Philomene, are you sure this is the right window? Of course I am sure. Stuart's expression settles into his most intense version of Moses; the one Moses must have given when the Ten Commandments were being written with fire -- in fact; that is what Stuart told me a few days ago before I did the BURGURRALLING: "I am going to re-write the Bible." And he had read a page to me about that very scene - the burning of those laws into the tablet. I do not know if my breaking the law had anything to do with it - but I do know that Stuart uses his Moses expression to penetrate my euphoria as I enter the rapture that only can come from breaking the law and not being caught. And this is what worries Stuart the most. The more transported I become, the more Stuart places the Old Testament prophets one atop another upon his face - evidently while he burned the Ten Commandments into a poem Stuart himself had been smoldered: he had become the Law. Back at the crime scene - the back window opens finally and my bloodied fingers grope in the darkness onto what feels like an artificial palm tree and I think I do not remember that ex-boyfriend having an artificial palm tree - I especially do not recall his having it in his bathtub as at that very moment the contraption falls over with a loud crash and I hear the words: WHO'S THERE? The voice behind the artificial palm tree does not belong to that old lover so Melody and I disappear into the night in our splendid black criminal apparel and later she will say she had a wonderful time -- especially the part when we are running in circles around the getaway car, my Morris Minor, not knowing whether to get in or stay hidden get in or stay hidden - running around it and then back into the darkness - then out and around it - around, back in the shadows - for Melody this was the best part -- and then we get in and are guffaw through the Venice night in the splendid Morris Minor. (I have always loved Morris Minors - never would have anything but a Morris Minor until I allowed a homeless person to live in it and he urinated in it out of extinction.) But the very, very best part of the story is happens the following morning when I am walking down the Boardwalk and I see the man whose apartment it had been - for, of course, I had broken into the wrong apartment as Melody had suspected and of course this man named Stan stops me, has to tell me all about the two burglars - how he had been just gotten stoned and was lying in the center of his living room naked when his artificial palm tree which was in his bathtub fell over and he went to the windows and faced the burglars.. What did they look like? I ask. I didn't get a good look because it was so dark - all I could see was they were two men in black. He tells me he was too petrified to call the police so he just went back to his living room and lay on his living room floor for the next three hours "transfixed in fear." I was laughing under my skin - never laughed so much in my life - felt like the cells were separating - my skin was going to burst away from the bones from that laughter - but that is not even the best laugh - that comes when Stuart tells the story a few hours later --- but not before his saying to me with his Old Testament personas - his countenance transfixed by the knowledge they were there and looming - so many personas I can hardly see Stuart's face anymore, but he wishes to make a point for my sake, really - because Stuart had been in prison and he knows this kind of thing -- so with all that looming and he knowing they were looming he slowed down his speech - slower, slower in his so often used biblical manner - eyebrows raised to further make the point that he wishes me to know that burgling was not my vocation: Philomene, this I know. You have no gift for burrgurrrallling. (He mispronounces it the way I mispronounce it.) "You cannot even pronounce the word." And now all I have to do when I think of burgling - which I never do - but if I do I see Stuart's face breaking through it all and I am saved from a life of crime no matter how intoxicating it can be to wear one black glove. But the very, very, very best part of this story is when a few hours later other Venetian inquire about my now blue and purple and yellow knuckles - and ask why the skin is torn like that, Stuart says: Please. Please. May I tell the story, Philomene? And I say Yes. You may tell the story. And Stuart says: It begins with one black glove.. I cannot remember what he said after that - just that we both laughed even more than when I was circling the Morris Minor with Melody or when Stan was telling about what happened when he was stoned and lying naked in the center of his living room - it really was so funny the way Stuart told it - so funny I forget what he said - only remember his first sentence and the way he said it with so much silence between each word: "It begins with one black glove.."
Over morning cup of coffee Stuart asks why my knuckles are blue and the skin is scraped off. I do not usually steal - in fact I have a vow against theft, even thievery in the most subtle manner but I have to reply "From BURGURRALLING, Stuart." "Burgling, Philomene?" - "Yes, BURGURRALLING, Stuart. It began with one black glove.." Stuart puts on his Moses face to listen. My accomplice name is Melody. I know it is not a suitable name for an outlaw or maybe it is in the larger scheme of things but Melody wanted to come along just for the excitement. (It is the 60's and we know how to entertain ourselves inexpensively.) There is an article I want from this former lover's apartment; something that is mine to begin with and I am certain that he would give it to me if I ask but I do not wish to ask so knowing he is out of town I made plans to enter his apartment by the back window and repossess it so we dress in black in Navy caps and shades - I wear one black glove on my right hand and carry an Our Lady of Guadalupe candle in my left. This is because I cannot not find my flashlight. For the burguraling tools I take a butter knife and the last words my accomplice utter before I raise the knife to unlatch the screen window are:
© Philomene Long