|
|
|
|
| |
| Signed up: |
7 years ago (10/11/04)
|
|
|
Last signed in:
|
6 years ago
|
|
Total time online:
|
1d 15h 23m
|
| |
|
|
|
Block |
|
|
|
|
|
27 year-old male from Chicago, IL
just the facts, ma'am. | Latest Post | |
|
|
Holy Kwanzaa!
I wrote an essay a while ago for an English class I had. I forgot the purpose, but here it is...
Words in Mind
Sometimes, it's really hard not to laugh.
"Holy crap, did that guy just run into that pole? Where the fuck's he going? Hey! Yeah, that's a pole you just ran into, pal. You want to walk around it." I didn't even flinch. For Scott, a loyal friend of mine for ten long and trying years, to make a comment many would consider cruel, about a situation many more would consider to be sadly tragic, was more than just typical; it was inevitable. Much like death, taxes, and bad weather (at least in Chicago), Scott's constant, disrespectful mockery of everything mock-able seemed to have carved itself its own little permanent niche in space and time. We both had just taken witness to a middle-aged, balding man, who was obviously handicapped with some sort of mental deficiency, run himself straight into a lamppost. It was the kind of thing you might remember seeing in a Helen Keller documentary, but never expected to witness first hand. I remember walking hurriedly over the sidewalk to the entrance of the restaurant we both had agreed on (I wasn't even hungry in the first place), eager to escape the uncomfortalbe anxiety that Scott's comment towards the bald man had stirred within me. A noticeably younger man, not too similar in appearance to the bald one but with a head of hair that seemed to share the same cosmic fate, shot me a hard, resentful stare, as if to say, "You little coward. You're just going to stand there and not do anything?" I telegraphed him back a "sorry" by sort of shrugging my shoulders and looking down at the floor, if that connected. Scott, oblivious to our silent encounter, continued to taunt the bald man as he slowly followed me, walking backwards, toward the entrance of the restaurant. "Okay, you're going to make ten or twelve steps forward, then five steps to the right, and you'll meet the door. It's glass so it won't bang you up as much as that post did. Good luck and good riddance."
There are certain things in all of our lives that must be dealt with and accepted, whether it be in a passively nonchalant manner or with a fair amount of disdain, in realization of the good they do for us, even if they hurt us in other ways. Relationships, of all varieties, are often like this; one must give as well as take in the constant pursuit of harmony. It's a never-ending struggle, but we'd rather strain to balance ourselves on life's tightrope, than lose that which we're balancing for. Very rarely do we see couples break up on the grounds that the man can't put up with some minor discomfort, like the banal and bothersome questioning that the woman's parents treat him to every time they eat together, for instance.
"So you do construction? How do you hold up? I hear it's hard work..."
"Nah, it's a piece of cake," I'd say. A 2-ton steel girder fell less than a foot away from prematurely sending me to the afterlife a couple days back, but at least I didn't get three of my fingers caught in a table saw like poor, old Nick (he'll never play pool again). Or fall six stories off a high beam like Jim Gallagher, his only saving grace being the fact that he happened to hit other beams on the way down, thereby breaking his fall and causing him less overall physical harm in an ironically twisted sort of way. Of course, I never say this because balance must be kept. Piece of cake. No problem. Builds character. Great way to stay in shape. Any number of these responses to hide the reality that their daughter is dating someone who, at any point in time, might get his hand caught in something sharp and rapidly moving. And who could love a son-in-law without any opposable thumbs?
"You know, Will, you ought to be grateful; what you just saw was a gift. Some people go their entire lives without seeing that shit." As we sat down to our assigned table, still littered with bread crumbs, dirty napkins, and half-empty glasses from the previous meal that the busboy forgot to clean up, Scott began berating me. "I just think you're being so selfish right now. Come! Join me in prayer and let us give thanks." Scott wasn't religious, and neither was I, but oddly enough, we often found ourselves in this situation. Our own hands clasped together, pointing upwards, eyes closed. Scott would always lead the prayer, and soon started to thank whatever omniscient, all-powerful being we were praying to for any and every random good thing that had happened to him lately. I cracked my eyes open in the midst of the service and saw the bald man and his guardian enter the restaurant, sit down at a table across the room from us and order something from the waitress.
"And thank you for the sex with Valerie, for it was indeed glorious. And thank you...for the retarded guy. How he ran into that big ass pole, we'll never know. God does work in mysterious ways. Amen." I kept my eyes on the bald man as he waved off the help of his guardian and tried, unsuccessfully, to get a glass of milk to his mouth by himself without making a mess. He lifted the glass, fumbled it, regained control, fumbled it again, and spilt it all over. His entire chin and shirt immediately were covered in the calcium-rich, dairy substance. The glass lay broken on the floor. He looked around the room dreamily unaware it seemed as his balding guardian started covering him with napkins, like you might cover dog piss on your living room floor with a newspaper. His gaze met my stare just as drool began to roll down the side of his face. "Amen," I said.
There's one paragraph that concludes the essay that I couldn't fit in. I'll type it up if anybody's interested. Thanks for taking the time.
|
| Awards | | | | The Goods | | | Name |
Abraham | | Occupation |
Ironworkers Union Local No.1 | | Birthday |
August 9th, 1984 | | Interests |
Playing (not watching) basketball playing bass guitar and listening to metal. In that order. | | Gamertag |
| | ABRAHAM'S... | | | Music |
Black Death and Grind. oh yeah and Frank Zappa. | | Movies |
The Pirate Movie | | TV Shows |
telemundo univision...anything where i can just stare at the screen and drool. | | Books |
The Far Side Calvin and Hobbes |
|
Watch
Add Friend
Invite to Group
