Intermission: "Paper Girl"

Terry A. Garey is a poet and prose writer living in Minneapolis with a librarian, three cats, and some squirrels in the attic. She was the first poetry editor for TOTU and has won a Rhysling Award in the long poem category in 1996. She is also the editor of Time Frames, a speculative poetry anthology published in 1991 by Rune Press and still available for purchase. Her book, The Joy of Home Winemaking, is available at fine bookstores everywhere. She is proud to be part of the performance group Lady Poetesses From Hell. Other than that she’s perfectly normal.

*~~**~~*

Paper Girl by Terry A. Garey

It’s 2 AM
Berkeley is quiet
car rolls into the warehouse courtyard
I park
wait with the men for the newspaper truck

I worry
because I’m tired
it’s raining
my route list is not up to date
starts, stops, changes have gotten muddled
because I trust my memory too much
haven’t written anything down these last two weeks
on my 700 deliveries

brakes are getting soft on the Cortina
hills eat them, scraping
metal through the linings
will I have to ask my boss for a loan again?

a few more vehicles come in
and finally the truck, blue and gold and huge
the union guy dismounts, opens the back of the truck
starts throwing out the key bundles

key bundles have the number of bundles for that route
have an envelope with the starts, stops, complaints
we all scan the info,
watching, waiting, trying to find out how many inserts
we have today
one, two, three for each paper
can make it a race against time in which
time
always wins

I used to own a route with my ex—
he’s gone, and now I’m a hired gun for George,
and the Donut guy
every morning I feel grateful Willy is gone
grateful I don’t have to do the accounts
grateful for a job even if it’s seven days a week
as long as I never have to sleep with him again

guys with the bigger routes start loading
it’s first come, first served, and they
were here first
I start up George’s tying machine
begin inserting and rolling and tying
to give my self a head start
the Cortina won’t hold the papers if they are all tied

my turn
I load as quick as I can, ten bundles this trip
with more to come later
try to scribble down the starts and stops
back the car out the narrow entrance
wish I had eaten something before I left the house

an hour later I’ve finished the University,
skirting the bushes where the RoTC guys got me
one night
I’ve hidden the paper for the gym so no one will steal it
done the law dorms,
hoping no one tries to hijack the car again
while I’m in the building

I remember the cop who thought I might have
a dead body in the trunk and made me open it
"I don’t want to see no dead bodies," he says in relief
I never asked him why he thought I might have something
besides papers

I head for the other dorms, drop the bundles
for the guys George pays to take them around
saves keys and time
once I petted a skunk thinking it was a cat here
no harm done
but nowadays I check what I’m petting

time is ticking against me
I have the whole upper route
and then the donut guy’s route
better hurry—
stop on Durant for Andy’s coffee
flee before the campus cops can give me a bad time
they hate me
for trying to earn a living they think belongs to a man
always feed me tales of rape and assaults
of women on campus
I never tell them about anything bad, keep it to myself,
and away from their satisfaction

Andy knows some of it: the druggie with the bottle
who had me pinned but didn’t kill me
various street people hoping I’d give them whatever
and the pimps who helped me change a tire—
I never told him about the ROTCs guys who ruined my
shoulder playing jump the paper boy
or the cop on the upper
route who held a gun to my head to amuse himself
or the cops who genuinely thought I was an armed fugitive
and nearly blew my head off—
"Never get out of your car when a cop pulls you over,"
the plainsclothesman had shouted at me, over and over again
"never, unless he tells you," and he was right
but I was late that night, and wasn’t thinking about
fugitives

I head up into the hills
narrow streets that wind like yarn into the steep slopes
cedar siding, eucalyptus, azaleas and rhododendrons—
it smells good tonight,
not too cold, no rain,
some moon to give me light
up here I’m above it all, don’t have to enter
dangerous buildings with lurking drunks, duck lights
that destroy my night sight
here I hoot at the owls, toss biscuits to the dogs,
watch for opossums, deer, skunks and quail
pet lonely cats,
here I’m rich in solitude and flowers, japanese landscaping
wisteria and lemon trees—
it’s mine, all mine in this soft hour—
my only injury came from a tread missing in a stair
five stitches and the doctor
let me work it off baby sitting

now I go back down to the warehouse, 20 minutes
lost to threading the streets
I load up for my final run
for Andy’s rival on College Avenue
Dream Fluff has nothing on Andy’s donuts
but he pays me
makes dirty talk when his wife isn’t around
trying to see what he can get—
nothing—
I ignore everything but the check
and the safe bathroom in the back
most of this part I can do with the car
rubberbanding, driving with one hand, throwing out the
window with my left
streets are a little wider
but traffic is beginning to move—it’s past 6 am
and commuters are heading out
one block, two blocks, three
I go on and on, taking it as fast as I can
throwing over the car, avoiding
obstacles and windows

then it’s one last run for the rest of George’s—
up one side and down the other, his original route
the one where he lives
a nice old guy with a heart condition and a sick wife
they raised three kids,
sent them all to college on the money from this route

nowadays George has trouble finding good help
does all he can to keep me—
gives me sci fi magazines
from his basement
emergency loans when my car goes out
advice on how to avoid assault at night:
wear old clothes, he says, look neuter
don’t let them know you’re a girl

last stop is the International house on campus
the cook gives me breakfast, sandwiches and hard boiled eggs
in exchange for the leftover papers
I eat the eggs
and on the way home, drop the sandwiches off
with my favorite winos
spreading the wealth
leftover from
spreading the news

© Terry A. Garey. Used with permission.

Links:
Webpage
http://www.joyofwine.net/
Bio & works
http://www.isfdb.org/cgi-bin/ae.cgi?Terry_A._Garey
Joy of Home Winemaking on amazon.com
http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/0380782278/qid=1129952391/sr=2-1/ref=pd_bbs_b_2_1/002-9601125-3922412?v=glance&s=books

COMING SOON: Invasion of the RNC Part the Last: Like Monkeys at a Flea Market