams with great adventures ahead. Conversations stopped and we just listened and filled in the images from our youthful imaginations. It was the same for "Midnight Mile" by the Stones, "Wide World" by Cat Stevens,, "If You Could Read My Mind" by Gordon Lightfoot, "People Are Strange" by the Doors and entire Beatles albums. Of course the ubiquitous Dylan and a song that became so true to us in the 21st century. His dream said 

How many a year has passed and gone?Many a gamble has been lost and wonAnd many a road taken by many a first friendAnd each one I've never seen again
I wish, I wish, I wish in vainThat we could sit simply in that room againTen thousand dollars at the drop of a hatI'd give it all gladly if our lives could be like that

    So now that my journey of writing an entire year of memories about my best friend is over I can truly find the complete truth in these songs we fantasized about. How terribly strange to be 70 indeed and how much more stange to be gone at 70. I think I will continue to tell some old stories here, maybe not about Greg but certainly those I told to Greg. I can say from the heart that the photo I place under these words is in my files so I don't have to pay one hundred dollars to have it but I would pay any amount to be right there once again in that perfect slice of paradise. May he rest in power.

     



 

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