Randy and Moonbeam: A love story, kinda sorta

After a break-up involving my girlfriend's ex-husband being released from the Rolla, Missouri maximum security penitentiary, and a couple of extremely ugly roommate situations, I was moving into an apartment that was mine, all mine! I never thought much about it before that, but at thirty years of age, I had never, ever, lived alone.


There was an old lady I'd been told about in Midtown, who along with her son, owned and managed several properties. Mrs. Popeye. Ok that wasn't her name, but she looked like Popeye; the forearm anchor tattoo, the strong chin.

I nearly fell backwards when she answered her door. This was a woman who shaved, but obviously hadn't in at least three days, possibly a week.

Don't sweat the small shit, you need a place to live. Smile and be cordial. Straighten your spine, hands folded in back...

 Mrs. P. managed property the old-fashioned way. She accepted cash only, and made decisions on who she would rent to based on the feeling she got by looking into the eyes of prospective renters. She was well seasoned in sniffing out hustlers of all kinds, and reportedly kept her square block area free of crackheads single-handedly. 

Mrs. P listened to my story closely, looked me up and down several times, rubbed her chin and said "well, hmm, my son has a place open on the third story up at 3755, but it's not quite ready at the moment. I'll give you a look though. If you like it we could probably have it livable in a month."

Without further discussion she started walking, wearing what I assumed mistakenly was garb that she never left the house in, white whiskers on her pale face highlighted by the bright summer sun. 

So, I followed. Mrs. P. was old but walked faster than I. Excited about the prospect of living sans-asshole roommate, I caught up. A pair like us walking in Midtown was not something that would draw attention. It is an area flush with character(s).

The house was a three story with five apartments, two each on the first and second, the third story apartment being the whole top floor.  The walls were partially slanted to follow the roof line, a room in front and one in back (living room and bedroom) sandwiched a small kitchen and a bathroom with a two hundred gallon clawfoot tub, a true antique. Heat was by steam radiator, no air conditioning.

It wasn't nearly as bad as Mrs. P made it out to be. Just needed a little paint and a broom. Wanting desperately to escape my current awkward arrangements, I told her it was fine just how it was and that I was carrying cash.

We made the deal; no written lease or other formalities.

The next night I slept there, on the floor. No furniture, no utilities except for water which was included.

There was a bank just outside the window, the clock visible from my east room. I woke up every half hour or so from my bed of well-aged shag carpet to check the clock to see if it was time to go to work, thrilled to have my own spot. Turned out to be the first morning of four years of bliss in my little third story paradise.



 randy and moonbeamII

Randy and Moonbeam

The next day as I was moving in items small enough to carry alone, I met my downstairs neighbor. Randy, happened to be just moving in himself. We became fast friends over tropical cocktails and strong marijuana that evening, beginning a relationship that lasted 'til his untimely death a few years later. 

Randy hailed from Checwago... that's how he said Chicago. To say that he had personality to spare would be the understatement of a lifetime.

Soon after, my younger brother Jeff returned from Florida. I invited him to stay with me to share bills and the unique Midtown culture. The days of living alone had only lasted a month, but I was glad for the company.

One subsequent evening Randy, Jeff, and myself were sitting out on the front steps under the full moon, discussing the meaning of life and getting nowhere, when a girl from the brownstone next door approached. 

"Are you the idiots upstairs?" She appeared to have been drinking, but hey, so were we.

Randy replied, "I live on the second floor and these guys on the third, but I wouldn't necessarily classify us collectively, as idiots."

Pam, her name as we would soon learn, weaved a bit and squinted towards us. "Which one of you are George?"

Turns out George was the guy in the top floor of her building. He dealt drugs of some kind but didn't have a phone. His clientele invariably got his attention by standing in front of the brownstone and screaming GEORGE, GEORGE, until he let them in.

This settled, Pam backed out of her neighborhood policing stance and changed the subject.

Towards no one in particular she asked "Can you feel them?"

I chimed in "huh... feel... them?"

"The moonbeams! Can you feel them?"

The moon was directly above. We all looked at each other smiling a bit. Randy answered..."ah, the moonbeams. Well, yeah, of course."

Me to Jeff, " I feel them, do you?"

Jeff... "I hadn't thought about it much but now that you mention it, yes, I feel them."

The name Pam was rarely used after that evening. She became Moonbeam pretty much exclusively.

Her and Randy coupled, and became a couple that night...



Views: 38

Comment by tr ig on December 25, 2012 at 12:37pm
"D'ya feel them there moonbeams?" I think that's how I'll start this month's full moon ceremony with the locals - I've been looking for inspiration...

Nice slice o' life.
Never lived alone till thirty?? I thought that only happened to sheltered chicks that marry in college. But the art of survival makes for better stories.
I could hear the Cat Stevens song playing in the background
Rated with hugs
There's more to this story, believe it or not
Myriad... film the ceremony... please

ah HG, survival as art, yes

Linda... moonshadow? Back then we listened to that album often. Yes, on vinyl
Myriad said it best... nice slice o' life.
Oh, I believe it, Tr ig. There is ALWAYS more to a story that end with "...they became a couple that night." lol 

nice to see you're taking another stab at some good writing, tr ig no longer sheen. i especially liked the first half, though the moonbeam snippet is terrific, too. nice work.
Damnit...i hate getting sucked into stories only to have them end abruptly...((((sigh))))
Moonbeam & Randy has gotta be a bestseller....!

Get on with it lad, get on with it....... we'uns is a'waitin', y'know.

out on a limb... thank you

You better believe it Lezlie!

femme... I found the old picture. brought back memories ya know

w/b, this story could be a novel, or at least a novella. My god, it keeps going and going like the energizer bunny. Interesting times they were. It's the place my son was brought home to, though we moved soon after that
sky... it could at least be a pretty good country and western song!
Ah, the Washington St. Days! I still use quite a few Randyisms in my day-to-day speech; I miss that splivey bastard.
Oh I have no doubt there's much more to this story and I'm guessing it involves Mrs. Popeye and the huge rift that developed as you and Jeff both vied for her affections. Because what man can resist a woman who can shave, "but obviously hadn't in at least three days, possibly a week."
deck 2moro!

Jeff... you check my tags? GE-OOOOO-RRRRRRRRRRGE! Remember that shit?

Margaret... the sight of her made me swear off sex for a year!
Jeff, meant to tell you. This blog is issued as a challenge to you. Something to write about. If not Randy's demise, there's still plenty to choose from, like the hippie chicks with the ferret for example.
Beautiful post, moonbeams and all! rated~
The hippy chicks. You cockblocking bastard!

Margaret, I tried eating four of those cookies with milk and they're so rich and fat I could barely finish the last one. Dump cake or not, I now know your baking skills are off the hook.
I could have had that veterinarian girl, but the barefooted ferret mistress was my fav. How often do you meet chicks by by sliding a truck through sand and hitting them? Fine day that was!

Thank you Susie Lindau!
I love these stories from back when TV repairmen walked the earth.
This story, with its atmosphere and characters...a-and voice...yep, voice, fer shure, has really grabbed aholt of me. As an editor once tolt me - she was trying to think of something positive to say about me - you really know how to spin a yarn.
@Nana: I didn't know my baking skills were "on" the hook. (Was it a treble hook?) I baked two dump cakes last night. You should see how beautiful they are.
How bout a telenovela with over dramatic actors speaking spanish and slapping each other silly with passion! Lol
Let's hear the rest of it!!
Which begs the question -- did you ever partake of any Moonpie?
noah.. I know, right. TV repair men still in business. No cell phones. No internet. Vinyl records and turntables.

Matt: I have a voice dammit. It's mine! Thanks..

How does "the barefooted ferret mistress" sound for a blog title?

Marg.. stop with the DUMP CAKE talk!

w/b you'll write the script and star?

d_rat... watch out for what ye aske!

\tom... no, but there is a possibility Jeff may have
Degravation is just so sordid, he said with a cordial smile. Well told, sir.
Moonbeams? No, I can't feel them! Boohoohoo!!

~wanders off in shame~
hailed... is when ice falls from the sky, right... maybe haled?
It is one of the most beautiful love stories ever written, Trig.
"Can you feel the moonbeams?"
she said, hm?
I'm glad Randy reeled in this precious raw soul
and made a situation
with her..no matter how it turned out.

Four years of bliss!!????
Stacey.. degravation is a Randy word. There is so much, his language, etc.. I miss the guy a lot.

Tink.. cloudy in Indiucky? BOO HOO!

James, precious and raw she was. Maybe still is. It was a situation, bliss fleeting, returning, fleeing once more
Did Susan rearrange your paragraphs again? Kidding here...this was really good! Liked the slice of life but I would have put something between you and that well-aged shag carpet. I mean they call it shag for a reason. ;)
\scarlett... susan refused to do arrangements today : (~ 
could have used her help for certain.
As far as the carpet.. yeah, ewwwwww
Yeah, mucho cloudy, been raining since yesterday evening!! PFFFFFFT!!!! Though smashing the worms on the sidewalk is fun!! Teeheehee!! Smoosh smoosh smoosh!! WOO!!

Flooding sucks though!! :(
This is really beautifully told, Trig...xox
When you write these stories I am reminded what a wonderful writer you are. Carry on though, I hate waiting. Hah.

Really, I should continue? The material is endless, that's for certain. Really hoping Jeff will do a continuation and let me riff from that. He was THERE!

tinks, my landlord said our yard is a worm haven. Haven't seen the squishy bastards yet tho. He says they cover the sidewalk at times. Yes, I will film it!

ah Robin, I really dug your piece from today too.

Buffy! Damn, sweet of you to say. I am OS taught, you being among the influences
Ah back in the day. I had an 80 dollar a month place, one of my friends said the bathroom looked like the YMCA, it had an old claw foot tub (loved it) and a little triangle rusty sink in the corner. 
Like hearing these ole tales of yore, you and Nana chatting up the hippie chicks.
Hi Rita... the hippie chick blog is yet to come.
Barefooted ferret mistress love child with m tabs : )

I think the rent was 235. Still cheep. It was pretty easy living
You always seem to know the most...um.....colorful people, darlin'. This story reminded me of the Cat Stevens' song "Moonshadow"....
Oh great. It's going to be in my head all night now.....

"I'm being followed by a moonshadow. Moonshadow, moonshadow..."
This part of a series?
It's "she and Randy"...sorry, feeling bitchy. Maybe I could use some moonbeams myself. Great story, fun to read. R!
Cool thought of touching moonbeams. Your writing paints pictures better than the camera. Of course you KNOW I would HAVE to ask this... how did Randy die?
wonderful read!

I also wonder about Randy, do tell!
Do I feel the moonbeams? Why, they gave me a moonburn. 

I loved "white whiskers on her pale face highlighted by the bright summer sun." She sounds like a real beauty.


You need to be a member of Our Salon to add comments!

Join Our Salon


Hooking up on BS

Posted by Robert B. James on June 24, 2019 at 7:47am 5 Comments

Just a Little Too

Posted by Doc Vega on June 24, 2019 at 1:39am 0 Comments

Water View II

Posted by koshersalaami on June 23, 2019 at 3:00pm 11 Comments

The Merlin Of BindleSnitch

Posted by Robert B. James on June 23, 2019 at 7:07am 7 Comments

Old Soft Shoe (POEM)

Posted by J.P. Hart on June 22, 2019 at 1:00pm 4 Comments

I saw one Mountain Lion

Posted by Robert B. James on June 22, 2019 at 8:00am 3 Comments

© 2019   Created by lorianne.   Powered by

Badges  |  Report an Issue  |  Privacy Policy  |  Terms of Service