Days Seven

“Days Seven” is the title of a collection of six vignettes, stories and a memoir that I penned during the period from about 2008 through 2010. Below are two of my favorites. The entire book may be downloaded here or at the end of each, free of charge.

Tuesday

The Crip

I tell you, it was a really nice Tuesday afternoon and I was just sitting there minding my own business. I hardly ever get to go to the park anymore. It just wears me out to walk the six blocks–and I end up with blisters on my stumps. I suppose I could go in the wheelchair, but I hate that thing–the way it makes you feel.

And besides, I need to get the practice of walking in these things. Carrie, my rehab girl, tells me so–I go down to the VA hospital every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. We work on the upper legs. They have a weight room so I can still pump iron. Startin’ to get the hang of all this.

Anyway, when I finally get to the park, all I really want is to chill by the river for awhile. And to let Bruno run. So I sit down on this wooden bench and take his leash off since I don’t see anyone around. He’s such a little shit–I can’t believe anyone would write a leash law to protect people from a Chihuahua. Bruno doesn’t belong to me, though. He belongs to the wife of a friend in my old unit who got sent to Germany. Couldn’t take the dog–at least for now. So now I’m a dog-sitter.

Anyway, this is how it happened: Bruno is checking out some recent deposits from others of his kind when this moppet-headed kid comes up and plops down beside me. He looks like he might be eight years old and has a kite. And he is, like, filthy. I mean his face is dirty. His hands are dirty. His T-shirt and jeans are dirty. And the soles are peeling off his tennis shoes. I eye him through my Ray-Bans and he looks up at me.

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The Art of Tact and Diplomacy

My first experience with having to pay any attention to what others thought of me came at the age of five as I dutifully delivered my first report card to Mom. It was not well received and turned out to be a harbinger of things to come. Up to that time it had never occurred to me that anyone outside my immediate family other than Santa Claus would care enough about my daily activities to feel compelled to provide written commentary. In this case, that caring person was my kindergarten teacher, who, as far as I was concerned, was unnecessarily disquieted regarding my inclination to while away the time watching the squirrels play in the trees outside the classroom rather than gaily participate with my schoolmates in eating white paste and finger-painting one another’s hair.

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Speaking of Machines

“No, I don’t want to go there.”

“Turn right onto the next exit.”

“I told you, I don’t want to go there. I need to go to the grocery store.”

“Do you wish to change your coordinates?”

“Yes, dammit, I want to go to the grocery store!”

“Changing coordinates.”

“Finally, jeez.”

“Turn right onto the next exit.”

You probably think that was me having words with the onboard GPS in my car. Actually, it was Jean Luc Picard, captain of the Starship Enterprise, trying to get “Computer” on his shuttle to take him to the local Piggly Wiggly on the planet Auralia. (Whoever thought Piggly Wiggly was a good name for a grocery store chain must have been on drugs.)

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Reigning Cats and Dogs

I am a dog person. In fact, it seems that most of the members of my immediate family are dog people, although my 88-year-old mom once owned a cat. And, now that I think about it, she currently has a Chihuahua for a pet, which, size-wise, is basically a cat in dog’s clothing. Jeez, so maybe Mom is a closet cat person. Who’d a thunk it?

Dogs are trainable. Most people are trainable. So, maybe that’s why dogs and people get along so well. Cats are not trainable (as far as I know). Which is why a cat person is never really sure whether they own the cat or the cat owns them–who is training whom here? I am not the first to point this out, of course.

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Angry Transitions

The inspiration for this title came to me last evening as I watched the Syrians on the nightly news playing real-life Angry Birds among themselves. For those of you who are not already addicted, Angry Birds is a smart-phone game app where one flings various tiny cartoon birds via a slingshot at little green pigs who are hiding within various rickety structures. The little avian, which become lethal projectiles upon release and tend to explode on contact, are the means by which one pursues the objective of the game, which is to obliterate the protective structures and wipe out all those little green piggies, who have apparently gotten the birds riled up for some reason. I would recommend staying away from this app if you have any intention of continuing to include actual personal relationships in whatever may be left of your life.

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