Unseasonably warm. Over cast, winter trying to regain lost ground. Rain on the air, leaves upturning. Cool in the shadows of drifting clouds. Pleasant, a good day for a walk. Still tipsy from a night of... indiscretion, better not drive. Perfect. Grudgingly--gratefully, depositing three hundred and 6 dollars and seventy two cents. Walking looking seeing.
Truth moves at 3 miles an hour.
He had tested that once, walking beside his bike with the computer registering 2.5 or 3 miles an hour. He wasn't on a quest for truth. But he wouldn't hate to find some. He started his day as per usual, singing, not for the words, but for the beauty, the Doxology. The Doxology of his childhood around the table, but different, gender neutralized... no more masculine pronouns. Oh, and he had taken shots to that song once. The Pater Nostre. Why? For the comfort and the ritual. For the beauty. For forgiveness and daily bread and heaven on earth. Walking down the street he saw the backs of buildings which he had only seen from the front. The old old, flagstone house turned into a shop on the square, turning into a flower pot for reaching vines. The delapidated unexplained shops on the right side of the street. What do they sell there? A sign promising a five hundred dollar reward for the arrest of the arsen of the property. Funny, the building looks pretty good for having been burnt down. Maybe they sell bird baths, lots of those in the front yard. Or maybe collectors? An unfinished foundation. A foundation is no good without a house. What kind of creaturs must live under there? Church bells, 9 oclock. Europe. This feels like a European town, right now in this instant.
Texting. That infernal technology permitting one access to anyone at anytime from anywhere. A tether to friends and family. A damnable distraction destroying real communication. Can he ever be as cool in person as he is in text? The only, not necessarily best, option for instant contact. He grips the phone in his pocket expecting to find warmth because so many warming messages have come via that contraption. No warmth, just plastic and battery and magic.
A vibration. A missed heart beat. A chuckle for the rediculousness. A conversation conveaned.
Truth moves at the speed of text.
She wants to become more involved in her new community. Maybe join the community chorus. It's not about the voice it's about belonging to something, being connected with a civic family. He makes sure that she gets to know the town well to make his transition easier. Meet a girl for me. He gives her guidelines. Moving into a new town, meeting new people, starting over. Definitely an adventure. There in the parking lot of his apartment, a fellow slave, or rather employee. A conversation in full swing. The punchline got quite a reaction, too bad he missed the joke.
"He was a graduate of Cummins. I have students who graduated from Abry and Cummins." He backs up to make his leave, checks himself and returns. "You don't even know what Abry and Cummins are do you?"
"Nope, can't say I do."
"Prisons in south-west Arkansas," pointing to the southwest, that innnate knowledge of directions some people have shining forth, "course we knew he wasn't dangerous, all he'd done was steal a horse trailor. We asked him what he had learned there and he said he learned that your friends will turn on much sooner than those others."
"Well if that's all he learned it didn't do him much good."
"He was a good kid, he took to likin' this girl in class once." He checked himself again, realizing he had started a story that would require some updating, and returned. "Did I tell you I was the principle of Central?"
"Ah, the bears."
"Yeah, that's the right the bears. But elementary school, don't get me confused with those highschool people."
"I won't."
"So he took to likin' this girl. 6'2", 280 pounds."
"Big girl." Said the newcomer to the conversation.
The principle, acknowleding him for the first time, looked at him, winked and said "Yeah, real big girl. She's married now; married an even bigger man, " he said, raising his arms above his head to emphasize the size of this man, "300 pounds and 6'8". So one day, I was writing on the board and I hear this slap. I mean, you knew it was skin on skin. I turned around to see Jimmy shuffling back to his seat. He had gone over there and said something to her. He had been pickin on her a lot before then. I guess she had just had enough of him. She was hunkered down, with her head in her arms, scared you know. I asked her out in the hallway and assured her she wasn't in trouble. She had the right to do it. "
"I'm sure what ever he said or did, he probably deserved it."
"Uh huh, but, she was far from in trouble. Best disciplinarian i've ever had. Never had any more trouble ol' Jimmy. So he ended up graduating from Cummins. Always a bit of a trouble maker. There's always at least one. Sometimes more."
"Especially at Central."
The principle, shuffled away two more times before he finally went about his business.
During the course of this conversation, he recieved another text.
And ignored it.
Switched into first person once.
ReplyDeleteFriends turn on you, not just turn on.
Troubles FROM ol' Jimmy.
Consider these my corrections.