Personal observations of one writer. Frequent references to pop culture, blues music and lifetime truths.
Monday, September 10, 2012
He's got one of those faces you see all over. The kind that you can't place because it's always out of context. He speaks to yo on occasion as if you've known each other for a lifetime. You don't know his name. In fact you know absolutely nothing about him except that you recognize his face and it keeps popping up all the time.
Today, he's really animated. Fired up because he has something to say and he's got to say it right now.
He spills out of the coffee shop and into your face. He sets the scene. Apparently some guy in there is on the phone or on his computer having a video or audio conference. He's way too loud and could care less. He forces his conversation, which is meaningless to everyone in the room, on the faint music in the background. He rapes the ambiance with his voice. He's wheeling" and dealin"' and oblivious to the reader in the room. Oblivious to 3 other conversations near him. Oblivious to the baristas, their supervisor, the guy who emotes into his journal daily with his head in his hands.
He wants you to know, this familiar face. He wants to tell somebody and it might as well be you.
You listen. He tells you he is a runner and when he hears voices creeping up on him he gets paranoid. It's because he runs, he says. He wants everyone to play by the rules. But there might not be any rules.
You understand and you tell him so.
You share his concern. A thought strikes. You say, "Maybe there should be some kind of universal symbol...a non-verbal sign a person could make to communicate that the border has been crossed." Something that says, hey bud, you're too loud, be aware of yourself and those around you. He agrees. He really agrees and lights up like the Statue of Liberty.
You suggest making the time out sign. You form a T with your hands and he's ecstatic.
He exits muttering to himself and then turns to see you enter the coffee shop.
It's quiet inside, and you still don't know his name.
Retired from full-time teaching, moved to Portland, Or in July of '06 to write a memoir of late 1960s, fly-fish on weekdays and find a writing group. Book done, nice rainbow caught and released on a Tuesday, member of The Guttery, a successful Portland writing group.
Currently supervising and mentoring beginning teachers, reading, writing like never before, and living in the moment.