Once upon a time a little pooh bear observed a panda.
Likewise, the panda observed the pooh bear, and afterwords picked its teeth.THEND
The tall man grinned satisfactorily, turned around and sauntered out into a passing aisle. Turning back toward the waiting area he noted the presence of a peculiar woman whom he had seen around town. He sized her up momentarily, and then detoured his gaze. With his back toward her, the tall man observed a customer reaching for a bottle of men’s body wash. “What in the hell is men’s body wash,” thought the tall man, “and what can it do that a can of cleanser can’t?”
The tall man’s indirect attention was diverted back to the woman as she commenced to detail her immediate life’s problems. Her audience, a heavily tattooed man with closely cropped hair, listened attentively as she laid her case before him. "They think I'm bipolar,” the woman said, a diagnosis given by some ambiguous authority, “but I don't think so! I just have ADHD, and I think it’s all the stuff I’m going through with the way my parents treat me--I think they’re my problem, they don’t treat me nice.” The tattooed man bobbed his head in silent confirmation. “My brother,” she continued, “won't let me see my nephew; I don’t know why, they don’t trust me around him.” She paused pensively, “They took pictures of his baptism--in a church, but I didn't go; they took my camera and took the pictures of him being baptized. And I know what they're going to say when they find out the pictures aren’t on my camera anymore. They’re going to say I de-e-e-leted them, but I didn't,” she insisted. Another pause, another segue, “I’m not going with anyone right now,” she offered for no apparent reason, “but I am seeing someone, but they don’t know it” They, meaning whom, I wondered? “I don't let men in my house anymore because one stole from me $4,000, and raped me. I think all my problems are because of my family. I don't think I'm bipolar, I just have ADHD."
The tattooed man turned toward her and sympathetically said, "Ye-e-eah, I used to have all that too.” A suspension in their conversation followed as their eyes locked upon the other’s. “But one thing I learned is, if you don't have to take the medication--don't take it."
The pharmacist called the tattooed man’s name, and he left with his prescription. The woman approached the counter, her eyes fixed upon the pharmacist alone. Meanwhile, the tall man stepped back to an even greater distance not wishing to be engaged in her conversation at all. “Should I take the antibiotic twice a day or once in the morning?” she asked the pharmacist. He glanced up but said nothing. She then repeated (nearly verbatim) her perceived problems and their cause.
The pharmacist called my name and the troubled woman fell silent. Upon taking leave with my stapled bag of medication, I looked the pharmacist squarely in the eyes, smiled, and said in a low, jesting tone, "I envy you." He smiled broadly and laughed.
The Elevator
The elevator door slowly pulled aside and everyone wishing to go up, walked in. The hospital’s deep, bed size elevator was full of men in suits, and women dressed to the hilt in modest splendor. A few, the tall man included, were dressed down in casual garb, and looked the part of a patient. As the doors closed behind him, the tall man stepped to the side. Facing the crowded elevator room, the tall man smiled, looked at the blank faces staring back at him, and said, “You’re probably wondering why I called this meeting?” The elevator exploded in laughter. “Ding!” The door opened, and the tall man walked out.
Alabaster Hickey
Copyright © 2008 Jonathan Aspensen All rights reserved. No part of this website, nor any of its contents, may be reproduced in any form without the express written permission of Jonathan Aspensen.
