Monthly Archives: March 2018

I was an asshole today.  Shopping in the grocery store, I knew suddenly that I needed the bathroom.

Of course, it was a single “one size fits all”  type of washroom, and I found the door to be locked. No noise from inside, so I thought someone must be squatting and reading the sports section.  Two minutes go by, then three.  I jiggle the handle to let them know there is someone waiting.  Another minute.  Then the sound of paper towels and running water.  Good, must be done.  Nope.  Another minute of complete silence.  I jiggle again.  Then someone blows their nose.  This is when I thought what the hell are they doing?
Two more minutes.  Another jiggle, more vigorous this time.

After a total of about 8 minutes, the door opens tentatively and a big lumbering young guy wearing a funny hat comes out.  I am in complete distress by this time, and push in behind him before he even has a chance to leave.  I slam the door, and have made it just in time.

When I’m done my two or three minutes, I hear a conversation outside the door.  It’s the young guy complaining to the store manager about “that man who slammed the door”, and asking him if he would have a talk with me.  He sounds upset and scared, but not angry (as Yours Truly was when he slammed the door).   The manager is commiserating with him and asking him to continue his shopping and would he like any assistance etc.
I open the door, push past them, and continue about my business.

When I’m done my shopping, I see the young guy in the vegetable section.  I have an urge to keep on going, but instead walk up to him and say “Listen buddy, I’m sorry.”  He looks surprised and still a little scared.  I said “I’m sorry for slamming the door like that.  I was gonna poop my pants at any moment.”  He said “Well, thank you for apologizing.  I was really scared and thought I did something wrong.”  At this point, I felt about two feet tall, but I just gave him a soft pat on the arm and said “See you later and have a good day.”

I won’t give excuses for the boorish behavior, except to say that there could be some things to be taken into consideration.

This guy could have beaten the crap out of me, but instead I found him to be a gentle and simple soul.

I was lucky.  Lesson learned for today.  Could have been worse.

I have stopped by woods on a snowy evening.
It’s a sublime slanting sun, and,
camera in hand,
I come upon the hoped-for scene.

The reaching trees, silhouettes of bareness.
The furnace of the sun,
a smudge of burnt orange behind the ridge,
imparts a hue, a twilight blue
to the mile-long shadows in the powdery glitter.

I click and click with frantic abandon,
not wanting to lose this singular zenith of beauty.
How many shots? a hundred? a thousand?
I will take them home-
enhance them, adobe them, candy coat them
until they look, they look…
like those coffee table books that no one reads.

So,  I turn to go, my anticipation tempered now.
I look back once more, in regret.
The deep blue shadows slowly lengthen
as the sun pours dark red lava down the hillside.

I stop. Upon a stump I sit.
There is longevity here, a longevity of bliss.
And now I know why those beautiful heavy books
have sticky pages and dusty covers
pristine of fingerprints.

She was talking to a drunk laying on a gurney in the curtained room next to mine. I felt a little guilty for eavesdropping, but, after all, it’s the emergency ward and there are only curtains separating you. This doctor, whose lot it was to work the midnight shift this week, was plainly skilled at her craft. Dealing with a hostile patient who was uncooperative and here against his will, she displayed patience, assertiveness, courage, persistence, a knowledge of psychology, and a non-judgmental attitude. Even though this was his third time here within the last two months, and in the face of his refusal to provide a urine sample or take a blood test, she managed to get permission from him to call his mother, who eventually arrived and took responsibility for him.

Then there was a nurse who had to deal with an aggressive man who was attempting to barge his way in to see a Doctor for some advice on a serious matter at home. She was plain spoken and well aware of hospital policy towards this kind of thing, and calmly explained to him that he would have to register along with everyone else and wait his turn, or he would be removed from the building.

A little girl was in the waiting room with her parents. She had swallowed a quarter, but seemed none the worse for wear, but they wanted to get her checked out. A nurse came and chatted with her, asking her how old she was. She said “I am four”. Then her mother said “Actually, I think she is four and a quarter.”

In the same waiting room was an old couple (or, It could have been a man and his sister). He was in a wheel chair with a cast on his foot and a shoulder brace, awaiting some X-Rays. The woman seemed to take delight in telling the story of his “self-inflicted” injuries, saying he was standing on a kitchen stool against her advice, and had fallen, breaking his foot and dislocating his shoulder. He kept grimacing and waving her away, but she said “It’s your own fault, LaVerne”. It was all in good humor though, and everyone in the room was kibitzing and telling their own stories.

A little boy was brought in who had swallowed a bottle of pills, but he seemed okay as he said to his father “Hey, how come that guy’s got a broken leg?” LaVerne said “you wanna hear the story?”

Later, as they got me into a room, I noticed a Police presence as a gurney was rolled in with a twenty something woman on it who had overdosed. There had been criminal activity involved, and she was here to get clean before being taken away.

At one point, I asked to be disconnected so I could go to the washroom. When I opened the door, I saw that there was blood in the toilet and more on the walls and door handle. I turned around to let them know, at the same time meeting up with an orderly who was donning rubber gloves. He said “Yeah, we know”. That’s all I heard, and never found out how the blood got there.

In this miasma of humanity, there were more things added to the mix. The screaming of terrified children. The sound and smell of someone vomiting. More shouting and the sound of a scuffle as the aggressive guy returned and was hustled off the property. A woman crying as she wheeled her demented grandmother in.

My particular gurney was moved, because they needed the room, and I was parked to one side of a long hallway, then informed I had to stay for another four hours for more blood tests. The nurse apologized, put all of my belongings on the gurney with me, and said “Yeah, this is what we call health care today. At least you can say you were one of the Kids in the Hall!”

God bless these people. They are not all angels, of course, although I did meet some that fit that description. There were others that got a little desperate at times, but kept up a professional attitude as best they could.

I only hope that if I am ever brought in for something “self-inflicted” that they are as kind to me.

there’s a fella, sleeps alone
reasons known to self and another
the wick of his wishes is burning low
getting down to the orange tipped embers
(could that be the hottest part?)

looking for that bright smile, dark eyes
that Christmas spirit all the year
he wanders around the king size bed
runs from the galloping ghosts of midnight

awakes at three for his second pee
with a smile on his face
’cause he’s dreamt an angel’s soul
and his spirit arms, they hold it close
bodies entwined, sweet soothing
that freckled face, those Bambi eyes

more tightly he grasps, bestowing a kiss
but his mouth is of cotton
or is it her lips?

it’s that big body pillow
from the head of his bed
with its teddy bear stuffing
he’s holding, instead.

 

Mary has three sisters, a brother, and a dead mother.  They are all going, or have gone, the way of the world in this forlorn village.  The safe, quiet, accepted, expected, respected way.

The men, to the sea in ships.  The women, to the upbringing of the family, the keeping of the house, the cloistered social circuit of the dull and the drudge.   The desperate heartbreak of stillborn babies, without knowing why.   Mama went at the young age of sixty two, her poor body wracked with toil, worry, and the monotonous diet of the place. Her father, last year, from consumption.

Mary, coming now into age, sits in the pews with her village confederates for the quiet ceremony.  The mourners are women, girls, and three or four sick old men.  All that is heard is the weeping of the older women, close friends and helpers to her mother.  Mary’s siblings sit in sullen silence.  She’s not the oldest.  There is one sister who is ten years her senior, but that sister already wears the kerchief and faded dresses of the crestfallen, following the anointed path.

The little ones would not approach the crude coffin, but the rest did, and dropped their flowers or cold kisses.  Mary has not risen from her bench yet, and many eyes are turned her way in expectation.  She is the strong willed one, rebellious but never shirking.  She came this day, leading the younger ones to their seats.  She alone came dressed in bright blue, an affront to the many, almost a sin in this solemnity.  But she knew her Mama would have smiled.

She rises purposefully and goes to her mother, hangs her head in remorse by the coffin.  Sees the life planned out for her.  The drab houses, the dead babies, the absent menfolk. And then, her moment of epiphany.  Mother, we are going.  I will take them, any who will go with me.  Mother, this has not been enough for you, and it will not be enough for us.  I cannot do it.  I cannot stay.  I have seen all of your faces in my eighteen years.  The duty bound stinginess of joy.  We are digging our own graves.  I am growing.  I have grown inside as you wanted me to.  I have outgrown this life.  Sister, I will come back for you if you will not go now.