GATHER MY THOUGHTS
GATHER MY THOUGHTS
BY JOHN TUFT
I awakened to the morning sunlight coming in the east facing window of the bedroom. My sleep had been fitful and not nearly long enough. The Jersy Mike’s Big Kahuna cheese steak hoagie from the day before had met with resistance in my belly. Eating had been an infrequent activity for the month of Ferbruary. In transitioning from Virginia to North Carolina, both of my pension checks got lost in the shuffle so I faced the entire month with zero income. As in nada, nothing. A daunting prospect but in the screenplay that is my life, merely one more obstacle for Casper and I to face together, intrepid co-conspirators that we are…we were. I swung my feet over the edge and was greeted by an empty floor. Perhaps the night had been too quiet without the steady snoring of the big fluffy marshmallow of a dog that masqueraded as my pet. I’d lost ten more pounds in the month, of which I shall not complain.
The day before, a very kind and compassionate veternarian made a house call, her specialty being a mobile euthanasia clinic for ailing pets. My Best Boy was definitely ailing and there was no purpose served in letting it continue. She shot him up with two large doses of sedatives and then eased him gently to the floor on his favorite braided rug. He immediately began snoring and chasing some vermit in his deep slumber. Minutes later he peacefully passed from this life… This was my first morning without him to share in my grunting and groaning and mutterings. He could mutter with the best of them. I had a list of places to go via the ride sharing of Lyft. These are some of the thoughts that I gathered during the day.
My first driver was an 83 year old man of color, who hesitantly asked, “can I ask you a question?” Sure. “Did you vote?” I did. “Did you vote for him?” No, I did not. “How can people believe in that guy? Why do they believe that he will do anything for him? I really don’t understand that.” His concern was genuine. Hard working people losing their jobs. Confusion and chaos done on purpose. “What is that all about?” I gave him my 60 second socio-psycho analysis. He nodded. “I think that could be right. People want to be told who to fear and its their fault that I’m afraid.”
My next driver was a woman in her mid 30s. She had a call in radio program playing in the background. A woman thought she was calling in to a catering facility and was setting up a party for her, and her boyfriend and others. She went on in detail about what she wanted the cake to say. Then another voice came on, that of a man. The radio hosts had called him first to listen to the woman. When he spoke, the woman recognized the voice much to her chagrin. It was her husband, listening to her set up a party for her ex. As she begged the radio hosts to take her off the air and her husband confronted her, the driver and I reached the same conclusion. Why do people go to public airwaves to air grievances and catch loved ones in betrayal? We did not have an answer but we agreed that it was entertaining.
Shortly afterward, I was standing in line at a Walmart customer service counter. Somehow, I was bragging about my grandson who shows a real bent for playing baseball at the age of 11, and his brother who wrestles. A voice a few yards behind me spoke up. “Baseball, you say? He enjoys it, I bet. I was a swimmer.” I finished my business and the gentleman stepped out of the line to further engage. He stepped closer and I was engulfed in the fumes of alcohol at 9:30am. “I was good, I swam for the AAU teams.” That’s a lot of hard work and commitment, I pointed out. “Yes it is. We swam 2 miles every single day.” A pause. “I didn’t stick with it.” A wistful look. “But I sure loved it, the disipline, the feeling of being good, powerful, elite.” I left it there. Big feelings indeed.
A ride to a diner to get breakfast. A man in his 40s, listening to a sports event. “Is that a cricket match?” I asked. He immediatly brightened and nodded with enthusiasm. “Where?” I asked. “Mumbai.” I was starttled. I’m riding down the road in High Point, North Carolina, listening to cricket in India. And the only reason I recognized it was because of watching All Creatures Great and Small on PBS. The final ride of the day was in a Tesla, creepy and quiet for this old school customer. A young man of college age was the driver. I told him about my last car, a 2014 Dodge Challenger in which I racked up three stops by State Police before I reached the Virginia border. The five minute ride ended with him insisting that I give him the title of the series of novels I am writing so he could “Check them out now that I know who writes them.”
What thoughts did I gather? I miss my big dog. People like to talk to someone who listens to them, not at them. There’s a price we need to be aware of for having so much information constantly bombarding us. The only thing about myself that seemed to matter to anyone was not my sex, race, or age. In the day what mattered was did I see them? Did I show an interest? A smile and politeness goes far. My eyes were much bigger than my stomach after not eating much all month. Storytellers will never go out of fashion. And I miss my big dog. Thanks Casper for the love and companionship.
Words are magic and writers are wizards.
