Around this time along came a gringo on one of my single nights at Fido’s...one of these guys that comes with a personality like a dog and a white roebuck, one whose solo mission is to seek out the caste or genuine and latch, lamprey-like and leer on about something he finds cool that is not cool….that six beers in you don’t mind or somehow can’t mind and he’s on his best social skills so you’re getting a toy that works once and then breaks...He went by Rafe, had hippy long hair, and the standard issue facial growth above and below his mouth...He was from Santa Cruz and did not belie his beatnik rootage...flakey, crystallized, gilled with bullshit, five percent sidelight, and a penchant to never shut up about his life, his doings, his revelations...the type who tops every one of your stories with a similar but better bigger more unbelievable version, as if nobody had ever tried to explain this nonsense...However, I suddenly knew that Rafe, whom I figured had always been dismissed by all with deliberate scorn, would be part answer to my Ramona riddle...and Raph had a piece in this, big mouth run on mind and all, so I put up, endured, and laid back for the strange blanket of truth about to be pulled over me...Rafe with his slight feminine body, his always bare feet, the jewelry made of crystal and wire that always hung from his neck (mind you he would sell you any piece off his back and that’s how the tiny fucker made his way, that and bartering…
The others were introduced to him, meaning he was the one to get in someone’s space and make his name known and I could tell right away when he met my mother she put him in the same category as the mosquito, the vermin, the slave of the lamp...she hadn’t a soft spot for the foolhardy, nor could she suffer the fool, my mom, for some reason could only put up with very few certain animals of her choosing but the rest of the strays would get nothing...but also p’raps she could sense a shyster and had no patience for someone who wanted something from her and was willing to go to any length of made-up small talk and strategy to get that eventual desirable...in this state you tend to cease to notice things...both as swindler and as receptacle...and because of the fact I was guest and wardee of the mother, she felt directly this threat that Raph would pose, whether it was for a place to crash or some sort of long-term passive bullying treatment...Raph was endured by us all it seemed that swampy night in San Pedro... existing on the five envelopes of mystery, grace, love, style, and wisdom, and all at once remembering the concubine theory, for it works amongst strangers and knowns alike, that there can always be peace in any kind of household given each knows a place that is unique and outside of frozen food, electric toothbrushes, pension plans, jackhammers and situation comedies...or the unholy wildcat trinity of the sax, dirge, and early fall...
-Michael Price
