An hour earlier, I passed the apartment buildings. One of the maintenance people was painting the large outside panel on the end of one of the buildings. I noted his sign, which indicated, “Wet Paint.”
An hour later, I came back with a gallon of water. I threw it across the recently painted panel. As the paint began to drip and run, the maintenance man screamed at me.
Jake arrived home about 6:15. He went through the garage and heard his wife Jane singing somewhere inside the house. Knowing her well, he knew that meant she was in high spirits. He threw his keys on the kitchen counter, a habit Jane had tried to break him of for twenty years. As he reached into the fridge for a diet soda, he felt his cat Sprinkles rubbing on his leg. He bent down to give it scrunches across its ears. He opened the soda and took a huge swallow. Because they had spent so many years practicing the dance of habit and marriage, he knew Jane would approach him for a hug. She didn’t care that he smelled like an old mayonnaise jar left out in the sun.
Jake looked up to the doorway as Jane entered, quiet lyrics still passing her lips. His eyes widened.
Jane laughed as she approached and wrapped her arms around him.
“What do you think? Good choice?” Jane shook her head back and forth as her hair swirled around her face.
Jake reached up and ran his fingers through his wife’s bright purple hair.
“Wow. It’s beautiful. Like you. I’ve never seen you with any color other than black or gray!”
“I’ve always wanted to color it. When I bought groceries after work, I passed the hair kits. A light bulb went off in my head. I bought two colors.” She smiled, probably tickled by her own audacity.
“It looks beautiful Jane.” He kissed her and asked if she needed help finishing dinner.
“No but thanks. Go wash off the stink If you want a shot later.” They both laughed.
Jane started humming the same song she had been singing and turned towards the cabinets.
“I’ll be a little bit. I have to trim my beard.” Jane nodded and blew him a kiss as he headed toward the master bathroom.
…
Forty-five minutes later, as Jane was finishing supper, she heard Jake come up behind her and kiss her neck. She could smell the aftershave he always wore.
“It smells good in here,” he said.
“Making chicken and pasta.”
He laughed. “I wasn’t talking about the food.”
Jane turned the chicken in the pan and set the fork aside. She knew her husband well and heard a slight laugh in his voice.
When she turned to give him a quick kiss, she stopped cold. Jake had the goofiest smile across his face. His hair and beard were a wild mix of rusty orange, gray, and brown. It looked like a toddler had painted his head.
“I’m not much for coloring my hair,” he said as he started to laugh. “I think my co-workers will like it.”
Jane ran her fingers through his beard and shook her head. “Lord, they might think you’ve finally gone off your rocker.”
Jake reached out and ran his fingers through Jane’s purple hair. They both stood for a moment, both with smiles on their faces.
“It’s about time to eat,” Jane whispered.
“Supper can wait. Let’s go see what orange and purple make when mixed together.”
As Jake led Jane from the kitchen, Sprinkles sprawled across the floor in front of the stove to keep watch. They would be back in a while. Their hair would probably be a mess but maybe a piece of chicken would find its way to the floor.
The months had accumulated and passed quickly. The early morning appointment on a cold February morning night as well have been ten years ago. Days, years, and decades proceeded that morning. Yet he only vaguely recalled the fog that encompassed him before. Forty-seven years of blindly doing the next thing instead of enjoying life. He dropped out of high school to get a job after his dad died. Followed by a marriage that didn’t last and six years in the military.
Four months later, and most of the people who knew him thought he had lost his mind. He stopped arguing with people and accepted any invitation to be with people. Good sleep abandoned him and he was grateful. He no longer needed to bank wasted hours thinking he needed it. When he quit his job, his mom argued with him and his coworkers were in shock. Seventeen years earned him a reputation as a diligent, hard worker. If he could go back, he would take all of his vacations and probably even play hooky three or four times a year. The best part of his list of surprises since February was a drive to Colorado. He had seen it once for a few days while in the military and fell in love with it. Seventeen days of driving and sleeping wherever he had to. The morning he woke up in Colorado, he had the best cup of coffee he had ever tasted.
Sitting on the the steps in front of his small house, he watched the birds chase each other and felt the breeze buffet him.
He coughed briefly and reflexively looked at his hand. One small drop of blood on his right palm. He had been informed that the drops would escalate. It didn’t concern him.
He watched the tall grass of his yard sway as the wind crossed it. He would mow it if it got above his knees. But not before. Grass was just another one of those idiotic distractions that people need to fill their days.
Steadying himself, he stood up and walked up the three short steps to his front door. He took one look back at the sky and at the birds still careening around its backdrop. He smiled.
Maybe he would see it tomorrow. Maybe not. This had always been the case.
You never know when the last picture of you might be taken. Hopefully, it’s not 5 minutes after you awaken and amble out of the bathroom, toothbrush hanging from your mouth, and gravity working its inevitable magic on your body. But if it is, someone would cherish it because that’s the way they see you every day. (Or from an episode of Cops.) Recently, I was given an undeveloped roll of 35 mm film from 1977. I sent it off for processing. It’s impossible to know what’s on there. I love that uncertainty! What if it is the first picture of someone as a newborn? Or someone’s sibling or parent posing goofily, unaware that it may be the last picture ever taken of them? What value can you put on that sort of picture? What value did you ascribe to your day today? Was it just another Friday, one marking the end of a work week? Time is short. As Redd Foxx said, “…diamonds are forever and so are the payments.” Recently, my cousin inquired and quipped about the possibility of someone taking my picture or writing about an interaction, thus turning the tables on me. I photobombed someone at the store today as they snapped a picture of their manager, who was angry at a subordinate who had texted to say they would not be at work this afternoon. I smiled like an idiot as she snapped the picture. I realized that I wasn’t even impersonating an idiot, given my qualifications. My smile didn’t originate with the anger of the manager. Instead, it’s because I resisted the urge to say, “But did you die!?” Even though it’s a humorous cliché, it does have an inherent philosophical observation. Love, X .
By the time I drove past, the property was engulfed in flames. There were at least 30 firefighters there, using hoses and every available method to extinguish it. I pulled over safely and parked. I said, “Wait here I’ll be right back” to the passenger.
I ran toward the building and shouted over and over. I then ran back to my car and got inside.
My passenger asked, “What were you doing?”
“I always wanted to shout ‘THEATER!’ In a crowded fire.”
He who possesses an unused passport has no advantage over he who has none.
He who forgoes pleasure in place of the mundane might as well be incapable.
He who has intelligence but fails to be introspective can’t claim superiority over a lesser intellect.
He who stresses regarding what might be invites dissatisfaction.
He who ignores the clock finds himself with no more sand in the hourglass.
He who can’t enjoy beauty might as well be blind.
We all possess intellect and souls. We run on the treadmill of obligation and ego. Some wait for the promise of the afterlife; others substitute tomorrow for today.
The following is a story that came from inspiration for the song linked after the story. It might be better if you listen to the song first (in the comments) and then read the story…
Candles Are Meant For Rekindling
Sam sat on the old couch, waiting for Julia to come inside from work. In front of him, one of his wife’s scented candles burned. He sat there for thirty minutes, time frozen. Tuesday afternoon would be as good a time as any to change the path of his life.
He heard her key in the lock as she came inside. When she saw him sitting on the couch with the candle in front of him, she stopped.
“What are you doing Sam?”
“I’d like to talk to you, honey.”
A strange look passed over her face, one he recognized to be fear.
“It’s not like that at all. Please sit here next to me?”
Julia dropped her purse on the coffee table near the candle and reluctantly sat down.
Sam turned slightly toward her. He took her right hand in his and cradled it with his fingers. He leaned over and kissed her. She looked bewildered.
With his left hand, he reached inside the candle and extinguished the tiny flame.
“What?” She asked
With his right hand, he pulled her hand towards his face and kissed it.
He picked up the lighter next to the candle and carefully lit the candle again.
“I’m sorry Julia. I took you for granted. I can’t explain why I let us grow distant. I relit the candle to show you that I appreciate you and love you. I can’t make up for the years that I didn’t see you for who you were.”
He looked at Julia’s face. It had softened. Tears formed in the corners of her eyes.
“I’m going to play a song for you. And I’d like you to sit with me and listen. We don’t need to talk. I just want you to know that I’ll never take you for granted again.”
Sam picked up the remote and hit play. The room filled with the reverb melody of the song. Though both of them preferred older music, the song captured the sound and feel of times long past.
After a few seconds, Julia leaned into him and sighed.
They sat and listened, leaning further into one another. Sam smiled. Although nothing had changed, he could feel that everything had shifted.
End…
.
Where love resides, words are superfluous. Presence and appreciation are the only requirements. Love set aside for a future day is a fool’s folly.
May the love you have be rekindled with the reverb of a distant melody.
P.S. Parenthetically Speaking 