By terry
Date: 21 August 2000
Setting the Stage
Part 1. Setting the Stage
I sit here with my mind racing a mile a minute. Excited, Fearful, Amazed. The number of emotions surging through my system is almost nauseating. But I refuse to let myself be sick. This day is too important for such nonsense. God, what do I do if she doesn't show up? As horrible as that though strikes my heart right at this moment, it’s something I never even considered.
The lake is peacefully calm at the moment. Maybe I can borrow a little of that spirit if I try hard enough in the next few minutes. The ducks are in that summer afternoon lazy mode where the sun has lulled them to tuck head under wing and dream through the midday heat. I wonder what ducks dream about? Their next meal perhaps? Or could it be something akin to us...perhaps they dream about the coming fall and the instinctual urge to migrate. Taking flight en masse, with no knowledge of why. And if they do dream, I wonder if they dream of love, or even pain for that matter? I guess any thing is possible. Ducks dreamily dreaming…. Shit, I’m losing’ it! But God, it’s working. The nausea is passing now. Thank you my fuzzy friends!
There, that was easier than I thought it would be. That sick feeling is almost gone. I have become one with the ducks. Jennie will enjoy the metaphor in that I think.
Without even knowing I was going to do it, I picked up the picnic basket and inventoried the contents for what? The fifth time? At least five when I get done, and I have no choice. I am compelled to open the wicker latch as if my hand has become sentient somehow, directed by a foreign power that resides not in my brain, but elsewhere.
If I allow the anxiety to return, it might spiral away this time. And wouldn't that be wonderful. Jennie drives up while I'm off in the bushes puking my guts out. How very mature and sexy an image is that big guy? Just the thing to woo the woman you would give your life for, now isn't it?
Is life not amazing David? I mean just think about the extraordinary circumstances that brought you here to 'become one with the ducks'. We've had this conversation before I know, but think about it. I am your brain and I cannot understand the odds, so how in the world can you understand using only your heart? Not gonna happen big guy. If lotteries had those odds no one would ever play.
It started with a simple phone call. This I remember for sure. I was on the web, browsing hither and there, when my cell phone beeped. I almost ignored the damn thing because I had not given that number to anyone yet. And I was not even gonna pick up and start paying by the minute while some telemarketer gauged my gullibility. But with every insectile bbbbrrrreeeeeepppp, my intuition started speaking. Loudly. Very loudly.
"Yea, yea enough already, you got David." I vaguely recognized a familiar voice, but for the life of me I could not place a face with the tone at first. The echo was really bad.
"Is this the same David whose dick is the same number of micro fractions as the inverse co-efficient of the square root of the diameter of his asshole?" My heart leaped with sudden recognition, not just the voice, but of the arrogant mixture of brilliance, sarcasm, and total devotion to the use of body parts, usually the more private the part, the more in your face the remarks got. Parker, but just Park to everybody but his mom.
"Well if it isn't the long tall Texan! My God, Park it has been eight years! How the hell are you?" I know the incredulity was showing in my voice. I mean it had been eight long, scary years since we had graduated from university, and not a single word had crossed the wires between up. We didn’t just drift apart, we shot apart like two rockets sharing an orbit for the sole purpose of gaining inertia to escape the gravity well of earth. He was headed for Mars; me, I was headed for Neptune. And even in this interconnected web of a world, we had managed to get by without talking even once. Don’t ask me how. Just hearing that wit and sarcasm wrapped up in his slow Texas drawl was enough to send a wave of intense nostalgia through my psyche. Longing to have him close enough to slug his arm hard enough to raise a pump knot, while getting him in a killer headlock ‘til he cried “Uncle”. Or even better yet “…yield master David…you the Man.” You know what I’m talking’ bout here. Those games we of the male species play with each other? The ones that say “I Love You”, without having to say I love you?
Well let me tell you. At the recognition of his style, at ‘knowing’ it was him, I would have gladly forgone those silly games and said the words had he been right there beside me instead of a world away. But I knew better. Park may be many things, but ‘heart-on-the-sleeve’ was not one of them by a long shot. Had I started babbling I love you and I missed you bud, he would have freaked on me big time. Flung down the phone and ran like a banshee. Like I said, I knew better. I knew ‘him’ better.
“Park, how the hell are you? Which prison you calling from? And what was her name you hound dog?” Park had a reputation you see, and it always pays to acknowledge it up front. Makes him more open, and less likely to start with the bullshit version of things. When he starts that shit all you get from him is “I’m fine, we’re fine, all manner of things is fine.” Non-answers in other words.
"David? You misogynist left over walking sperm. I miss ya’ bro. But more importantly, I have news for you. Your ears alone, my man! Now listen up, I’m only going to say this once, given the really ‘real’ way you stayed in touch bro’. You better write this down even. It could change your meager existence you call a life."
to be continued...(maybe)
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