September 26th, 2009
Walking Down that Long Pink Road.
Tuesday had been a day of gray-hazed dazing and wandering to and fro by train, auto, and my hard-worn feet. The drizzle was not the problem. The problem was this: I had come to an awkward point of inaction, surrounded by my own decisions, overwhelmed by my own presence, shot by my own need to live in a forward direction. Temporally shot. Temporality.Tuesday began with slow clapping on a wooden porch. It continued with a thousand layers of cirrus clouds and a asslot of unawakedness. I set-slumbered down into a bench, a bed, a recliner, a bed, letting my brain lose self-awareness. I dreamt through the day like I was begging for dark. And I slept through the night like I was allergic to morning.
But with yesterday out of the way, today comes today. Today is Wednesday.
Blinking my eyes open, I smiled and reached into my mini-fridge for my usual breakfast-in-bed of under-ripe broccoflower and fresh Drakkar Noir. Curling up to a classic issue of Highlights, I knew I was on the up and up. I sure wasn't going to let today slip away. I had only begun to figure out What's wrong with this picture when the phone rang.
I clicked on my headset. "Yeah, go."
There was no answer. "Hello?" I prompted. "Anybody there?"
"Hmmmph," said the guy in a muffled voice. "Hmmmmphh."
"Excuse me - what's that?" I was close to running out of spinach dip, and was in no mood for reindeer games. "Hello??"
Finally, he spoke a sort of English. "Hullo?"
"Uh, hello, yes?" I replied.
"Who's there? Who is this?"
"Uh, well... I'm just--"
He was impatient. "I think you have the wrong number, buddy."
"Oh, er..."
"Forget it. Just try to be careful when you dial."
"I'm sorry. Sorry sir." I clicked off the line and frowned a rather frowny-frown. I felt bad... I mean, the guy didn't seem too annoyed. I just hope I didn't wake him up. I don't like to dwell on my mistakes, but really, I've got to be more careful. How would I like it if someone dialed me up on accident while I was trying to sleep at 9 am? I wouldn't like it, that's how.
And today was the perfect day not to dwell on mistakes. Or indoors. I sauntered out into the backyard, where I had recently installed a rope swing underneath my outdoor shower. I took a deep breath, and let it out slowky, feeling the wind against my leg hair, watching the flowers wiggle and waddle, listening to the sounds of birds and wee beasties. I love suburbia. It was a 50 degree morning, perfect for some hot and steamy swinging action.
If Tuesday had been absence, home with the flu, then Monday was a class trip to the Roger Williams Park Zoo. It was a headphoning hop from good friend to good friend, laughing around serious sincere supple moments punctuated by the same string of questions:
Are all the people you care about healthy and safe?
Where were you when you heard about the pink elephants?
What do you think we should do to save the other elephants?
How hard will it be to never forget?
It was a god visit. Nearly every conversation was coupled with consumption: coffee, dinner, beer. Monday monday.
The swing surrendered, and I strode, soapy and sopping, into the empty backyard. I seem to have misplaced my Kissyfur towel. I could hear bakery trucks passing across the other side of my house, somewhere; in the olefactory outlands, I could sense the odor of another roadbound-skunked skunk.
'Tis the season," I thought. "Fun size trick-or-treating can't be far off."
I had a long day ahead. I was planning two experiments to test the limits of my immune system: first, I had big plans to go to work and cook up 12 quarts of chilli using roast pork that had, quote-endquote, "been around for a while".
Secondly, I hoped to matriculate over to my next-door-neighbor's house, to watch Star Trek in his smokey kitchen, four feet from his extremely sick nose and mouth. He had a cold, or possibly the slow clap. I was feeling lucky. I also had illusions about drinking an extra couple a cups of seasoned bogwater, but there probably wouldn't be time.
To quote Dean Ween, "Mister, wont you please help my pony?"
That's not a pony. That's my Black Beauty towel. Finally, relief from moist backyard nakedness.
Work passed quickly, as knew I it would. The chilli was yummy and probably unpoisonous. I spent most of the hot-kitchen shift listening to Bach, picturing my favorite tree:
In the city, on the south edge of the river, where the runners, cyclists and bladers speed by--there is tucked one everlasting giant beech tree. The tree grows givingly, asking to be climbed, leaned upon, layed beneath. One arm of the wisegiant reaches up and out to the east, then arcs down again toward the ground, pining for the earth with its wrinkled elephantine elbow. You can climb, for a while, but eventually we all return to the great earth-mother. Spooning chilli into my throat, the spice had struck me.
After the two minute commute home, I made tea and decided to call my girlfriend. I'm sweet on her like powdered-sugar on Persian waffles. She was out and about, but I caught her on her cel phone.
"Good afternoon, honey sweet," I began. I'm hella charismatic.
"How are you, and where are you," she exclaimed, "and how is the weather, and how did your chilli turn out?" I could tell she was smiling that lip-stretched smile, and I laughed, she had piled on so many questions.
"It's chilli outside and I am in my bedroom, hot with spice for you."
She paused. "You know, there's nothing particularly brilliant in being clever."
"Right," I said. "Tell that to the man who came up with the lever."
"Hmmph?" she uttered.
"What?"
"Mmm, hmmph... I..."
Her words were muffled crackles. I raised my voice a little. "Wait... what? I can't hear you, babe."
"Uh... I," she started.
"Yes?"
"I - I think you have the wrong number."
"Oh... er, I'm sorry. My mistake," I managed.
I stood still for a moment. I put down the phone, and I put down my tea, and I put down my buttered biscuit, and stepped out onto the front porch, trying to remember where I'd planned to go. The sun burned. I saw bicycles, flags, trees, birds. And I cried, a little, because sometimes even I can't find my car keys.
