In the old building
that was once the Post Office, this letter was found behind the cabinet that
held the coffee pot, paper cups and cream and sugar packets. It currently is going through a preservation
process and will be displayed in the Achieves Hall.
There is a stack of
old correspondence in my office. It has
been collected over the years from people who responded to having received one
of my letters. I plan to someday read them once more,
although I’m not sure why.
I also have no idea
what it is I’m hoping to find every time I carry some book home from the
library. My subconscious must be
searching for something, but so far, it’s not talking to me. Maybe I’ll know when I find it.
At last when I lay
no stress to my knees
no floaters go by
I won’t feel the breeze,
When finally I sleep
never to talk -
with no final grades
from one smelling of chalk
At last when I lay
no handful of pills
ending the question,
Have you had any spills?
The holes in my socks
I’m taking along
the ticks in the clock
no longer my song
I’ll be rested and happy
on my final day –
for I’m taking my pulse
and going away.
ZC
The behavior of strangers’ changes, depending on many things. One example would be location. Take two people that do not know or recognize each other and have them walking towards each, at night, along a deserted street. They will immediately become leery of each other. They will be fearful and distrusting of each other. They may or may not avoid eye contact and even after passing each other, might look back to make sure the other has kept walking and not turned to follow them.
Change the location
by placing one of them on the shore and the other on a passing boat. Both will smile and wave at each other. The same two strangers behave completely
differently.
***
I like this observation because it
isn't really about the strangers at all. It's about the setting.
On the deserted street, both
people are sharing the same space, the same uncertainty, and the same potential
threat. They are close enough to affect one another. Every movement becomes
meaningful. A glance can be interpreted. A change in pace can raise suspicion.
The darkness and isolation write part of the story before either person does
anything.
Put one of them on a passing boat
and the equation changes. Distance removes danger. The two people now have no
claim on each other's space and almost no ability to affect one another.
Instead of wondering, "What does this person want from me?" they
wonder, "Who is that?" Curiosity replaces caution. A wave becomes an
acknowledgment of a shared experience rather than a possible prelude to
trouble.
It's strange how little of human
behavior is actually about the people themselves. We often think we're judging
character when we're really reacting to circumstances. The same stranger who
appears suspicious in an empty parking garage becomes friendly while walking a
dog, trustworthy while pushing a shopping cart, and charming while sitting in a
boat.
It really is all very complicated.
We don't just meet people. We meet locations, lighting, distances, noises,
expectations, and hundreds of little assumptions all at the same time. The
stranger remains unchanged, yet the story we invent about them changes
completely. Sometimes all it takes is thirty feet of water between two people
for fear to become a friendly wave.
Walking along Main Street I can see a variety of store fronts and businesses, both old and new. Of course, the bakery comes with its own aromas, even though the display of treats in the window causes more folks to slow down than does our traffic light.
The Yarn Shop occupies the bottom floor of the next building, The upstairs is our local newspaper office, The Excited Utterance. and next door to that is an attorney’s office. Not much of a window display, just wedding cake toppers facing away from each other.
Our town is too small
and out of the way to have a Starbucks, but we do have a bookstore, The Worm
Farm, packed with new and used books, along with over-stuffed chairs and quiet classical
music. An assortment of ceramic mugs line the back wall next to the free coffee. Locals supply their own mug but Sally, the owner of The Worm Farm keeps them washed.
It is parallel parking along both sides of Main, and only one traffic light that forever flashes yellow. I seriously doubt a horn has ever been honked here.
ZC
Many states from here, sitting at her desk, she received my letter. She doesn’t know me or has ever heard of me, and yet she answered with a letter of her own. A postman neither of us know, carried the letters back and forth between states.
None of us will ever meet. The relationship is mostly non-existent. It was just a letter. She recognized her name on the envelope and I recognized mine, but the postman had no clue about either.
The pen pals across the country are like the strands of a spider web, stretching across, back and forth, here and there. The information traveling on those thin threads are like droplets of dew, barely attached and reflecting a light that is hardly noticed.
Just as the spider represents the element of danger on his web, so has the web of pen pals its own danger. Sinister and predatory pens can hide in corners and along shadows, just as fishing can tug on something hungry with teeth. It is the risk of the unknown.
This Blog has removed
the danger and the postage. It arrives
as planned but with no guarantees another will follow. The unknown has shifted.
I never use gravy
and I don’t use salad dressing.
I don’t add cream to my coffee
but I do add sugar.
I use very few facts when writing
and sprinkle commas on everything.
I don’t care what time it is
but I never fail to wind my watch.
I should add here that my watch has never
worked.
I like the old black and white movies
just as I like black and white photography
better than color.
The number of people telling me what foods
are bad for me, has almost grown as large as the varieties of foods that will supposedly
kill me.
I’m guessing it is the fur on the squirrels
that keeps them from being annoyed by the morning dew on the lawn. I’m just saying, I see them hopping all
through the grass and none of them are a bit concerned about getting wet.
I have never seen squirrels use gravy or
salad dressing either, and I doubt they care at all about punctuation.
