“…rivers of honey pure and clear.” [Qur’an 47:15]
I had lunch with Preston today. Well, I was eating. He wanted to talk. But my health matters more to me than words, so I focused on my food rather than him. His voice, a muffled buzzing against my eardrums, was just another reason to ignore him. We finished quickly and I said "thank you" and left. No, wait. I said "Thank you, Preston" and left. He doesn’t like it when I call him Preston. He prefers I use his title.
He apologized as I left.
It was cold and cloudy, but I decided I’d walk home this time. The bus driver wouldn’t miss me now, or ever. He’ll drive his habitual route, permanently ignorant. His job description is “move the masses but stop for no one.” And no one asks if that’s wrong. It just works, so they just work. They’re drones in this big beehive, and one day someone’s going to ask to see the honey and there won’t be any. They can’t produce.
They can only reproduce.
Those busy cars raced by me all the way. They were going places, but so was I. What made me different was that, while all they could see were the other cars, I had time to consider the road they were on.
It was in rough shape.
On the other hand, my sidewalk was covered in mud. But my shoes were dirty from before, and I didn’t have to worry about soiling my socks, because I wasn’t wearing any. So I trudged onward, soon letting my mind fall on other things. Something occurred to me.
I can’t remember what Preston said.
The crown of Wilshire Tower soon came into view over the rooftops of less important structures. That sight of it, the pinnacle of this localized world, the high point sitting over this godforsaken kingdom, reinvigorated my trek. I hurried my stride.
Suddenly the world started spinning.
Losing sight of the building, I panicked. As sleet began raining down on my body, nausea rose in my stomach. I went down on my knees. It didn’t help, and I was sick right there. No one saw it happen. The car windows were rolling up and not coming back down. The beggars were scurrying into their hovels, cursing their hardships. Even that young boy on the corner, who tries every day to seem like a man, was abandoning his darling lemonade stand to get out of this wicked weather. I retched again and the wildest thought came to me.
I don’t have much time left. That’s what Dr. Preston said.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Altan was in a better mood this week - the rain had lifted for the most part, and the sun always reminded Altan of home, which made him think of simpler times. He tottered through the door of the mosque and out onto the street, his still sore, swollen wrist tucked into the front of his jacket. Like Napoleon, he thought, and he smiled a little, thinking about what it would be like to be an emperor, rule the world, and not have to worry about money...
ReplyDeleteOsiris Stien was walking toward Altan, eyes forward and cold, not seeming to register his surroundings. Altan nodded to the other man as they passed one another.
"Good afternoon Mr. Stien!" Osiris said nothing nor gave any other sign of acknowledging Altan's presence. He proceeded purposfully into the mosque behind Altan. Altan sighed, disappointed. No one seemed to take notice of him without his coffee cart. Not that many people did when he was with it, but someone always came by to ask him the price of a cup ("25¢ as always!") or tell him he was only wearing one sock ("Oh me, how unprofessional..."). It was human contact that Altan looked forward to most in his job. He had grown up in a very friendly home and it was something he had just gotten used to. Altan had become accustomed to the social detachedness of Americans over the years, so he was just happy for someone to look in his direction. He would always respond with a smile, or a nod, or a wave.
5:30 PM
ReplyDeleteHome at last. I told all the cats what happened to me. The medium lady asked me for money afterwards. The gall! All she did was spout garbage. If I weren't a lady, I'd say she spouted absolute shi--but I'm a lady, and I shan't say it. I shall tell Macy to not bother to go to the carnival. It will be a waste of her money.
Funnily enough, I saw something odd on my way home. It was raining--surprise, surprise; I don't believe the sky has taken a break from dripping like my plumbing for a solid month--and I saw a man fall down to the ground and start vomiting.
5:35 PM
You know what I think? I think he ate meat from that butcher shop. I felt a bit peaky from just smelling the place. I didn't say anything to the man; no telling where he'd been. Other than the butcher shop, of course.