NY a spot in the park"What are you doing in my spot?” Foster Werthman asked the old man who was standing next toa seeing-eye dog. "What do you mean, ‘What are you doing in my spot, this isnot your spot, and besides Iam reciting my poetry to whomever chooses to listen,” said the man, "But this is my spot! ve been coming here for almost a year now performing for these people, and you have the nerve to just show up one day out of the clear blue sky and claim, not only my spot but my audience as well! Foster yelled accusingly. “Tam sorry to disillusion you, my friend,” the man said taken aback a bit, "but this is a public park and this is, infact, the public, both of which you cannot claim. 1 have just as much ofa right to recite my poetry as you do to...well, what is it that you do, if T may ask?" “Lam a mime," answered Foster indignantly "A mime?" the man said surprised, are you really a mime? I cannot believe that. I thought mimes were long gone, obsolete, outdated..you know, behind the times...and yet, you sound so serious as if an audience in this century would really care to watch something so passé.” Foster looked over at the three benches that encitcled the small area. Upon them, sat the same three figures that, for as long as Foster could remember, had always been siting there, Three permanent fixtures..as permanent as the benches they sat on. On the far right, a man wearing a large black overcoat, sat so perfectly stil, that if t were not for the huge gulps he would take every so often out of a bottle hidden by a large paper bag, Foster thought he might have easily been mistaken for a mannequin. On the center bench, a disheveled man in a purple sports-coat, sat beside a large cardboard box overflowing with newspapers and pages from magazines. As usual, he was having an in-depth conversation with himself, though today he was glancing furtively to his right and then to his left as if he thought someone was watching him. At the bench on the far left, a woman withJong knotted black and grey hair, ie curled up in fetal position sound asleep. She ‘was snoring loudly and Foster thought the expression on her face seemed quite peaceful as though she were a child tucked away in a warm bed forthe night. "Of course Iam serious!” Foster said hysterically gesturing at the group like a conductor would at his orchestra, "Every day they watch me! I give them some joy in their pitiful lives..alitde bit of happiness and entertainment..something to take them aveay from their miserable existences! And anyway, how would you know?" Foster's voice crescendoed causing the huge German Shepherd to bark furiously. Foster bolted back, startled, having hardly expected a seeing-eye dog to be s0 vicious. "Ie aleight Stella, the man isnt going to hurt me," the old man said as he rubbed the soft far underneath the dog's chi. “She's very protective of me if she senses hostility," he continued, “But back to my point, my friend, I believe that my poetry has the real potential to truly talk to people..to say something useful and Inspirational, To teach them, no, to show them, how itis possible to see beyond the surface of things and transcend sormaley into something unique and fresh. I vant to improve their vision, if you know what I mean, to make them see, for once in their lives, how beautiful life really is and ean be. Discovering the beauty from within..ah...what a challenge but what a grand discovery! Ifa blind man can do that, than surely anyone can.” "My god, you cannot be serious! [ mean, look at them!" Foster demanded. forgetting the man could not see, "They just want lo be entertained! ‘That's alll bring them entertainment..movement.a visual spetacle..something they can sink their teeth into, not gum to death. Poetry is s0..s0 abstract and frankly, they would be bored. Don't you see? They need me..they watch me; they do not merely pause for afew seconds on their way to catch the subray, nor do they walk right past me as if I do not exist! These people watch from beginning to end, from the onset throughto the exciting denouement. They expect me to be here..they wouild be devastated without me." With that, Foster walked to the middle ofthe small space readying himself to begin his mime routine. Stella emitted a low, but threatening growl and Foster stopped immediately. “What are you doing” the man asked as he pulled Stella towards him, “Lam preparing to perform," Foster stated. "Maybe you did not quite understand what I was trying to say, my friend, am performing now. I am reci 18 my poetry, You cannot just push me away. This is a free country..this is a public place...you do not own this park!" The blind man was obviously becoming upset and was beginning to get on Foster's nerves. "OK. I tried to be civil about this but if that isthe way that you would like to be, well, then, will just have to bring in the authority.” Foster picked up his book bag holding three large textbooks on performance art during the Bauhaus period (a course he was currently taking a the university) then turned and walked towards the police station on the other side of the park. As he marched on, he heard the blind man begin reciting his idiotic poetry. Oh God, how ridiculous this whole situation is. Why did he have to take this spot in the park? There are thousands of parks inthis city, and he had to come to this park ancl take my spot! Now those poor people have to suffer through his pseudo-philosophical garbage... Foster reached the police station and walked right up to the counter slamming his book bag on top of a pile of paperwork. "Can Thelp you?” the policeman asked without looking up. "Yes, you can..1 was in the park and this man~""Hold on, hold on," the policeman said finally looking up at Foster, “what the hell are you wearing on your face?" "tis make-up. Iam a mime. But, wait, Iam getting to that, you see, I was about to do my routine in the park when this man~ “Hey,” the policeman broke in suddenly, "I think I once saw you do your litle shiick...Im not much ofa critic though, in fact, was always kind of bored with the whole mime thing...seems kind a strange that someone who can talk decides to tell a story without talking...kind a weird if you really think about it...and T always hated guessing what you guys were doing..you know, like ‘oh now he's in a room that's closing in on him’ or ‘now he's walking outside on a really windy day’ or" “Can I please get to my point?" Foster asked impatiently, "As we speak, that... that man is stealing my audience and my spot and you must stop him!" ‘Slow down now..who, which man are you talking about?” the policeman asked confused “This man in the park today. He's reciting his inconsequential and ridiculous poetry fo an audience who do not care to listen to his drivel. While in the ‘meantime, I could be bringing them what they really need by doing my silent but beautiful routine for them." “Who's them? “Well, those that come to see my show everyday, of course." “Who could possibly want to come and see a mime everyday? No offense you kuow.t "No offense taken since you obviously do not understand, nor will you ever appreciate the subtle beauty in the artistic performance of a mime," Foster stated resentfully. "So who are these people?” the policeman asked again."Well, there's this... don't know them all by name, of course, but they are always there because they enjoy my performances..they think that what I do is wonderful..oh, we are wasting time..can't you just remove that abominable man and his awful dog away from my spot and let me perform?" Foster pleaded. “You know I can't do that. Ie a public park. He has a right, just as much of a right as you to do whatever itis that you do. I'm sorry , thefe is just nothing I can do about it, and besides, you shouldn't have a need for the police in a situation like this. [have more important things to worry about..accidents, rots, robberies, crazed lunatics..you know this isa big city,” the policeman explained. "Oh.-oh..this is completely jculous! Why can’t you just tell him to go to another park, or find another spot? That’ all | want; just for him and his dog to go somewhere else. I mean, Ive been going there for almost a year now, and I'm just beginning to grow as a performance artist, 'm Just beginning to break through the ‘mold, just beginning to be one with my audience...just beginning. just beginning. Foster implored, “| really can't help you and anyway, why don’t you go somewhere else?” the policeman asked suspiciously "Because I was there frst! I shouldn't have to be the one to move if was there first. Besides, I care about those people! They care about me and seeing my performance! We have a relationship already established. communication..an understanding..they want..well..they..oh, Tam just so mad!" Foster said pouting ke a ehita "Listen, go talk to the guy and settle this on your own. You are obviously a well- educated and certainly refined young man so you must be rational enough,” the policeman said in a slightly sarcastic tone, "Tm sure you can think of something that solves the problem for both of you."G Foster picked up his book bag and stormed out ofthe office yelling about the justice system and how corrupt iti, as loud laughter erupted behind him. When Foster returned to the spot, the blind man vas still labbering on, Oh, how utterly trite and cliche. This blind buffoon actually thinks that his so-called poetry is going to have an affect on these people, that they are going to feel something! Foster glanced at the three figures; the man still drinking out of a paper ‘bag, the man in the purple sports coat now picking his nose tenaciously and the ‘woman still sleeping soundly. "Sir, IFT may interrupt,” Foster said aggressively. "My name is Craseoff and no, you may not interrupt Iam just getting om to a ‘wonderful sonnet about how a blind person has no conception of ugliness because we have never seen ugliness, and the whole idea that" “Listen, Mr. Casco" Foster interjected, "I will not accept this! T just won't do itl Who's to say that you won't start coming here everyday now and take up my usual spot and recite your ridiculous poetry for my audience! I simply will not tolerate the idea that you may show up anytime, any day..this has to stop now before it gets out of hand! I demand that you and your dog leave now!" "You have no right to demand anything from me. Why don’t you find another spot? You have the ability to seo, to actully look for, search out, and discover another spot. I couldn't have found this spot on my ov ever in a million years. 1 was Stella who led me to this particular park and to this particular spot, and now I have grown used to it, the way the ground feels, the way the air smells. And if, in the future, Ifeel particularly inclined or inspired to recite my poetry, Sella will know exactly where to take me..surely you must be able to see the situation Iam. in..surely you must "Alright, alright," Foster said having a difficult time controlling his frustration, “maybe there is an even more civil and certainly more American way of settlingtle dispute, Since we both obviously believe that our personal forms of expression will have more of an affect on these people, we should have to prove it to them. We shall, therefore, have a small debate on the issue andl then, they will vote." Foster pointed atthe three figures, “That will be fir, they will choose who they want, they will choose what they want. Tt will be democratic and the outcome will, ofcourse, be what was meant to be al along... naturally." Without even waiting for Mr. Crascoff's response, Foster walked over to the three benches. He looked at the man in the purple sports-coat, who was mumbling something about how cockroaches area delicacy in some countries, then bent over and lightly tapped him on the shoulder. “Excuse me," Foster said, "Tm sure you couldn't help noticing the litle confit we've been having over there regarding who should be the one to entertain you, and we've decided that to solve our dispute, we will have a small debate on the {issue and then, after we both have had a chance to speak, you will ll vote and decide for yourselves whom you prefer. ‘As Foster spoke, the woman had woken up and as she stared at Foster, he noticed that she had the most peculiar look on her face, He saw thatthe alcoholic ‘was also staring at Foster oddly, though he seemed to be having dlificuty ‘head olled back and forth in his inebriated state. maintaining his focus as "So," he continued, "ust to let you know, that is what will ensue, and please, if ‘you have any questions, ask now before we begin.” Foster walted there for afew minutes, But the alcoholic just burped very loudly and the women put her head down again and immediately fell asleep. Finally, just as Foster was about to turn and walk away, the man in the purple sports-coat took his finger out of his nose andl said, “What do we get fr it, mean, what are you gonna give me for it..what are we gonna gets?""Well said Foster delighted that someone had said something, "you wil, of course, get the opportunity to be entertained exacly how you wish to be; whomever ‘wins the debate will be here everyday to bring you what you really want.” Foster again waited fora reply, and when he heard the man begin mumbling quietly about how he had once heard that dog meat is actually quite a popular meal in some counties, Foster walked away. "They are with us one hundred percent" Foster said to Mr. Crascoff, "They agree to go ahead with whatever we do.” “T think this is absolute silliness," Mr. Crascoff said, "There's just no need for this. Why do you feel such an urgency to go to these lengths just so you can have your usual spot? I don't know ifT want to participate in this kind of lunacy... just don't know=-" "Mr. Crascoff, you will begin,” Foster stated, not having heard a word the man had just said, "Stand right here." He prodded Mr. Crascoff along until he reached the center of the space facing the three benches. Then, satisfied, he walked over to Stella, thinking to plop himself down on the cement next to her, but instead, he accidentally sat on her tale, crushing it completely underneath his buttocks and the dog let out a screeching howl. Mr. Crascoff jumped back. "What happened?" he screamed, "What did you do to Stella?” "Oh nothing, I just accidentally sat on her tale..she'll survive. Come on, come ‘on, get on with your presentation, we haven't got all day..prove to these people that ‘you would be the best enterlainment* Foster jeered “I guess I have no choice in the matter. You have forced this situation,” said Mr. Crascoff sounding weatied by Foster's persistent bantering. He stood stil for a ‘moment, then shifted his weight a few times, first on the right leg, then on the left, then back to the right and finally, settling on the left, cleared his throat and began. "believe that poetry is essential forall people"“Louder please," Foster yelled. Mr. Crascoff put his hands on his hips impatiently. “Are you quite through?" he asked Foster though he was looking directly ata large yellow garbage can. "Yes, just speak up a bit, project sir, you are a poet..you can surely do that," Foster teased. Dy this time, Foster noticed that a few passersby had gathered around the spot, ‘whispering, no doubt, about the strangeness of the scene. And yet, it seems they ‘were held there, fascinated by the curious spectacle. As he observed the growing ‘group, he noticed people that he had never seen before on this side of the park. A melee of men, women, students, business men, housewives..it seemed that every walk of life had assembled in this particular spot. “Well,” Mr. Crascoff continued unaware of what was happening, "lam blind. I ‘was born into a world of darkness. It was all I knew and all I understood. Eventually, my life, and everything I had, everything that I even remotely cared for, had also taken on this blackness, becoming something, I believed, I could never really have or love because I couldn't see it. It all became so unattainable..eclipsed and obscured by, shall we say, my own narrow-sightedness. But it was when I discovered poetry much later in my life, that I also found my eyes and alas, my happiness, All the ‘emotions and feelings that I had so carefully and systematically hidden away in the blackness for so long, became clear and light, and so much more important than seeing the form and shape of things. And so, I began imagining what things looked like, and as I did, the images my mind described transcended even their imagined form taking on an entirely new dimension; a dimension that included an emotional response. When I discovered poetry, I was in a sense, reborn. I realized that poetry does not need to be seen at all, unlike a painting, or a sculpture; poetry is simply words; words that then move from the mind to the heart, taking on any shape or form that one wishes upon them.You see, ultimately, what I discovered, is that things are really not what they appear to be..that everything has a million different, though equally valid ‘meanings to a million different people and yet, stil, we all are able to communicate how we think and feel and see, and that. that wondrous reality... s precisely the beauty and mystery to life ise! ‘Applause exploded fom the crowd, and when Foster looked around! he could not believe how many people had erammed into the small area, So many, in fat, that Foster suddenly had a panicked feeling in the pit of his stomach. He was not used to speaking in front of such a large group of people. Mr. Crascoff continued talking, but Foster could not concentrate He desperately tried to make sense of it for he knew he had to prepare a rebuttal, but the words jumbled together into a reaningless drone. For a moment, he actually thought Mr, Crascoff was speaking ina foreign language..none of it made sense at alll His heart was beating rapidly and he tried doing his deep breathing exercises, but there were just too many people..wway too many people..too many face staring, “And now" Mr, Crascoff said, "it is the mimes turn to talk.” ‘There were a few subdued giggles at that remark, but Foster heard them as if they were booming over a loud speaker or amplified by a bull horn. The laughter echoed in his ears, and he put his hands over them to stop the unbearable sounds from penetrating and cracking an ego he secretly knew to be delicate and fragile. He felt a terrible headache coming on, and was having difficulty remembering why he ‘was in the park at all When he etood up, the crowd became silent in anticipation. Suddenly someone in the yelled, "Why don't you get a real job with that fancy college education of yours and stop bothering our poor city with that mime stuff? Don't you know by now that people are annoyed with you guys? Haven't you realized that people avoid you? Haven't you seen us walk the other way? Mimes are just really annoying, plain and simple. Everyone knows it..1'm surprised you don’ttBe easy on yourself and go home.-let the poor man recite him poetry. It's all he's got; his poetry and his dog, Go find a job with that fancy college education...it'l be easy for you with that fancy college education.” Well the nerve of him! Foster thought, after seeing the large man with the cigar dangling out of his mouth had been the source of such rudeness. Hey, wait just a minute I am so sick of hearing that kind of utter baloney!” a man about Foster's age yelled from across the circle, "Just because someone has a college education doesn't guarantee that they're going to get a job! What makes you think itl be so easy? I've got two degrees and I'm still unemployed. You have no right to assume that someone wito even has the opportunity to go to college, is somehow set for life..that things are going to be handed to him on a silver platter! Come on, man, let's be honest here, a college education doesn't get you shit these days, and you know it as wel as I!" Thank you for clearing that up, Foster thought. "But atleast you won't have to choose between a job flipping burgers and a job emptying trash cans!" a bald man wearing overalls shouted furiously. Yeah!” an angry voice hollered in agreement. "What's happening here?" Mr. Crascoff yelled nervously, “Stop this..please stop this! Let the mime have his turn to speak...et the mime talk.uit's his tum to talkt Stella? Stella..where are you..Stella? Stella? As he yelled for the dog, Mr. Crascoff walked around with his arms outstretched looking lost andl frightened. Foster knew that Stella could never get through the stil growing number of people that continued to crowd the small area, and she stood with her ears pointing upwards, ‘whimpering and whining on and on and annoying Foster. “Oh shut up! Foster said, "Just keep quiet, you'll have to wait until this is all over." "Oh. I can’t stand this! Iust cant stand this!” a woman with flaming red hair screamed, obviously with a desperate need to be heard, "None of you men will everunderstand the problems that a woman has to deal with. We are treated with such double standatds...we have to work twice as hard and still, we have to play those little gender roles to get our way!" Foster saw she was spitti Was she spoke. "It's a man's world! she continued screaming, “It will always be that way...a goddamn man’s world!" ‘Then a black man, who was standing next to Foster, let out a moan and sounding disgusted by the vociferous red-head said, "Jesus, give me a break. Atleast _just be thankful for that. You have no idea what real ination is like, so why don’t you just cool it with the feminist pontification, At least you're white” twas at that point, that Foster felt an incredible wave of tension move through the crowd. People grew restless and Foster heard bickering all around him and soon, like a chain reaction, the bickering became shouts and the shouts became accusations, Foster watched as the group slowly closed in on itself, Everyone was yelling about something at someone else. And then personal spaces were beginning to disappear, as words became shoves and finger pointing and still, the ruckus grew ‘more violent, Foster saw the fat man with the cigar jabbing his finger into the younger man’s sternumy he watched the women with the flaming red hair waving her arms hysterically as she approached the black many and then, from across the throng, he saw the bald man in the overalls, standing on top of the bench, holding the yellow garbage can high above his head as if ready to toss it up into the blue sky. Suddenly, Foster felt very strange. I's as if he lost the sensation of time..the feeling of time..and when he looked around him he saw the whole crazy scene at ‘once..ike a painting hanging on the wall or a picture in a photo-album..the whole loony scene..ike a circus.a freak show..and that garbage can..that yellow garbage can..the only thing that started moving.-and he watched it.as it slowly rose up into the blue sky..so slow, like it was on an elevator..and then it came to it's peak untilit eventually just stopped altogether..and there it was..suspended in the clear blue sky..it looked so strange, that huge yellow garbage can like that, suspended in mid air..but how beautiful the yellow looked against the blue..perfect complimentary colors. And he did not move his eyes from it..as f hypnotized, he watched as papers and cigarette butts and newspapers and magazines slowly rose up and out of the yellow... like a black andl white fountain..spreading ttself over the entire scene..and he watched in amazement how everyone had looked up at exactly the same moment...how everyone watched the shower fall upon their heads like a ticker-tape parade. ‘But when the can hit the ground, the explosive sound seemed to energize the crowd into a frenzy. And as people began running in all directions, someone smacked into Foster's side, and he lost his balance, falling directly on top of Stell. He scrambled to his feet, but Stella was barking at Foster with such fury that foam and saliva began building up on the sides of her mouth, and Foster did not know ‘quite what to do. He was really very scared for he thought she looked possessed with an urgency to kill..to sink her sharp fangs into Fosters juicy thigh. She was barking and barking without taking her coal black demon eyes off of him. Foster slowly backed away but Stella moved forward, coming dangerously close and becoming ‘more vicious with every step. Foster carefully reached his arm down, hoping to catch the strap of his book bag and run from the rabid seeing-eye dog, but without giving him a chance, Stella leapt up towards him, aiming her gleaming white fangs at Foster's jugular. Foster managed to catch the strap and without thinking he lifted the book bag high into the air and brought it down on top of Stella's head, smashing it on her hard skull over and over again with more strength than he had ever had in his life and he continued, hitting the dog again and again, until eventually her legs gave away and she collapsed into a pool of her own blood.Foster watched Stella's light brown color change to an almost jet black as the blood soaked her fur, and suddenly the realization of his act struck him, No... oh. my... god...oh... god...what have I done? He tilted his head to look at Stella's face and saw that she looked so friendly now...wiy did she look so friendly now? She was mean and vicious..cidn't she try to kill me? Oh..t just..can’t..my god what have I done? Foster just could not believe that he had that kind of anger and hostility inside of him..enough to kill another living thing! His head felt as if it ‘were going to burst. It was the first time in his life that he had ever felt such intense ‘emotions... they were so real...s0 real. Tt was the fits time in his life he had ever flt strongly about anything in fact; anything that really, truly mattered. He wasn’t sure Jf it was sadness or remorse; he wasn't sure if it was an act of sell-preservation or a sign of selfactualization. He wasn't sure of anything, other than the fact that Stella ‘was dead and he had killed her. He felt a tremendous heaviness in his heart and as the tears began streaming down his face they carted with it the white make-up he had been putting on for almost a year now. ‘When Foster finally looked up, he was shocked by what he was witnessing. ‘Through his clouded vision, he saw papers and bottles flying through the air, and people running in all directions. He saw the three benches had been knocked over but he didnot see the three figures that normally occupied them and he wondered where they went. He saw fights taking place and clothes being ripped and blood everywhere. It was the craziest thing he had ever seen, and as he looked on, he suddenly saw a fire standing alone in the middle of it al, Standing perfeclly stil right inthe midst ofthis crazy commotion, was Mr. Crascoff, staring at Foster with wide open eyes. His arms were bent at the elbow, his palms facing upwards, his fingers and hands open, questioning. He was asking why. ‘That was it.he was asking Foster why ad he done it. But how could he know? How could a blind man possibly know? But that look..that knowing look..Postercouldn't understand it, but he was sure that somehow with some other sense, Mr. Crascoff knew exactly what Foster had done, He felt a shiver run through his entire body and all he wanted was to get out of the park as fat as possible before someone else see's. he has got to leave now..nov. Foster heard sirens and when he turned around, a group of policeman was running towards him waving their clubs in the air and behind them, men clad in white were following with a stretcher. He would go the other way. He quickly threw his book bag over his shoulder and ran as fast as he could, right past Me. Crascoff without stopping, without looking back. Foster ran faster and faster through the park, leaping over hedges and rocks, between trees and and fences. The park seemed never-ending..oh god it went on forever..where did it end..when did it finally end? But he kept running, on and on, though the park seemed larger than usual or maybe it had always been this way or maybe he just never noticed before. His book bag was banging against his shoulder and his legs were tring.-he dripped with sweat, panting and heaving but he kept up his pace..running on and on... so thankful tobe far from that spot.-he was safe now..away from that awful park. And on and on Foster ran, looking for the place where the park ends and the city begins ‘When Foster reached his apartment, he ran up all twelve flights of stats, bolted into his apartment and locked the door behind him. He immediately bent over trying, with difficulty, to catch his breath. When he looked up at the clock above his sink, he couldn't believe it was only three o-clock. Fe was never home at three-o clock, he was usually in the park until six! Foster felt strange. He wandered around his apartment aimlessly. He could find nothing to do. He walked into the bathroom and caught his reflection in the mirror. Almost all of the make-up wasoff of his face and he thought he looked grotesque and hideous. He stared at his reflection for awhile, amusing himself by making faces. Then he picked up the tube of white make-up that sat on his sink andl carsied it into the small living room. He sat down on the couch, squeezed the tube of white make-up into his palm, and carefully and methodically began covering his face with it, When he felt he had ‘Onished, he put the tube of make-up down and sat quietly on the couch until so lock.