A Hollywood Start / Ch. 2. / Pt.6 / Mr. Garcia

Paula

My Grandmother's border, Mr. Garcia, always participated in the family meals. He was a frail, nervous man with skin as drawn as the dead; his veins jutting blue like directions on a road map and his thinning black hair he kept, greased back, slick. On his cheeks were pusy pimples and sitting on his upper lip was a huge bulbous wart. Though he was kind enough, I found him unfortunately repugnant and prayed never to sit next to him at the dinner table. His large rented room in the back of the house contained an elaborate alter, run over with religious icons of every sort and size imaginable; some larger than I. The abundance of the room’s burgundy velvet and white lace were worn and unclean. The entire room simply, stank . . . vile, really. Putrid. Vapors of camphor, used to cover busy bacteria; for his pustules were ostensibly popped on a continuing basis. And, blending in, was stale incense, old boiled cabbage and Mr. Garcia rank body odor . . . all in all, a perfumer's nightmare. Of course, being four years of age, I had no preconceived notions towards any of this, but was amazingly adept at separating and identifying the various sources.

His bedroom connected to my grandmother's by a bathroom in the middle, and lockable doors on each side. The skeleton key was kept in her top right bureau drawer. I never gave it much attention until one afternoon’s nap. Napping for me was a detested time, for I was forced to sleep in Grandma's large brass bed, alone.

Her bedroom walls were papered with huge roses, which, if I stared at them long enough, transformed into furious, devouring beasts, before my very eyes. Desperate for any escape, I'd stare straight above me, only to fixate my eyes on a hanging bust of a man whose hair was long and stringy. Upon his head lay a crown of thorns. His eyes were rolled upward in their sockets and blood ran down his face. I knew that he was hurt. I also knew Grandma knelt and talked to him every night, but I preferred hiding under the blankets so he, too, like the monster on the wall paper, would not get me. Suffocation seemed a much safer route than crying out in fear, and igniting the anger of my grandmother.

There was no hope of escaping the horrid flowers or the bleeding man, save one . . . Mr. Garcia and his bathroom. One day during my nap of horrors, I heard his neurotic rustling and decided to get a look at him. I quietly climbed down from the giant bed and tiptoed over to the keyhole. Peering through, I saw Mr. Garcia standing with his pants down, peeing into the toilet. What is that thing he's holding? Mesmerized, I watched as he wadded up an ample amount of toilet paper and dabbed at this thing repeatedly. What is he doing? Then, his head rolled back, and he would begin to breath heavily. After a bit, he came out of this trance, and plopped the wad of toilet paper into the toilet, flushing it away. Curious. Very curious.

Every day after that, I’d climb down from my Grandmother’s bed and watch Mr. Garcia, closely. He held a ritual of popping his pimples, applying creams, and then he’s fiddle with his thing. I never missed a day. After a month or so, my Grandmother became a little puzzled at how anxious I was to take my nap. However, certain that it was due to her splendid disciplinary tactics, she took respite in this one less agitation in her life.

Mr. Garcia began spending longer periods at the toilet. I felt that he had learned of my presence at the keyhole, for he became quite the contortionist. He would bend over as near as possible to his part that peed, and then reach out his tongue until one day, he was able to lick himself there. Synchronizing his movements, he dabbed harshly with the toilet paper wad, until he went into his trance. In and out his tongue would go, faster and faster. It was quite amusing to watch, until one day, my grandmother came in and caught me spying.

Everything was ruined. Not only was I given a sound licking, I was also, banned from her bed. The lack of bed didn’t bother me much, but . . . well, of course, none of the punishment lasted very long, for there was no where else to put me. However, put in to action was a vigorous nap patrol. It took a long time to undo the damage, but eventually, I could watch Mr. Garcia’s antics again, which was even more fun, because of the stricter forbidden aspects, applied. As the days wore on, life got lonely at the top. So, I decided to share my delicious secret with my sister, Loni and my cousin. Before long, there wasn't a man left in the house who didn’t fall prey to the keyhole. . . not even my father. I learned a great deal and I learned that each man was different in their own way. Some men flicked, some wiped, but no one could rival the antics of Grandma’s border, the pious Mr. Garcia. Some years later, looking back, during my Catholic Catechism studies, I wondered how it was, that I felt terrified of roses on a wall and Christ; and thus, found solace in the debauch actions of a depraved man.

Exits do become entrances. It was time to say goodbye to the house of my Grandmother's for we were to move into a large white Colonial home owned by Uncle Louie. I was about to enter the age of reason.

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	Paula Paula Servetti	Thank-you, Son, this is stuff you don't know much about. So it is good that you read this, just to help you know your family who has passed on, a little better, and maybe me. Posted by Paula on Sunday, October 25, 2009 - 7:56 PM [Reply to this] [Remove] [Block User]

	Patty Servetti Patty Servetti Stewart	I was gyppeed because I never got to peek through the keyhole. We moved from grandma's house when I was 2 1/2, before Mr. Garcia moved in. I guess that explains why I wasn't allowed to use the big bathroom when we visited. I had to use the small one in the back of the house. As usual you have done I great job writting. I really enjoy reading your stories, as they bring back many fond memories. Posted by Patty Servetti on Sunday, October 25, 2009 - 5:15 PM [Reply to this] [Remove] [Block User]

	Paula Paula Servetti	Patti, Really? I thought you did. Loni I were reminiscing, just this morning, as she had read this. She said. "I remember us sitting on the bed for the longest time, just waiting for him to come out. Sooo funny! and she also brought up how we impatiently waited for Grandma to take us to the corner store to get those special sugar cookies. I remember that little store as well, as if I had been there today. I loved it so much. Thanks dear cousin, for the comment and compliment. It helps me know that I am honoring the family. xo Posted by Paula on Sunday, October 25, 2009 - 7:54 PM [Reply to this] [Remove] [Block User]

Jennie

Keep it up girl...you have amazing descriptive powers..I have been writing , but need to spice mine up after reading what you write Jenn Posted by Jennie on Sunday, October 25, 2009 - 9:05 PM [Reply to this] [Remove] [Block User]