THE CRY OF SUNNYDUNE ROAD: A STORY BY RICK CASTRO

LAST JULY 22ND, 2017 

I WAS AT THE MEMORIAL FOR PHOTOGRAPHER LEGEND- 

JIM FRENCH OF COLT STUDIOS.

I HAD NEVER MET JIM, BUT ADMIRED HIS UBIQUITOUS HOMOEROTIC IMAGES THROUGHOUT THE 70- 80S.

THE MEMORIAL WAS NICE.

HELD AT THE COPA CLUB IN PALM SPRINGS,  A PORTRAIT OF MR. FRENCH OVERLOOKED AN INTIMATE GROUP OF SENIOR GAYS.

HORS D’OEUVRES WERE SERVED, DRINKS WERE FREE.

NOW THAT I’VE HIT 60,I PREFER  WAKES AND FUNERALS TO PARTIES. 

THEY’RE MORE HONEST, HEARTFELT AND QUITE FRANKLY, ENTERTAINING.

AS I LEFT THE MEMORIAL AT THE  FREEZER-LIKE AIR CONDITIONED CLUB, I WAS HIT WITH THE LATE AFTERNOON HEAT OF PALM SPRINGS. 

IT’S DEFINITELY STIFLING.

I CAUGHT THE BUZZ; THE LOCAL FREE TROLLY ON PALM CANYON DRIVE AND HEADED BACK TO MY LITTLE CONDO ON RAMON RD. I DECIDED TO WALK DOWN SUNNYDUNE ROAD FOR A DIFFERENT CHANGE OF SCENERY. 

ALSO TO TAKE A LOOK AT WHAT THERE WAS TO OFFER.

SUNNYDUNE IS KNOWN AS THE BDSM AREA OF PALM SPRINGS. YOU WOULD NEVER KNOW THIS AS THE STREET APPEARS UNINHABITED. THERE’S NEVER PEOPLE MILLING ABOUT;  AFTER ALL, IT IS PALM SRINGS, AND 100 DEGREES OUTSIDE.

 THE AREA LOOKS LIKE A SCENE FROM THE PETER BOGDANOVICH FILM- 

THE LAST PICTURE SHOW. YES IT IS DESOLATE.

 AS I WAS WALKING DOWN SUNNYDUNE ROAD. I THOUGHT I HEARD THE DISTINCT WAILING OF A SMALL VOICE. IT SOUNDED SO FAR AWAY...

 LIKE SOMETHING I'VE DREAMED, OR  STORY I READ FROM A VICTOR HUGO NOVEL; THE SOUND OF A BAWLING WAIF. 

IT HAS A CERTAIN TONE. A CLARITY OF HONESTY.. DESPERATE INNOCENTS. 

WAS THIS MY IMAGINATION? HAD THE P.S. SUN FINALLY GOTTEN TO ME? 

WAS THIS THE FIRST STAGE OF SUNSTROKE?

IN THE DISTANCE I SAW WHAT APPEARED TO BE A HOMELESS MAN. 

THIS WAS A JUDGEMENT ON MY PART. I WAS MERELY GOING BY APPEARANCE FROM FAR AWAY.  I KNOW WHEN I’M WALKING ABOUT PUBLIC STREETS, SOME PEOPLE, ( USUALLY COPS OR OLDER- CAUCASIANS) TREAT ME LIKE THEY THINK I’M HOMELESS, SO YES IT WAS A SUPERFICIAL JUDGMENT BASED ON APPEARANCE, AS STRANGERS HAVE HAD TO ME.

THE MAN WAS TALL, LEAN WITH A GRAYISH BEARD AND UNKEPT HAIR. 

HE WAS WALKING BRISKLY. BEHIND HIM WAS A BOY WHO, (ONCE AGAIN MAKING A JUDGEMENT CALL) APPEARED TO BE 7 OR 8 YEARS OF AGE.

 I THINK THE BOY WAS CRYING?

  AT FIRST I THOUGHT NOT. I THOUGHT THIS WAILING WAS ELSEWHERE. 

THE SOBS ECHOED DOWN SUNNYDUNE ROAD LIKE A LITTLE GHOST HAUNTING THE ALLEY WAYS. 

AS MY EARS AND EYES ADJUSTED I WAS CERTAIN IT WAS COMING FROM THIS BOY. HE WAS PLEADING WITH THE UNKEPT MAN ABOUT SOMETHING. 

HE DIDN’T WANT TO GO IN THE DIRECTION THE MAN WAS WALKING. 

THE MAN APPEARED TO WALK AWAY. THIS CAUSED THE BOY TO CRY MORE. 

I THEN SAW THE MAN JESTER TO THE BOY TO LEAVE. THE BOY CRIED EVEN LOUDER. THE MAN THEN GESTURED FOR THE BOY TO FOLLOW.

THE BOY CRIED AGAIN. 

THE MAN SORTA WAVED HIS HAND IN DISMISSAL OF THE BOY AND STARTED TO WALK AWAY. THE BOY HUGGED HIMSELF IN AN ATTEMPT OF SELF-COMFORT. 

NOT WANTING TO BE LEFT ALONE HE RAN BEHIND THE MAN  SOBBING, FOLLOWING HIM INTO THE DARKENING SIDE STREET OF LONELY SUNNYDUNE ROAD..

WHAT THE HELL WAS GOING ON? 

MY MIND BEGAN TO RACE WITH CONSPIRACY POSSIBILITIES…..

WERE THEY RELATED?

WAS THE OLDER MAN HIS FATHER?

WERE THEY HOMELESS?

WHAT WAS MAKING THE BOY CRY?

WAS SOMETHING MORE SINISTER TRANSPIRING?

I REMEMBER WAY BACK IN THE MID-90S I WAS VISITING SAN DIEGO FOR THE WEEKEND. ON MY OWN I DECIDED TO CHECK OUT THE INDEPENDENT BOOKSHOP IN THE HILLCREST AREA. IT WASN’T THE GAY BOOKSHOP, IT WAS THE OTHER MORE BOHEMIAN NEW & USED BOOKSHOP.. RAVEN BOOKS OR SOMETHING LIKE THAT.

I WAS LOOKING THRU LOCAL PERIODICALS, WHEN OUT OF THE CORNER OF MY EYE I SAW AN OVER-WEIGHT MALE & FEMALE COUPLE WITH A SMALL CHILD. 

THEY WERE DISHEVELED WITH LONG SCRAGGLY HAIR. THE MAN HAD A BEARD, THEY LADY MAY WELL HAVE HAD FACIAL HAIR. THEY BOTH LOOKED LIKE THEY DIDN’T BATHE. THE COUPLE WERE CAUCASIAN, THE CHILD WAS BLACK…

I’M GONNA GUESS, 4 YEARS OLD. HE WAS ON A LEASH! 

THIS WAS BEFORE KIDS ON LEASHES WERE COMMON PLACE, IF THEY ARE INDEED NOW COMMON PLACE. I DEFINITELY SEE THIS MORE OFTEN IN THE 21ST CENTURY. THAT WAS THE FIRST TIME I SAW SOMETHING LIKE THIS. THE FACT THE CHILD WAS BLACK AND THE ADULTS WERE WHITE WAS NOT LOST ON ME. THE MAN HAD HIM ON A LEASH WITH A HARNESS DEVICE. IT LOOKED VERY S&M… HE WAS HOLDING THE CHILD IN HIS ARMS AND THEN ATTEMPTED TO PLACED HIM ON THE FLOOR. INSTEAD OF STANDING UPRIGHT THE CHILD COLLAPSED  TO THE GROUND. I FOUND THIS ALARMING. 

THE CHILD WAS DEFINITELY OLD ENOUGH TO WALK.

 FOR SOME REASON IT WAS NOT ABLE TO..

THE MAN QUICKLY PICKED UP THE CHILD AND THEY WALKED TO THE DOOR. 

THE ADULT’S BACKS WERE NOW TO ME, BUT THE CHILD WAS FACING ME. 

THE LOOK ON HIS FACE WAS SOMETHING YOU MIGHT SEE IN A JACKIE COOGAN SILENT FILM WHERE THE VILLAIN WAS HOLDING AN ORPHANED CHILD, LEADING HIM AWAY FOREVER.

 IT DIDN’T LOOK LIKE HE KNEW THESE PEOPLE. HE DIDN’T LOOK HAPPY.

I FELT HELPLESS….WHAT WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO?

 ASK THE COUPLE IF THAT WAS THEIR CHILD?

 ASK THE BOOKSHOP OWNER TO INTERVENE? 

CALL THE POLICE? 

AND THEN TELL THEM WHAT?

“911 WHAT IS YOUR EMERGENCY?“

 HELLO, I’M AT A PUBLIC BOOKSHOP AND A HESSEN COUPLE HAS A BLACK BOY ON A LEASH!”

AS THEY LEFT THE BOOKSHOP, THE LITTLE BOY LOOKED DIRECTLY AT ME WITH MARGARET KEAN EYES.

I IMAGINED A NIGHTMARE SCENARIO WHERE THEY TOOK HIM HOME, BOILED HIM AND HAD HIM FOR DINNER. THEY WERE BOTH SO HUGE… THIS COULD BE SOME KIND OF HANSEL & GRETEL FETISH. 

THERE ARE MANY LITERARY & CINEMATIC MOMENTS THAT ILLUSTRATE MY FEARS.   IF YOU DON’T HAVE A STRONG CONSTITUTION, OVER THE YEARS THEY CAN MAKE ONE PARANOID. 

OFF THE TOP OF MY HEAD- 

ROSEMARY WOODHOUSE SEEING HER BABY FOR THE FIRST TIME.

OLIVER  ASKING “ PLEASE SIR, I WANT SOME MORE.”

MISS HANNIGAN SINGING “LITTLE GIRLS”  

GILLES DE RAIS

THE MCMARTIN PRESCHOOL TRIALS, 

(BTW-ALL WE’RE ACQUITTED, BUT THEY’RE LIVES WERE DESTROYED).

ANYTHING BY GRIMMS

MICHAEL JACKSON’S NEVERLAND RANCH

WILLY WONKA TURNING VIOLET BEAUREGARDE INTO A BLUEBERRY.

THIS FEAR HAS STAYED WITH ME ALL MY LIFE. 

LIKE  A FRIENEMY- ENEMY PTSD VISITS WHEN I WITNESSED THIS SCENARIO OCCURRING ON A LONELY DUSK EVENING AT SUNNY DUNE ROAD. 

IT TRIGGERS A PERSISTENT NIGHTMARE.

A  DISTANT YET EVER PRESENT MEMORY BROUGHT ON BY LOSS, HELPLESSNESS, LOST INNOCENTS. 

THE UNRELENTING, FRAGILE PERSISTENCY OF MY MORTALITY.

COPYRIGHT- RICK CASTRO- AUGUST-2017