Greetings From Praha | Story 2 | Pt. 4

Day 21 - The Giving Tree

Last time I tried to find some, I got shamed for being two drugs behind.

Modern Art Museum, then the tree by the Merry Go Round.
Boombox, snacks and a blanket.
Acid under tongues.

The tram is packed like it is every morning.
Our A.M. commuters, mostly middle aged.

Beaver fur, neat wool tweeds, pink padded parkas.
The lady behind me, a Sheena Easton braided headband.

No one speaks a word, which really makes me want to.
But the tram is no place for emotions.


The museum is a bust. We’re the only ones here, which is ideal on its face. But too soon we start to laugh about something and are shushed away repeatedly by the babushkas on staff. This isn’t a library, you can laugh in the same room as a painting. But there is no way of explaining with Amy’s busted Czech, nuances in the cultural experiencing of art. Let’s face it, we’re high and they don’t really care. Besides, this art’s not really doing it for us anyway. We’ve just ended up trapped within its cold hard glass shell. So we opt out for the grace of our giving tree.

A giant mama Beech tree sits at the edge of a park near the Vltava river. Her base wide and short, her limbs sweep out to her sides before spindling and spiraling up, then splitting off again. Her shape is that of your grandmother’s hands, palms turned up, fingers gently curling in. Learned and strong, ready to catch the sky should any crash down.

We lay out our blankets, our heads pushed right against by her base. We wedge our burning candles amidst her roots in the space that is between us. “Miss Sarajevo” rises out of disc player, we stretch out our bodies, lying flat on our backs. From here my eyes see only what she sees; the sky through her strong dancing fingers, speckles of grey light between brown-green leaves.

We bundle up but I don’t feel cold. Warm lava is flowing inside me…

I’ve no clue what a micro-dose is. This is a mid-grade mid-90’s tab. It’s $5 for 12 hours. It might work, it might not. Just take a half and you’ve got a truth serum and a semi-out-of-body experience. There are no visuals, it’s a total body high. My brain speeding up, but my blood slowing down. It’s electrical currents micro-bursting as they flow inside me, like Pop Rocks fizzling on your tongue. Head-to-toe, toe-to-head, my life-force pushes up and out to join the rhythms of something much older. The beat of a tree, a fire, the ocean.

A warm orange glow under our tree branch canopy.
Pavarotti lunges us straight up though each leaf before masterfully calling us back.


Dici che il fiume - You say the river
Trova la via al mare – Find your way to the sea
E come il fiume – And like the river
Giungerai a me – You will come to me
Oltre i confini – Beyond the borders
E le terre assetate – And the thirsty lands
Dici che come il fiume – You say that like the river
Come il fiume... – Like the river…
L'amore giungerà – Love will come
L'amore.. – The love…


I: “I really can’t believe you stayed here.”

Amy: “I know. But I’ve learned so much here.”

I: “I don’t know what I’ve learned…. I mean I can tell, being so far away from it, I can see it now. My life.
And most of its good. But a lot of it is missing. It’s like I’ve closed up shop and stopped growing. I’m not making anything really. I’m just going out and not having fun. And now I’ve gotten into this loop of just getting angry about every and anything like I’m not in control of my life.”

Amy: “What are you mad about?”

I: “Shit, I don’t know…it can just be our plans for Saturday night. It’ll be something I’m looking forward to, but there’s this little voice saying, ‘don’t fuck it up.’ And then I do exactly that. It starts out fine but halfway through the night, all the sudden I’m just mad and I can’t get out of it.

I think it’s about ending up alone or not being anyone’s priority. Or that priority not really being enough. I know that Phillip can’t gay-husband me forever. That relationship is strong, and I can leave it. I can see that.

I think … it’s that I’m scared of getting left behind? And I feel it boiling up. It’s this pressure. Like something is coming and I’m not doing anything about it. I’m supposed to be doing something that I’m not. And then bam I’m pissed, and there’s kind of a reason, but I know that’s not really why. I see that that’s fear. That makes total sense now. I’m getting mad because I’m actually not in control. But that anger’s just pumping outta me.

How are you not mad at Charles?”

Amy: “I was just wandering around like a ghost. I had no life in me at all. I was just mad and chain smoking and staying up all night. By October. I had to forgive him to get some fucking sleep.

I was just smothering under it. That hate and that sadness were just crushing me. I couldn’t do it anymore.”

I: “Yeah.”




We lay here.

I: I don’t know though, not being mad at him at all - total forgiveness sounds fucking dangerous.”

Amy: “It is!”

I: “Is that fear too?”

Amy: “Probably.”

I: “Well, I’m sure MaryAnne Williams could tell us, but let’s be real, we both know I’m never gonna finish that book. And you fucked on top of yours, so we’re gonna have to burn That shit!”


Laughing, bodies shaking, tears rolling sideways across my cheek, pooling into my ears.

Each gnarled extensions of our Beech, we sink down past her roots into the earth.
Every inhale the act of sustaining life, for my tree, my friend and myself.
We lay here.



Amy: “So what else?”

I: “Well ok my new one is this. I used to think that my biggest fear was telling Jimmy how I feel about him. But now I think my biggest fear is not. Like I know now’s not the time. I know he‘s got nowhere to put it. But my big plan is leaving it up to time. What the fuck kinda plan is that. What if there’s no time? And how the fuck am I supposed to figure out if fate is real? What if I have to make fate happen myself?

Amy: “You’re right.”

I: “But dude! Why do I have to do anything? I‘m the girl.

Amy: “Yep. You’re right!”




Sky grows overcast and candlelight runs further up her tree limbs, a tent of eternal safety.
We lay here, never once looking over at the other.

Is this song playing over and over? Do you need me to change it?
I don’t think I say this out loud.

Is there a time to run for cover
A time for kiss and tell.
A time for different colors
Different names you find hard to spell.

Is there a time for first communion
A time for East 17
Is there time to turn to Mecca
Is there time to be a beauty queen.



Amy: You need to just face your fear head on and make something out of it. If you tell Jimmy and its weird, so what? He’s not gonna stop loving you.

If you do it. Whatever It is, then you’ve got some good shit to write about or paint about or talk about. Take it and make something beautiful out of it.”



The candles are brighter, the acidy happy lava is firing away. It’s beautiful.


Here she comes, beauty plays the clown
Here she comes, surreal in her crown.



We lay here. Breathing.




It’s sunset, the Merry Go Round turns on. The sun is leaving the sky.


We stand up, collect ourselves and head on.