On Sunday, March 12, I spent part of the evening in my car parked on Main Street in downtown Rugby. What do you see of a community upon a random evening, and what does it mean? We don't always know, but we take the notes. This is a report of one such evening in one such community.
Two boys in leather jackets
walk south on the sidewalk along my side of the street, walk rapidly as if a bit of chill pushes them along. Are they going to the movie? It's about 7:50 p.m. now. The movie starts at 8:00 p.m.
I believe there must be another tavern down the street, across from the theater - a man goes in, another man comes out. Snow dances in the street, like Female Dancers at the Overtime Bar.
A long-haired teenager in parka and stocking cap walks south on my side of the street, stepping quickly, holding close to the building to stay out of the wind. You wonder what it's like to be young and different in Rugby. To be young and different in any of these middlewestern towns.
A couple of boys come out from between buildings across the street; they're on bicycles, and ride for a bit on the empty sidewalk before moving out into the street. Then they disappear around a corner. You wonder what it is like to be of an age that you don't realize this is no more meaningless than any of the rest of it. We're born, we live, we die. Sometimes we get to drink a beer before we go; usually we have to pay taxes; sometimes we get to see the Female Dancers showing what they got. Then we die. You want it to mean something, you so damn much want it to mean something.
Cars come up the street; cars down south. The lights of the theater dance as reflections in store windows. Then a Central Ag Consulting pick-up parks right next to me, blocking my view of everything. It's like dying: you're there, but you can't see anything. The driver goes across the street to the bar. I move my car down the street for a better view of the proceedings.
Oh, yes - Jester's Lounge is directly across the street from the theater, next to an insurance agency and a second-hand clothes store. What's with the insurance agents? Is there some law that there have to be as many insurance agents as taverns?
To be continued....
What a great kick-ass take no prisoners post!!! This post damn well means something to me. Your observing the town from your car reminds of this cop who use to sit in the Woolco parking lot across from Macdonalds and watched for nefarious activity. He had an unmarked car. He always had a newspaper that he had cut eyeholes in....Anyway I very much enjoyed the post.
Posted by: Fred Garber | April 13, 2006 at 09:37 AM