Argile Man

A story of how I found my inspiration to write again. This one's for you Argile Man

 

Argile Man

By Saskia Liddick

 

We all know that along with the gift of being able to twist words and letters comes the thorn. Writers block, that’s what I had for a long time, a few months to be more exact. Everyday I would sit in Study Hall and I would poor over blank paper, angered that nothing came onto that paper, not even how I felt that day. Then came today, May 24, 2009. Today I found a muse, my muse. I don’t know who he was, where he came from, where he is going. He was just there for a day, and I feel, I know, I will never see him again, but I will still have a feeling that the Argile Man – as my friend and I call him – will be the little angel with a big bag of inspiration ready to smack me upside the head when I need it most. We never found out his name, we couldn’t figure out where he came from, but we don’t care. This is how we met “Argile Man”

 

It started out at 5:30 P.M. that we went to go see a band that called themselves “Sister Swing”. My good friend Melissa and I had just been studying Understanding Catholic Christianity, and terms like “Agnostic” and “Obadiah” were floating around in our heads like little balloons filled up silly with helium. The Sacramento Jazz festival was one of the biggest events of my life, and Lady Luck was on my side. Epic Seating Karma had been graced to us all weekend long, and in almost all of the Jazz players we had watched, we found ourselves in the front row where we could see the spit dripping off of the Trumpets, or the second row where the music was a little less loud. Epic Seating Karma, ladies and Germs.

Sunday is a special day for me, I bring my notebook with me everywhere and I get performers to sign the notebook, and I had already found 9 other signatures and Sister Swing was filling up the second page.

Melissa and I were sitting in the first row off to the side; people were wiggling in their seats and tapping their toes to the Dixieland beat. Melissa was doodling in my notebook drawing ballerinas all over the page, and I was staring at the bass player with unfocused eyes, trying to think of how to find my muse again.

I didn’t have to look far, for he waltzed right in at that moment.

He had a sleek black cane with a gently curved head, like the ones that MCs used back in the old seedy cabarets. He had a gray fedora that sat comfy cozy on top of the curly black hair that tickled the back of his neck. He wore a polo shirt with black, grey, silver, and white diamonds patterning their way all over the shirt. His white shorts were held up by black suspenders and he had knee socks that had the same diamond design. Ankle length Nike socks were covered up by thick black skater shoes with the white shoe laces. He looked like an aging man, but the only sign of that was the toothbrush mustache that was sprinkled with pepper. His black glasses finished his look, along with the jungle themed Trader Joe’s bag that he carried on his right arm.

            “That man’s outfit is amazing,” I told Melissa and pointed him out as he hobbled down the isles of seats and sat his bag on a chair.

Melissa quietly agreed and went back to her drawing. Suddenly, the man wasn’t hobbling; he was dancing, leaning on his cane for support while he did so. He jigged and bounced and skipped all at once, like Pinocchio when he was singing about how strings didn’t hold him in place. At the other end of the seats there was a 5 maybe 4 year old little girl with long brown hair dancing too, trying to imitate the man. Our whole weekend had been full of little children, and Melissa and I awed at the little girls attempts. The man started dancing toward the little girl, dancing past the stage and past us, where he stopped to pose for a picture I attempted to take. My new phone was a failure at pictures, but I didn’t mind. This man amazed me. Something in the way he just was enthralled me. He started dancing towards the little girl again, and she ran towards him, but her mother pulled her up off her feet and sat the child in her lap, staring at the man as he jigged past, not minding that the mother was caring for her child, who quietly protested.

The man danced all over the place, through the isles standing on chairs, leaning against the amps. He was entertainment all around. When the slow songs came, he sat down next to his Trader Joe bag and watched, strumming his cane like it were a bass. Once the quick happy upbeat songs touched the air, he attempted to pull a woman out of her chair to dance with him. She pretended to shoot him with a finger gun. I laughed at the signal, and would have gladly danced with the man had my aunt and uncle not been staring lasers into the back of my head. Melissa and I soon called him ‘Argile Man’ and watched him dance and jig all around the stage, until finally he picked up his bag and left.

            “Don’t leave!” we whispered, stretching out our hands as he hobbled off on his cane.

After we overcame our mourning for Argile Man, I walked to my aunt and uncle who were sitting a few seats behind us and asked, “Did you see that guy with the diamonds?”

They replied “Don’t ever dance with someone like that.”

Of course I had to agree, but I kept my toes crossed. Argile Man was amazing.

It turned out that we weren’t done with him.

Towards the midway point of Sister Swing, we saw Argile Man sitting in the isle next to us, sipping slowly at an amber beer. Melissa and I beamed at him and took more pictures, while Melissa complimented Argile Man on his bravery to go up there and dance. He shook off the compliment happily like he was putting a kitten back into a box.

Argile man continued to dance, kicking up dust in the gravel and parading everywhere.

There came a point where Argile Man dusted up another man’s shoes, who was also holding a cane between his legs. The man shooed away Argile Man who shrugged and continued to jig further down the isle, sitting next to a woman who was saving a seat for her husband.

            “That man’s just jealous because he can’t dance with his cane,” I whispered to Melissa who cracked up like an egg in a pan. It was probably true too.

Towards the end of Sister Swing I got a text message from my uncle asking if we were ready to go. Argile Man had vanished again and we decided he wasn’t coming back, so we decided to leave. We were slightly sad that we didn’t see Argile Man waltzing down the street, just as he had thought he may, Argile Man seemed like that kind of person. But no, there were other plans in motion.

 

Freeway Gardens is a large area the size of a football field underneath the freeway, and the roaring of cars can be heard echoing into the Gardens. Melissa and I were sitting at the back near the food stands and sound booth, debating over whether Melissa was in good health with her headache to go out and dance. I was looking out over the crowds, hoping that I would see a boy I had met from last year’s festival when I caught a glimpse of something familiar. First it was the diamond shirt, then the socks, and I recognized Argile man prancing amongst all of the other dancers, leaning on his cane as he jigged and bounded, leaping into the air like a circus performer.

            “It’s Argile Man!” I said and pointed him out for Melissa. My aunt and uncle ignored us, or maybe they didn’t hear us. Anything was possible in that place. In the end after the 3^rd song, Melissa and I went up to dance, and we hardly retreated. Argile Man beamed when he saw us and high fived each of us before he went off to prance again, dancing with a woman who had dyed her hair bleach blonde. They danced together to the rocker jazz while Melissa and I danced the way our P.E. teacher taught us in our 1^st semester of high school. Argile man left again after the first band finished, probably off to boogie to more groups and singers. He had the one day entrance wrist band wrapped around his wrist bone, and there were still plenty more people for him to see we were sure. He and his Trader Joe’s bag vanished from the first row seat, and we claimed it with our Zydeko umbrellas. My aunt and uncle seized the seats behind us, and I went to claim more autographs and signatures of other singers that were coming up soon.

Eight that night brought along the Mick Martin group, and at first we sat in our seats, waiting for our painkillers for knee pains and head aches to kick in. I thought about Argile Man again, and looked around, just hoping, very dimly, that I might see him. I did.

He was hobbling into the entrance again, holding his jungle bag on his right elbow while he hobbled in on his left hand. I pointed him out to Melissa with the excitement a child uses when they point out the clowns to their mother. My folks saw the wild gestures and excitement glowing on our faces and they asked, “Who are you talking about?” and we replied, “Nothing.” The typical teenager response.  

I watched wordlessly as he began to dance around Freeway Gardens again, pulling my attention away to watch the guitar solo, and when I found Argile Man once more, he was dancing by the stage, leaning on his cane as he had before. He caught our attention and we were all given high fives again. My aunt and uncle ignored us again as Argile Man went off to dance again, while Melissa and I continued to talk. Not long after he walked away again, he returned, handing us stones, blue stones of crystal, cut down the middle with sharp edges.

            “I bought that for myself just now, to as a souvenir,” he said as I wiped off the price sticker that said 3.95. “And I pulled it out to look at it in the light, but I dropped it and it cracked in two. I want you to have them, to give you strength and energy,” he said, and I stared at him from behind my blue mask and I thought, “My goodness, he is an Angel!” and he smiled at us again before he walked away.

We put our stones in our pockets and we jumped up to dance for another 2 hours. The music and the joy went by all too quickly, far too fast for my taste. If it were up to me, I could have danced all night, me, Melissa, all of these people who seemed like family to me, Argile man jumping around with all the energy in the world bounding through him, Kyle the Harmonica player who was bringing down the free way, everyone. But it was not meant to be.

My uncle called us over and said, “Let’s leave now.”

I wanted to protest and stay, dancing through life, leaving all of my worries on the ground for me to trample on like a rattlesnake, crushing them to nothingness. But we were called away in the end. As we left we saw Argile Man for the last time, and I asked him, “Do you live in Sacramento?” and he said no that he lived… but the Harmonica blurred out his voice. I only caught one word, but it took me long to understand.

            “Will you be here next year?” I asked, hopeful that I might see Argile Man next year, jigging and waltzing to Sister Swing once more.

He shook his head and said something I couldn’t understand.

We exchanged high fives for the last time, and I left Freeway Gardens with Melissa and my uncle, who promised us ice cream.

The only word I heard him say was “Rose” and I wonder what it could mean. There can be a Rose anywhere in the universe. I never found out Argile Man’s real name, whether he was married or not, nothing about him. I only know that he is the most unique person I will ever meet in my life. He was just like another stranger, you know? There one moment, gone the next, like a ghost. Sometimes you never give people like Argile Man a second glance, maybe not even a first. But Argile Man was different, I never met him in my life, yet I felt so familiar with him, with his charm, his felicity, his everything. Had I not given Argile Man a first glance, I would still be sitting in this hotel room wondering how to find my Muse again. But I did look at Argile Man, and Argile Man made all the difference.

Here’s to you, Argile Man.

 

- Finished at 11:11 P.M. May 24, 2009. Sacramento, California, USA

Author's Note

This is one of those stories that can change a live forever. Argile Man definately changed my life.

Reviews

[A]

taco.. you made me smile from this story.. you sucked me in from the beginning and had me pinned in until the very end where you spit out with a new perspective on meeting new people. :) thanks love