personal stories – Page 4 – Aremyfeetofftheground

Why I don’t pick up hitchhikers

I know. You can say these were just isolated experiences and I should not tar everyone with the same brush. But, I’m pretty impressionable, and first impressions count.

#1. I picked this guy up at the start of an 80km trip to work. Seemed okay at the start, didn’t say anything for about ten minutes, until I broke the ice by asking him where he was bound so early on a winter morning. He turned his head slowly towards me, like in the horror movies, and said he was going to a meeting of the Blue Men. That was his code name for his clandestine group of guys that were planning to invade the Houses of Parliament and hold everyone hostage with ray guns while they read their manifesto. He was serious. I dropped him off at the next stoplight.

#2. This was a fellow who worked in the same factory as did I, so I really had no excuse to shorten the trip. I didn’t know him well, so I was making small talk, when he cut me off and said he knew his family was trying to poison him. That got my attention .
I humored him and said, well, how can you be sure? He said “that’s just it, I’m not sure one hundred percent, and that’s why I went out and bought twenty mirrors the other day.” Ah Ha. What are the mirrors for? “I put them on the floor, all around my apartment, and now I will be able to see their shadows for sure”. I am not making this up.

#3. This fellow, with his little dog, I picked up in a blinding snowstorm. I mean, come on, you can’t pass anyone in that kind of situation. They got in, sat in the front seat, and said nothing. I asked where they were going. He just points straight ahead. So, I nod and keep on driving. A ways down the road, I lean over to the dog and say hey buddy, which way now? The guy must have got the drift, ’cause he hung a left with his thumb. I dropped them off at a roadside mailbox. They disappeared in the snow. Not a freaking word.

I’ve been in dire situations myself in the past, so that’s basically why I picked these guys up in the first place.

But, geez, I’m kinda getting a little old for this stuff now.

Very nice, very nice

..we live in a basement now…
some say eww, you live in the cellar?
that’s something I did when I was a teenager.
a second class citizen.
how can you stand someone living above you?
what do you do if there’s a fire up there?
you’re gonna freeze in the winter.

well….

we have birches and maples and pines that suffice.
we have seven big windows, all covered in ice.
we have babbits and birdies and chipmunks and mice,
and the latter ones think that our pantry is nice.

a fire in the corner to warm up our toes.
a sliding glass door to a garden of rose.
a barbeque smoky, so nice to the nose,
and the sky through the branches of wintery prose.

and the one that we share it with lives up the stairs.
she booms and she clatters and does what she dares.
has two skinny cats that we think are her heirs,
and their vocal renditions? well, nothing compares.

but the aerial noises we hear from above
don’t bother us greatly, ‘cuz we’re thinking of
a family that’s knit (sometimes fits like a glove)
and the missus upstairs, she is someone we love.

Very Nice. Very nice.

Crazy house

All is soft silence, save for a ringing in the ears. Afterimage of thunderous chaos.
Mister Puss, saucer-eyed, meows a sick meow. Looks this way and that, as if to say-
where is hammer? Booming boots? Cracking tiles? Thuds and drags? In the fourteen days, he had become inured, comfortable, expectant of the next morning’s assault.
As our savior, he had taken on our very nerve endings, mirrored our anxiousness, and transformed all into a metered purr. If he was alright, then so were we.
And now, in this vacuous day, we trust he will show us the way.

The renos are done.

Ingrid

You tugged me from the busy room,
zeroed in on my discomfort.
Surprising in your boldness
(I always thought you quiet)
(We were barely acquainted)
“I’m glad you’re here”
you said,
and spoke to me like lovers do.
Your drug was truth, and then
I felt my youth again.
You held me closely in the stillness of a night dance.
Kissed my neck (odd for a woman to do),
and when the partyers came out,
you were gone with a last glance.
I retired to some corner, in thought.
And, when I came back in,
you were going,
with your unintroduced husband.
Leaving me stupidly standing,
with questions, so many.

Humbug

The moon slides down into dizzy vision, a bright dime in deepening blue.
Along the street of home, straggling snow in sleepy silence.
Rising chimney smoke is breezeless, straight and true.

I return from the shopping mall, having invented unneeded things to buy.
The right things seem to elude me, always. Ahhh, no matter, I think.
After all, it is the thought that counts, eh? Finding the opportune moment to sneak away, braving the Christmas traffic, the idiotic parking contests, the miles between washrooms. And then, overpaying for some unique item you couldn’t find anywhere else. After all, the rents in these places are sky-high. You gotta expect that.

Gaining entry to my empty house, and laden with parcels, I nearly fall down fourteen stairs as the stupid cat tries to trip me in a bid for attention. Apparently, I forgot his food this morning. As I set everything down haphazardly, it strikes me that I am bringing coals to Newcastle. All around me are boxes from our recent move, as yet unpacked, accumulated during 42 years of marriage. Some, I am sure, contain items unique at one time, that have never seen the light of day. Discouraging, to say the least.

These are the things we become inured to in the life domestic. Laugh if you like, at this
“First world problem”, but there comes a breaking point. I suspect it will be after I carry it all back up the fourteen stairs, in the spring, put it out for a “garage sale”, and then bring it back in again when no one wants it.

Merry Christmas!

The love of a brother

On a long gone New Years Eve, we had a table in a crowded Legion barroom. The women were up dancing, and he had just returned with two bottles of beer. He set one down for me, but I said “No, man, I can’t. We’ve got an hour’s drive home in the snow.” Aw, c’mon, it’s New Years. I sat there in the awkwardness, as he drank his beer. “We’d better be going. I’m glad you’ll be at the motel.” As I went to get up, he touched my arm and said I love you. That was it. Two years later, almost to the day, I was at home on a wintry afternoon, when the phone rang in my kitchen. Yeah, well……it’s me. Yeah. I’ve got cancer. This is it . And suddenly, my stomach hurt. My knees buckled, and I sank into a chair. I cried silently, my head on the table. “But I love you”, I said. But I love you.

Starvation

Insensitive remarks.
Things thrown.
Mother crying
Rotten bastard
Father restrains her.
Doors slam
Once, twice, thrice.
We two kids,
We see and hear
From the crack in our bedroom door
We want to stop our ears.
We cry too.
Too young to know why it is like this.
Want to come out and console,
But scared to open the door.
Calm comes, sometimes,
And there is what passes
For family love,
But these two little ones
Had now a cautiousness, a tentativeness
That precluded real joy.
Awaiting, with dread, what would happen next.
We were showered with gifts
At Christmas, if Dad had a bankroll.
Feast of presents,
Famine of spirits.
A month later, bailiff at the door.
Everybody hide, don’t make a sound.
They will go away.
Then, out for a ride,
We two captives in the back seat.
The bickering begins
Between mother and father.
At a stoplight, she makes her escape,
Screams at him from the open door,
Then runs the other way.
We cry again, until he is able
To cajole her back in.
We were never hit, but seldom touched.
No cruel or unusual punishment,
But, it is hard to remember times of love,
Under the shadow of these things that fester.
A learned apprehension that now comes so naturally.

Rites of passage

There was a man who loved his daughter.

Not unusual, but this particular man was not very good at showing emotion, and thought that people would know, by his actions, how he felt. He knew that this made them needy at times, and he blamed himself for it, but still he could not open up.

There was jealousy within the family because of this, and he bore the stress unto himself, trying to please everyone.

At the age of 15, his girl told him she wanted to be like some of her friends and get a small tattoo, to which he readily agreed. Not long after that, she wanted to get her tongue pierced, and this caused an uproar. Her mother would have none of it, and pressured him not to consider it, saying he was too soft, and their daughter had him wrapped around her finger. So, he did tell her no, as firmly as he could muster, and there was much drama and sobbing off and on for a few days. The subject was soon brought up again, after he thought it had been forgotten. Seeing the potential of another fight, he spoke to his wife privately, and struck the bargain that if their daughter still wanted this in a year, when she turned 16, he would see about it. Both thought that she would lose interest by then, and go on to something else.

Indeed, when the time came, he had already put it out of his mind, but his girl’s resolve was strong, and, on the very day of her birthday, she said it was time for him to keep his promise. Eyeing his wife sheepishly, he said he would look into it, then spoke to friends and acquaintances whose kids had gone for similar things. Their best advice was to find a place that was government inspected, had an autoclave, and used disposable needles. He sought advice from an actual government website, and found similar admonitions. Within a few days, he took her, and the deed was done, not without some squealing on her part and a look of instant regret. However, she put a brave face on it, and there was relative calm within the house for a time, even though his wife was resentful.

A year later, when it was prom time at the high school, the big kerfuffle was to find his girl a dress. She was valedictorian, so it needed to be something special. Off to the city they all went, together with a couple of her friends, and landed at a fancy shopping mall. Mom & Dad left the trio to their own devices, telling their daughter they would meet back at a certain time, and hopefully she would find something she liked. He and his wife then wandered about for a while, looking into the windows of some dress shops as they went. He spotted a formal gown in black, beaded with beautiful silver designs upon it, and said to his wife “That’s the one she’s going to want.” They walked for a half hour more, and made another circuit of the mall. Coming to the same shop again, he decided to go in and ask the price. The saleswoman said “you know, we have someone in here trying one on right now”. It was $425, and, of course, you know who was trying it on. While they were there, she came out of the room to look at herself. Dad saw her first, and looked pleadingly at his wife, who, after seeing this sight, had no choice but to give in. Their girl was glowing, and her friends gave her some envious looks.

After the prom, she announced to her Dad, when they were home alone, that there was going to be a party at a cottage belonging to one of her friends’ parents. He gave her something of a cross examination, and, respectfully enough, she told him that there was “probably” going to be booze, and maybe even drugs, there. For the first time in his life, he gave her a flat “No”. She pleaded and said that she, of all people, had to show up, and would stay away from that kind of activity. He believed her, but would not let her go, and she kept testing his resolve. Something let go within him, and this man who had always kept his thoughts to himself, began to cry silently.

A change came over his little girl, and she crossed the room to him, hugging him tightly.

She said “Dad. Dad. You have nothing to worry about ever again from me. I will not go.”

On his birthday, the card she gave to him said “Dad, I love you because you love me”.
Fifteen years later, he still has it.

A lost weekend (repost)

Memories of a night in I.C.U. some years ago.

awoke suddenly
two hours into sleep
disoriented, heart racing
wouldn’t slow
Wife puts the cuff on
pulse of one seventy five
steady

Let’s go…let’s go
off to emergency
they took us first
there was a guy with a bloody hand
they took us first

prepped for I.V.
we have drugs that will slow it down
don’t worry
five minutes, almost ten
no good
family out please
we have to put him under

Out for the count
then coming back in phases
I see a one armed nurse
She is so nice
and I realize she’s the one they call
The Shark Lady
who lost her arm to one while swimming

she sees I’m awake,
calls in wife and kids
wife says what are the bandages for
Oh, they had to shock him twice
and there are burns

then, the long trolley ride
down to ICU
drugged chatting with
the Angel nurse.

pills for you, mister
and we have reserved a spot for you
at the Cardiologist
you stay here tonight, okay?
and the Doc should let you go home
tomorrow.

In the coffee aisle

A chance encounter has left me with a strange sense of regret.

It’s been my experience, when out in the marketplace, that people are usually impersonal, unless you happen to run into a friend or an acquaintance.
The grocery store, today, wasn’t very busy. I had just come from the barbershop,
and remembered that I needed to pick up coffee. It was an idle afternoon for me,
so I was taking my time looking through their selection.

I happened to glance at a woman who was picking up cake mixes or some such, and she returned my glance with a smile. I suppose I gave her a bit of a strange look, and I regretted it instantly. It was one of those times where you feel that you know someone, but also feel embarrassed to say so and to ask them who they are. What happened next was unexpected, for she walked right up to me, extended her hand, and said I know we haven’t met, but you looked at me so I looked at you. I’m Jessica.

I shook her hand warmly. It seemed as if she wanted to hold on for a few seconds. I told her my name, and said It’s nice to meet you, Jessica. She said and you as well, my friend. I felt like I wanted to stay and talk, but at the same time wondered how appropriate it would be. In hindsight, I should have, but instead I made something of an awkward exit. As I was driving out of the parking lot, I passed by the front of the store, and she was there, loading her groceries into a basket on her bicycle. I stopped, opened my window, and said Goodbye, Jessica! Strange….the way she reacted. She looked a little downcast, then returned my smile, saying I feel like I know you. You’re a lovely man.

Just like that. A lovely man. Her words. Must have been a case of mistaken identity. What I did next surprises me even more. Taking my usual route home, I stopped abruptly, made a U-turn, and doubled back. Looking, like a fool, for a green bicycle with a basket on it. But no, the spell was broken.

Nice to meet you, Jessica. My friend…..