Archive for March 19th, 2011
The light is red, he drifts toward my channel. The bastard’s asleep in his ‘67 Ford Pickup so I blast the horn, he jerks and stops. That dog is hunting rabbit. I have switched channels and whisper to God as I discover he has also switched channels when the trailer goes by, storming through the next red at perhaps 60. He is big drunk.
Going to lunch, I roll up behind a ‘70’s Chevy pickup, rusted out, with no original paint left, camper top on the bed swamped with chaotically piled junk ready to come out the back. He floors it on the green, and his cargo rolls in volatile heaves. I do not whisper.
Late, after all of the day’s activity, a late-model, white Chevy, twice as high as I am, with a special tire package, comes at me hard with intention to run me off the road. He is vigorously waving, perhaps being a smart ass, but I am whispering to God again.
I am sitting there worried about the rain, which sure seems a bit too heavy.
(Inspired by Eddie Vedder)
I was coming to like I did one time on a splintery bench, still dressed in armor, in the middle of the third period of a hockey game, except this time my nose was not broken. The room was all white. There must have been other colors. The surgery tools were not white. I was not in there for surgery. No, it was an emergency room and when I began to see these foggy red clouds and the room tilted up and then down away from me, I wondered why the bed did not coast to the bottom of the room with the tilt. I was surprised at not being belted. I’ve had a belt every time but not this one. Rookie ER. At the bottom of the room, people were outside the windows looking in at me. Suddenly zoo. I was in a zoo and they were entertained by me. They did have white coats on. No, it was a mental hospital, and on cue, my psychologist, Lisa, she was on top of my bed on her hands and knees and quickly, her right hand, open-palmed, was heading for my face. She was working to restrain me, but I wasn’t going anywhere, so I was back down flat on the bed. Fully cooperative. Puzzled. Why was Lisa here and perhaps more pertinent was this driving need to know what was happening in my life before I got to this position in this wimpy hospital.
Lisa asked me a stream of questions. Many were sounds like blurry horns with baggies until she asked, “Have you been drinking?”