Trees of Destiny

Bobby, a six year old with ketchup on his face and holes in his jeans jumped the school yard fence. Across Rio Grande, a row of baby trees was being suspended by strings attached to metal rods for support. Bobby raced across the street, narrowly dodging a black Honda, and jumped passed a man in a brown coat to finally reach the beckoning trees. He had been eyeing the neat little row all day from his class room counting down the minutes until recess. No one could have known that there really weren’t four little trees at all, but an entire jungle filled with jaguars, booby traps, and more-at least in the six-year-old imagination of Bobby. To get there, he had to escape from a high-security prison, outrun a black FBI car in a high speed chase, and slip passed security to hijack a plane. He then ditched the plane and parachuted into the jungle where he swung around on vines dodging booby traps and jaguars.
Jeff Black finally reached his hidden parking spot about a block away from the ACC campus. “Late again, and I can’t believe that little twerp who jumped out in front of my car,” he thought. His mind was racing through possible excuses for being late this time and he tried to remember which ones he hadn’t already used. He finally decided he would declare that he almost ran into a little kid and was grilled for about ten minutes by an angry mom who just wouldn’t take an apology. “Whack!” Jeff was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he had walked right into one of four new little trees that were imposing on his accustomed path. The stress build up was too great, Jeff did his best to mutilate the trees to let off his steam. After a while he noticed a little boy had joined in copying his move for move. In fact, he noticed it was the same little boy he had nearly run over a couple of minutes ago. Anyways, Jeff decided to jet when he overheard an angry man shouting into a phone and frantically pacing around in a nearby office.
Mr. Edwards has been wearing the same brown coat to the same little office on West 12th Street for eleven years now. He thought surely the new little trees he had planted would keep those punk kids off his tiny lawn in front of his little passport making shop. Eventually, he thought, they would give him privacy and shade as they grew tall. Suddenly, he noticed a young man with huge pit stains doing an outrageously awkward style of Kung Fu right on his precious new trees. Like punching bags, the trees swung back into place after each blow because of the white strings holding them in place. Mr. Edwards reached for his phone and yelled in rage as he slammed his free hand on his desk and kicked over the trash can. “Those kids have vandalized my property for the last time…” After Mr. Edwards hung up the phone, he thought about his son, Bobby, sitting safe and sound in a classroom right across the street.

Interaction's Only a Phone Call Away

At night, there’s limited activity on the corner of Chicon and East 19th street. A few people pull into the gas station to fill their tanks, but interaction among them ceased to exist as if there was some code of silence that governed the area around the pumps. One lady was oddly staring at a man pacing back and forth in front of the pay phone. She must have felt uncomfortable because her face displayed a concerned expression.

The phone suddenly rings and the man nearly knocks over the booth as he snatches the phone off the hook. The woman still staring, notices a change in the man’s composure as he speaks on the phone. He no longer appears hostile and begins to blend in with the rest of the people in the parking lot. The woman got into her car and pulled off, but her car stops just as she reaches the light at the intersection. She slowly got out of her car and walked toward the pay phone. The man was still occupying the booth, so she stood back and waited.

The man was having the time of his life. He was stranded at the gas station with nothing to do. The phone had been ringing off the hook all night. Each time he picked it up, he talked to someone new. This time the person was a woman. Someone had called from the pay phone number and she wasn’t sure who, but she decided she’d return the call anyway. The woman was very lonely, so she was also excited when someone picked up the phone. The man at the booth fell in love with her voice. He wondered what she looked like and if he’d ever run into her on the streets.

The woman waiting behind him was getting a little impatient. She knew the man didn’t know who he was talking to and figured he was just playing around, so she tapped his shoulder and said, “Sir, I really need to use the phone. It’s an emergency.” The man sadly look at the telephone cord and then told his mystery woman that he had to go. He sat on the curve next to the booth while the woman called a tow truck. He got a little excited when he overheard the woman shout, “What! 50 bucks just to move a car out of the street!” The woman slammed the phone on the hook and walked away frustrated. The man was nervous about leaving the pay phone. His mystery woman could call back any second, but he decided to help the woman at the intersection anyway.

Together, they pushed the car into the parking lot. The woman then used the pay phone to call her brother. As she waited for her brother to arrive, she noticed a sad look on the man’s face. He was sitting on the curve with his elbows on his knees. The phone suddenly rang and the man jumped up to answer it. Unfortunately, it was a wrong number and the other person on the line did not want to talk. He sat on the curve again and looked up at the phone. The woman noticed his actions and made a conclusion about the man. She decided he was lonely and that the phone was his way of escaping his situation.

When her brother arrived she ran over to the man and thanked him. Then she reached into her pocket and gave him four quarters. The man slightly smiled. He appreciated the change, but he really didn’t know any numbers to call. As the woman and her brother drove away, the woman noticed that the man began to pace back and forth again.

An hour had passed and the man was still sitting by the booth. He was ready to call it a night, when the phone rang again. He frantically jumped up to answer as he thought, “Could this be my mystery woman.” It was not his mystery woman, but the man decided talk anyway. This time it was another woman. The man was delighted because he recognized the woman’s voice on the phone. It was the woman that needed help at the intersection.

The urban environment is filled with characters that come and go, but some never leave. Sometimes individuals find themselves stuck with no place to go, so they search for comfort in the objects around them. Its amazing how one device can perform such a service. The pay phone at the gas station brought characters from the outside world into the urban environment as it served as a source of entertainment for a lonely woman returning a phone call. It served as one man’s way of escaping his troubled situation, and it was another woman’s way of reaching help. This device had the power to change the situation of its environment, as it encouraged the interaction among the actors around

C.L.

curb appeal

This morning, sunrays stream through the blinds of my bedroom window like laser beams and wake me from my slumber. I jump out of bed, run up to my window, place my hand against the glass, and peer out the window. It’s a Sunday and what a perfect name for the day—today is the first warm, cloud-free day in a week. I’ve been cooped up inside my house eating microwave dinners and watching re-runs of bad reality shows for the past seven days straight, hiding from the rain and cold. It’s a good thing, too, because our house is beginning to leak, and the heat went out last night. Finally, some good weather for my brothers and me to get out of the house and enjoy a day outside in our old Austin neighborhood. It’s hard to go a day without visiting the new home we’re building just blocks away. I run to my brothers’ bedrooms and round them up to go play and explore the neighborhood. We each slip into our tennis shoes, grab a pop tart, and bust through the backdoor to the garage.

Immediately, we face an unfortunate obstacle: my little brother finds his front tire flat on his bike. Eager to get on the road, we improvise; he hops on the back of my bike—and all four of us role out of the driveway. Our neighborhood is very active—joggers and bikers fill the streets. Everyone roaming the streets seems happy to finally escape from inside their homes.

My oldest brother leads our pack of three bikes towards our new home. We follow the convenient bike route that goes straight our neighborhood down Speedway. After less than a few minutes of riding, we near our new home, marked by the intersection of two streets and a 160 foot tall moonlight tower. The construction definitely progressed over the past week. As my eyes fixate on the newly installed wood siding on the back house, waves of excitement roll from head to toe. Images of my family playing together in the new home fill my mind. I can’t wait until the day we move in! But until then, we’ll continue visit and explore the home, using it as our playhouse.

We speed faster and race to the driveway. My little brother and I jump off and throw the bike down on the cement in a mixture of complete anticipation (of exploring the house) and neglect (of the bike).

“Hide and seek!” yells my brother.

“You’re it!” another one screams, pointing to me. The boys all run off in various directions, and I begin to count with my eyes closed.

Bored of counting and covering my eyes, I start to peak. I continue to count, but peer outside the front window and watch what will soon be my front yard and streets. Buses go by on the street ahead, cars on the street to the side, and a couple lingers next to the moon tower in our neighbor’s yard. Sorority girls jog and just barely miss the novice cyclists biking through the intersection. People turn the corner, edging the curb, just barely brushing shoulders with one another. That curb welds the two streets together. Everyone is going their own direction, yet their paths clash at that one point. I stare in observation of their interactions until I hear a loud and rather annoyed “Helloooooo?!” by my impatient brother who decides he doesn’t want to play hide and seek anymore. Oops…I kind of forgot about the game, anyway.

Philosopher's Rock

Zilker Park is a place full of activity and people, except of course on those unfortunate rainy days. Today, however, the weather is perfect for a day in the park. A lady sleeps on the grass while another reads a book on a bench. A man sits on a rock and talks on his cell phone. A grandpa pushes a stroller along the sidewalk. Two girls spin hula hoops around their waists while their friends play cards. And a group of guys throw around a yellow Frisbee. With the endless possibilities at Zilker Park, it is surprising that the busiest place around is a statue called Philosopher’s Stone.

To the adults it is simply a sculpture of three men sitting on a rock, but Jay sees a playground waiting to be explored. He is the first to climb the rocks and make his way within the circle of the carved men.

As he climbs on top of one of the stone men, others begin to notice and join him in the fun.

The children form a circle of their own as they sit in the statues’ hands.

Sitting down only long enough for the camera to snap a picture,

the children quickly find new ways of engaging with the sculpture.

A game of tag begins as the boys jump from rock to rock trying to catch each other. No one dares step foot on the gravel; the trick is to always stay on the rocks.

The children are in their own world within the Philosopher’s Stone,

invisible to the nearby adults.

A man rushes by paying no attention to the excitement on the stones.

Two men are talking to each other, captivated only in their own conversation.

And some bikers ride along without a glimpse.

The Philosopher’s Stone is an interesting example of the different ways children and adults interact with their environment. The adults maintain a distance, while the children claim places and objects as their own, finding ways to personally engage with their surroundings.

Two Different Elevations

The sun is setting and the shadow from the curb near the intersection of 22nd and Nueces is getting longer and more faint. There are a lot of cars on the road now and there's a good amount of activity going on in this area. A blue Jetta parks on Nueces and a woman and her young daughter get out of the car. The daughter probably just recently graduated from the "my mom carries me everywhere" age to the "I walk with my mom" age, and they walked side by side down the sidewalk holding hands. When the young girl got to the step, which was fairly high up for her, her mom reacted by lifting the girl by her arms up the step. She lifted her quickly, and a bit higher than necessary to give the girl the feeling she was jumping high.
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It's getting dark out and a group of five of what appears to be college-age guys heading towards campus, talking as they go. They are standing side by side in a line, so that 2 of them have to walk in the grass on beside the road, 2 are on the sidewalk, and one is on the grass on the other side of the sidewalk. As they cross the driveway approaching the curb, the guys walking on the grass fall back and step up where the sidewalk is instead of stepping up where the grass is.
--
It's 7:30 at night and now this sidewalk isn't very well-lit. A man dressed in khaki pants and a burnt-orange polo shirt crosses the street and continues walking on the sidewalk. His eyes are locked in the distance, it seems like he's staring at a car. As he gets closer to the fairly tall curb, his gaze shifts to the step down ahead of him. He slows a bit, maybe to time his step right for the curb. The step down is smooth and the man continues towards his car.

The Moon Tower, The Resident, The Walker

These towers were built like in 1895 or something. They were originally gas lamps. The farmers, all this used to be farm land by the way. The farmers were worried that the lights would cause the plants to grow 24 hours a day. Back then, someone had to climb up to the top everyday and light the lamps.

I have lived here for 25 years. Not 25 consecutive years, because this property has been a rental for the last 50 or so. I have seen a lot. I was here when they completely tore down the moon tower, only to rebuild it for the 100 year anniversary. To celebrate they had a parade with floats and they shut down Speedway.

The people that lived here before me used to hang out in the yard. They made all the improvements out in the lawn. They even tried to talk the landlord into trimming the bushes and trees back so you could really see the moon towers light diffuse through the branches.

Once a month some drunk kid tries to climb the tower. My friend also climbed up there. From the top you can see all way to the I-35 overpass. You can see the top of the steeple at Hyde Park Baptist. When, you’re up there, you just have to scream out, which, alerts the police and two minutes later they’re waiting for you at the bottom. They all get arrested.

There was once, about two years ago when a kid got fried up there. The power lines got too close to the tower and the kid had his limbs burnt off when he hit the pavement. The city won’t talk about it, they settled out of court. He had a girl with him that was sitting in this very chair; she’s now down at Shoal Creek. That tells you how bad it was. The biggest worry that we have though is that some bus is going to run into the moon tower and knock it down. That happens every once in a while.

This is usually a quiet neighborhood, but every once in a while some yahoo will run a stop sign and smash into a car coming the opposite direction. The tower used to do a better job lighting the street and stop sign, but then all these damn trees grew.

So here I sit. Watching the world go by. Cars just passing through. People outside walking. I hear the moon tower used to be brighter, now it just is overshadowed by all the streetlights.

small entrance

The Star of Texas Inn is a small ‘bed and breakfast’ that has seen better days. The building itself is meticulously maintained. The garden is dead and wet after suffering through the January frost. The main entrance is boarded up, and all comings and goings are now allocated to a side door and it’s small iron gate.

The Inn is located in the student hub of North Campus. Its entrance is now moved to a narrow side alley with five parking spaces. It is in one of these rough cracked spaces that a cab pulls into. Out of the front of the cab steps the driver, who moves immediately to the trunk and pulls out a small case. Out of the back steps a young man, tall and well-dressed. He picks up the small case and slings a small computer bag over his shoulder. Based solely on his attire, his accessories, you expect him to move confidently, surely, but he pauses in front of the short gate, adjusting his bags and fixing his clothing. He takes a deep breath, pushes the gate open and strides up to the door with forced, nervous confidence. He pauses once more, this time in front of the door, and rings the bell. He waits a few minutes, but to him, it must have seemed like hours. An aura of nervousness hangs over him, apparent in every twitch, every self conscious adjustment. Finally the door opens, the young man forces a congenial smile, and slips inside after yet another deep breath.

Not seconds after our young hopeful enters another young man is spotted. He is dressed nicely but more casually, with his long hair pulled back in a low pony tail. This young man moves with a sense of confidence, of self assurance. He ‘jay-walks’, crossing the street in four or five large strides, smiling at passersby. He stops at the corner, a little out of his way, picking up bits of paper and wrappers from an over-flowing trashcan and stuffing them back where they belong. He continues on his course and walks along the side of the inn. He stops once again to pick up another glittering piece of litter before opening that little gate and jogging up the steps to the door. He, too, pauses, but his pause is short and with purpose as he simply and quickly wipes his feet on the welcome mat and enters, after with a cordial nod to the passerby at the corner.

It is a while before someone again enters that short gate. Many wander by the inn’s front door, never once noticing the narrow alley and its non-existent traffic, be it foot or automobile, much less the sign directing them to that alley.

This time it is a young woman laden with a few bags. She moves quickly, with no stops for cordial nods, environmental assistance, or confidence-building. In her ears are a pair of air buds, and if you look closely, a pattern and a rhythm can be seen in her quick step. She moves to the gate and pushes it open with her hip and dances up the path. She, too, pauses at the door, and, like our young hopeful, rings the bell. As she waits, she, too, emits a certain energy. She bounces on the balls of her feet, her hips swaying slightly to her music. The door is opened by the young man with the pony tail, who smiles and grabs a bag while the woman bounces inside. He peers into the bag with a grin and looks up. He spots the same passerby at the same corner, raises an eyebrow and after a grin and a shrug closes the door again.

Streaming

After the long absence of sunlight,
many urban users venture eagerly outside.
From the moonlight tower on Eastside Drive,
one can see down a hill, away from the street, a stream.
The water flows energetically, refreshed after the days of rain.





Birds flock into the brook to wash themselves.
Branches of fallen trees and litter conceal them
until they flutter away as humans approach.






Healthy joggers cross the water by footbridge,
barely noticing its presence, locked inside their focus,
hearing only breathing, footsteps, and the music in their ears.




Soon the explorers come on a sunny Sunday stroll.
The young family notices the stream.
The mother smiles at her baby;
the father takes their son off the path,
onto rocks that lie on the stream bed.
“Wa?” asks the boy. “Do you see the water?”
his parents ask encouragingly. “Wa?”
The father lifts his boy and carries him across the stream,
carefully stepping on rocks to avoid getting his shoes wet.
Before long the group heads back the way they came,
glad they had the chance to experience something new.


A small, black puppy and her trainers laugh
coming down the hill. The puppy wants to investigate the water;
her trainers find the ledge to be a good spot to begin their work.
After the puppy satisfies her nose, she turns back expectantly.
The trainers ask her to come and to sit, then pet her joyously.
The puppy wags its tail. When all three grow tired,
they run back up the hill and rest on a bench,
watching the river and congratulating the puppy on a job well done.

The recycler appears with her dog.
She walks slowly along the stream,
only a foot away from the water,
her dog obediently beside her. She quietly bends down
and begins to fill her plastic bag with litter from the ground,
lifting her head slightly to keep her broad-brimmed hat still.
She continues to walk,
bending down every step to pick up something new.
Her dog sniffs, trying to help her keep the shore clean.
When her bag is full, she stands and begins her return,
going as slowly as she came, wondering if anyone will notice.




The researcher, satisfied with her findings,
walks slowly up to the moonlight tower.
She studies it, photographs it, and then turns around.
She walks back along the water to the bridge,
reluctant to leave. With a few last clicks of her camera,
she jots down final notes, and retreats up the hill toward the street.

The Green Gate

Several blocks away from the UT Tower, a young man renting an apartment on the west side of campus leaves the warmth of his room to meet friends for dinner on The Drag. Putting in earphones, he presses the ‘play’ button on his iPod. His habitual path takes him along 22^nd Street. On the corner where this street intersects with Nueces is another apartment complex, bounded on two sides by a tall metal fence: painted green to blend with the hedge behind it. Hardly noticing the green fence, he pauses just beside it, and takes out his cell phone. He leans against it momentarily while a woman passes him, and then straightens before returning the cell to the pocket of his dark coat. Meanwhile, the music in his ears prevents him from hearing the car pull into the lot around the fence corner.

A man wearing a black coat and a black hat steps out of his car and looks towards his destination, a room in the apartment building behind the fence. He is many years older than the man with the iPod, and is returning home with a bagful of groceries. The grocery bag is set down as he leans to press the numbers on the combination lock for the gate.

Neither of these two men notices the young blond woman with a camera watching them from across the street. On a mission from her architecture professor, she has recently located the moonlight tower on the corner of 22^nd and Nueces. Bundled in a long red coat, she has investigated the site and now takes note of the activity along the green fence. She watches the man with the cell phone resume his easy movement down the sidewalk, and observes the older man as he unlocks the gate in the fence and walks through. Her camera flashes as she takes pictures. A few minutes later, the young woman crosses the street to another corner. She resumes taking notes and pictures.

Unexpectedly, a silver truck on the opposite corner of the intersection drives towards her and suddenly turns a sharp left before the stop sign. It swerves across the other lane aiming for a small driveway into the parking lot, but swiftly stops, just barely touching the fence. A slight scratch highlighted with green paint now adorns the bumper. Both front wheels block the sidewalk, and a faint curse emanates from inside the cab.

The woman across the street hurriedly turns back on her camera, spotting the opportunity for an interesting photo.

A second later, the black-coated man returns through the gate and notices the oddly-positioned truck. He halts to stare with curiosity as he lets the gate shut behind him. Leisurely, his head turns to look at the woman as she lifts the camera to her face. They smile at each other, and the man turns to walk away.

After a moment, the truck shifts to reverse and it gradually backs onto the street again. Another 90-degree turn faces the vehicle in the direction from which it came. It eagerly drives away.

The woman stands alone on the corner, putting the camera back into its case.