Mostly Anecdotal

Friendship is important, and good friends are hard to come by. I would never discard a friend for a mere trifle, but recently a friend put my philosophy to the test.

“I don’t wipe anymore,” he said.

“You don’t wipe,” I said.

“I haven’t wiped all winter,” he said, “my wiper is broken.”

“Your wiper is broken,” I said.

“Yes, my wiper is broken.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Well the last time I tried to wipe nothing happened,” he said.

“Nothing happened?”

“That’s what I said, nothing happened.”

“I think this is the kind of problem you need to solve,” I said.

“I’ve tried,” he said, “I ordered a new one.”

“You ordered a new one; what does that mean?” I said.

“I ordered a new motor,” he said.

“Huh”

“I tried to get one on the cheap, but found that I could only get one from the source,” he said.

“You don’t mean from God do you?” I said. “You’re not going to quote scripture to me now are you?” There’s a time for wiping and a time to refrain from wiping; Ecclesiastes 3:?.

“Of course not, I mean the Toyota dealership, my car’s wiper motor is on the blink, I need a new one,” he said.

“Ha ha! I’ll bet you think you’re clever, a funny guy, don’t you?”

“Hey, there’s nothing funny about not being able to wipe.”

Jon was excited, sitting on the seat next to him was his copy of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. Jon had read every Potter book, he had even memorized the last line of The Half Blood Prince, the sixth book.

His hand closed automatically around the fake Horcrux, but in spite of everything, in spite of the dark and twisting path he saw stretching ahead for himself, in spite of the final meeting with Voldemort he knew must come, whether in a month, in a year, or in ten, he felt his heart lift at the thought that there was still one last golden day of peace left to enjoy with Ron and Hermione.

He took his book, went inside, and sat down in his favorite chair. He was ready to begin reading when Mary, his wife said, “Dinner’s on the table.” He’d waited two years for this moment, and a few minutes more or less was fine with him.

Dinner was a pizza his wife had picked up on her way home from work. Mushrooms, pineapple, Canadian bacon, and double the cheese were waiting for him when he sat down. He was hungry, and was on his second piece when his wife finished, walked over and picked up his book and started reading.

“Hey,” he said, “don’t get interested in that I’m reading it first.” Frankly, he was a little surprised she’d picked it up. She’d watched the movies and had even read the first book, but she was not what you’d call a reader.

“Don’t worry,” she said, “this won’t take long and she flipped to the last chapter and started reading.”

Jon choked on his pizza, “what the hell,” he sputtered. She didn’t answer and continued to read. “You’re reading the ending,” he said. She ignored him.

A minute later she said “huh” and set the book down. “Don’t worry,” she said, “I won’t tell you how it ends.”

“You’ve spoiled it,” he said. “You won’t enjoy it now when you read it,” he said.

“I’m not going to read it,” she said, “I just wanted to know how it ended.”

Sometimes Jon wondered how it had gone so wrong, when they were dating she said she liked to read, it was only later that he learned she meant magazines, and not the New Yorker, or the Atlantic, well you know. “Fiction is boring,” she’d said. It was a major disappointment that he couldn’t share such an important part of his life.

I’ll see you later she said, I’m going to the gym to exercise and then Susie and I are stopping by the mall I’ll be home about 10:00 will you please TiVo CSI Miami she said, I’d like to watch it when I get home. Jon promised he would, but the more he thought about it the angrier he became. The last fucking page, how could she read just the last page of a book, any book. Didn’t she know the journey is the reward?

He sat in his chair and began to read. If the wind hadn’t picked up and he’d not heard the wind chimes he probably would have failed to notice that it was time for her program.

She arrived home just after ten, and said, “I hope you remembered to record my program.” He said he had. She grabbed an iced tea, turned on the TV, and settled into her favorite chair. She found the program in the list of recorded programs, and it started to play. “What the hell, did you watch this,” she said. “It’s near the end.” She hit rewind, but it went back only a few seconds, it was then she noticed the program length was only two minutes. “You screwed this up,” she said. “I can’t even count on you to record a program for me, and I really wanted to watch it,” she said.

“It’s there,” he said. “Right, the last two minutes,” she said. “That should suit you just fine,” he said. “I figured you’d just want to know how it ended and if you watch it you will. You know what they say, “all’s well that ends well.”

It starts innocently enough, you like her and she likes you. A bit of boy meets a girl and sparks fly. She asks you to go to church with her on Sunday, and you say yes, for already you’ll follow her anywhere. The relationship deepens, you meet her parents and they like you, and you like them. They invite you for dinner after church.

You kiss her, and she kisses you. You’d like to get to second base, but you go to church instead. You embrace. You’d like to get to third base, but you go to church instead. You’re thinking below the waist and she above the clouds.

The relationship is good, but you believe it can be better. You join her church and the kissing seems deeper, more passionate. She tells you how much it would mean to her if you would go on a mission for your church. It was her church, but now it’s yours too. Everything seems possible, second base, third base—a mission?

She promises to wait for you while you serve the Lord. You suppress any doubts, but they are there, hidden behind the kisses and the hugs, hidden behind your desires. You are looking for a way out and just don’t know it yet. You say a mission sounds great, her touch makes it feel right. You spend your days wondering where you’ll serve your mission, and thinking about her.

You ask your Dad what he thinks, he once said religion, this religion was a mistake but he lets you make your own mistakes. You want to know more. You ask questions. The answers weaken your resolve, the doubts hidden behind your desires reappear; you question your belief. The answers lead you to the truth, but the kisses linger on your lips.

You tell the Church you have changed your mind. Your Mom asks why and you tell her—I’m not stupid. The Church asks you to pray about it. She asks you to pray about it. Her parents ask you to pray about it, but the prayers don’t provide any answers. They all think that when the mission call arrives, the spirit will tell you it’s true. You don’t think so.

The call arrives; they want you to serve in Florida. You kiss her, and she kisses you. She’s holding the letter, her God’s call for you to serve, she turns and gazes into your eyes. Do you feel the spirit she says, only when you touch it you respond. You see the hurt in her eyes, you reach out and take her hands; the letter falls to the floor.

I’m sorry you say, it’s you I love not your Church. You still care for her and she for you, but you’re not willing to trade reason for faith or even a trip around the bases. It may yet work out. You still kiss her and she you, but the relationship if it is to last will be built upon love and respect, not God.

We were looking for girls and there were girls looking for guys like us, well maybe not exactly guys like us, since we’d been up and down State a couple of times and though we were looking at them they were not looking at us. That’s not quite right. They were looking but not long enough to give us more than a not-in-a-million-years turn of the head in exchange for our lustful smiles. Perhaps if there had only been two or three of us instead of four things would have been different. Maybe some in our group were butt-faced ugly and spoiling it for the rest of us. Maybe a hotter car would have done it. The fact was the action just wasn’t there. It was then I decided we should take a short detour, give the girls a chance to reconsider. Instead of turning and retracing our route back down State we continued up the hill to the State Capitol Building, and away from the action, at least that’s what we all thought.

“I lived just west of here when I was five years old,” I said.

“I don’t really give a fuck,” said Gerry. “We’re not going to find any girls on your memory lane.”

I ignored him, “It’s on the right,” I said. “There,” I said pulling over and stopping. The lack of interest in my trip down memory lane suddenly changed. There sitting on the front porch of the place where I’d lived was a knockout, a babe, and she was smiling at us.

“Hey baby how’s it going,” a voice from the back seat yelled. She said nothing but continued to smile.

“Hey gorgeous how bout you come down here and talk,” said another voice. Still, she said nothing but tilted her head to the side; her hair provided a little wave to go with her smile.

I put the car in gear and pulled away convinced that our efforts were going nowhere and anxious to give State Street another try. “Are you fucking crazy,” Tom said, “she smiled at us.” The others repeated the message in less polite ways and so I drove around the block stopping in front of her house again. She was still on the front porch, still beautiful, and still smiling.

“Hey baby,” someone shouted, and then we heard his voice—where he came from we didn’t know. “What the hell do you think you’re doing,” he said. What the hell’s it to you several voices responded simultaneously. There were after all four of us and only one of him. It was then we saw the gun. “That’s my wife you’re talking to asshole,” he said. Our apologies tumbled out of the car like a kids soccer team.

The evidence that it wasn’t enough followed quickly with the sound of bones cracking and blood gushing into Gerry’s lap. The cracking was the sound of the butt of the gun meeting his nose. We were frozen in terror; I was frozen in terror. A voice, one of our voices said let’s get the hell out of here, we did.

Whenever I think about that night, a verse from a popular fifties’ song comes to mind.

Standing on the corner watching all the girls go by Standing on the corner underneath the springtime sky Brother, you can’t go to jail for what you’re thinking Or for the “Woo!” look in your eye You’re only standing on the corner watching all the girls go by

They waited in the dark. If the light came on it was because another was joining them, they waited, not knowing what the future would bring.

She waited until he was gone, then opened the door, and chose two. Only two of hundreds, perhaps with only two he wouldn’t notice when he returned. One in each hand, she led them to the dumpster where they were to hide. She told them to be quiet, very quiet.

“Someone will come for you,” she said. She reminded them that if discovered they would be returned to the room that had been their prison all these years. They said nothing, unable to speak. Others had tried to escape. The pickup delayed, they had been found, and returned to their place in the dark.

He never mistreated them, he sometimes talked to them, recounting what it was that brought them to this place and how someday soon he’d find a way, a reason, to let them return to their previous life.

He probably could have ransomed them and recovered some of the expense of keeping them, but he didn’t. He was comforted just knowing they were there. Now they were gone, spirited out on a Monday after he left, and picked up Tuesday morning before he returned. They were free. It wasn’t until later when he unbolted the door to the room, and turned on the light, that he discovered them missing.

“Where the hell is my lawnmower,” he said, “and my shovel.”

“They were worn out, you never used them,” she said. “The handle on the shovel was broken. Remember, you bought a new one, you just didn’t throw out the old one, and the last time you used that lawnmower it was spewing black smoke and making a clanking sound.”

“They were fixable,” he said. “They had some good years left,” he said.

“I know,” she said, and laid her hand on his shoulder, “but it was time to let them go.”