Waves

FINNEGAN''S FINS

 

Freddy Finnegan is a happy drunk. He doesn't give a fig what anybody thinks. He feels secure in his own fuzzy world. Kids play jokes on him, tie his shoe laces together while he's snoozing on Westwood's hard, slatted bench. He can pretty much avoid a thunderstorm conked out in a doorway or vestibule, holding the skeletal remains of an umbrella he found in Marcy's trash can, way before the summer storms began. Where his booze comes from is unknown. Freddy keeps his lips sealed on that question, yet he has never been seen begging on street corners. I've seen him try to tap dance before prodding teens, lie down breathless on the sidewalk while he holds his sides in painful laughter.

 

Freddy keeps his few clothes in fair condition. If he has body odor, nobody knows how he prevents it, who gives him toiletries.  We kids follow him, try to find where he lives, who feeds him, pays for his haircuts, shaves. If anyone ever finds out, he, too keeps his mouth shut.

 

The hot summer sun seems to be the one thing Freddy finds miserable. He disappears from the streets into what seems to be thin air. We look in the library, the corner bar, movie lobbies but he slips away.  That is, -- until– Fannie saunters past him on a hot July evening. Without slowing down, stopping his walk, almost glides over to her, takes her arm and  introduces himself to Fannie. Down the street they meander and simply disappear.

 

A huge blue bird neither has ever seen, swoops around them. The wind from it's powerful wings knocks Freddy into an oncoming wave, rips his clothes to pieces. He laughs, moves his arms and Fannie straddles him. Another wave pulls them out to sea. Their bodies slither, scales form and they swim, swim to oblivion. Neither is ever reported missing to the police.