Synthesis (sin’-the-sis): An apt arrangement of a composition, especially regarding the sounds of adjoining syllables and words.
We went wherever we wanted, whenever we wanted. We were wild. We were young. We were idiots. We didn’t care how we got there. Sure, we walked most of the time—it was cool. But we also hitchiked. We didn’t consider the danger. We were idiots. “We” was me and Bobby Magee. We had nothin’ to lose. Our house had burned down and we had hit the road. I suspected Bobby had done it with his homemade bong—tin foil and a toilet paper roll. He said vapes were for wimps. Everything we owned was destroyed except for the clothes on our backs, Bobby’s harmonica, and his dirty old bandana. .
All Bobby could play on the harmonica was “Three Blind Mice” and “Row, Row, Row Your Boat.” He had had the harmonica for a year and aspired to be a virtuoso like the great Slim Harpo. He practiced his two songs relentlessly. I wanted to run his harmonica through the wood chipper. I dreamed about blind mice rowing a boat to a cheeses factory on the River Styx. I would wake up screaming in my bed like I was rowing a boat. I could smell cheese. It was horrifying.
Of course Bobby didn’t have a job. I worked at home making decorative cardboard gift boxes for a company located in Taiwan. When the house went up in smoke, so did my job. So, I was unemployed just like Bobby. We decided to move to California and start over again. We made a sign that said “Make America Great Again. CALIFORNIA” and started hitchiking. Our first ride was with a guy in camo-painted Ford Bronco. He was driving one-handed with a pistol in the other hand. He pointed it at us and motioned us into the truck. “God bless you” he said and fired a round out his window. Me and Bobby looked at each other terrified. The guy driving said “My name’s Edward, but my friends call me Jesus.” That did it, Bobby pulled his harmonica out of his dirty old bandana and started playing “Three Blind Mice” double time. He was on his sixth rendition when “Jesus” told us the get the hell out of his “all-wheel angel bus.” He pulled over and we jumped out.
We were lucky to be at a rest stop. There was an old school bus that had “Make America Great Again” pained on the side. Given our hitching sign, this was a sure ride. And it was! We were joining the immigrant hunt down on the Arizona-Mexico border. Chip, the hunt leader, assured us we would find “game” and probably knock off a few families. We were the only ones without axe handles, but no matter how much we wanted to “Make America Great Again,” we didn’t want to beat people with axe handles. I made a harmonica sign at Bobby. He got it and pulled his harmonica out of his dirty old bandana and started blowing “Three Blind Mice.” He got through four renditions before they threw us off the bus. It was 2:00 am out in the middle of nowhere.
We decided to use our thumbs instead of the sign. After an hour a Land Rover pulled over and picked us up. It was a married couple on their way to LA. They gave each a bottled water and an apple. Me and Bobby fell asleep. When we awoke we were at a homeless shelter where our benefactors were waiting for us to wake up. They gave us $50 and wished us well. We settled in the shelter. Bobby started playing “Three Blind Mice” and we came close to being thrown out.
Everything has worked out. I got a job picking avocados. Bobby tried giving harmonica lessons but was unsuccessful. Now, he’s writing stories an about a harmonica player named William Honer, and the tribulations he endures climbing the “slippery” staircase to success.
Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu)
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