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Buongiorno
Edward believed that no sincere effort is ever wasted. Any investment of time and energy, he insisted, will pay off, perhaps in unexpected ways. The six months and hundreds of dollars he spent on Italian lessons seemed wasted when his cruise was canceled, but he never complained. Sure enough, when I ran into him less than a year later he introduced me to his beautiful Italian girlfriend, who was helping him relocate to Milan.
Focus
When he sincerely tried to pay attention to what they were saying, they accused him of staring and being creepy. When he carefully looked away, they complained that he was rude and ignoring them. He tried a system of looking at them and looking away in equal amounts, and they said he seemed shifty and nervous. He settled into a study cubicle at the back of the library where his presence surely couldn’t bother anyone, but the librarian sent him to the counselor’s office to talk about why he was self-isolating. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” he said.
Reading My Father's Correspondence
One of my late father’s eccentricities was that he didn’t keep copies of letters he had written. A particularly sad example is the missing letter he wrote to the famous author who was the subject of his master’s thesis. The author replied in great detail, and it is frustrating not to have the original questions to which he was responding. There are surviving letters from friends, colleagues, and relatives with references to something he wrote to them, all very mysterious because whatever it was will never be revealed. A few of Dad’s letters written to an old army buddy survive because the buddy wrote his replies on the back, and those were saved. Uncharacteristically, he saved a carbon copy of a letter he had written to a shoe company regarding the purchase of three pairs of shoes, size 7EEE.
Denial, Bargaining
I had decades of experience being young. I was good at it. I remember my youth quite well, and could do it again. I’d be much better this time, because I know much more about life and the world. I have the skills -- in fact, I feel young right now. Putting a strong, young person like me into this fragile, soon-to-expire body was a silly mistake. I deserve another chance. Don’t you agree?
We are at War
I open a window to get some fresh air, and she turns up the thermostat. I tell her to wear a sweater, and she says, “That won’t warm the air I have to breathe.” When she clamps an icy hand to the back of my neck, I jump and shudder, and she laughs. I decide to make her an appointment with an endocrinologist. Meanwhile, I sit on the porch, drinking lemonade. |
The English Teacher
I drag my wheeled book tote to the front of the room and write my name on the whiteboard. “Let's introduce ourselves," I say. "I'll start. My name is Brenda Watnik. I have a Master's degree in Creative Writing from Cal State Long Beach. I've been a teacher for ten years, and this is my third year at this college." Like all good lies, my biography contains a kernel of truth. I did attend Cal State Long Beach in my youth, although my major was Art History, and I didn't graduate. I really have been at Something College three years, but this is my first teaching job. I was hired at a frantic time when enrollment was exceptionally high and experienced teachers were in short supply; my resume was not fact-checked. "Now it's your turn," I say. "Tell me about yourselves." I have discovered that pretending to be interested in the students boosts my evaluation scores, almost as much as my generous grading policies. Something College values those scores. Highly-rated teachers make the school look good. In return for my success at charming the class, I was offered first chance at what the administration inexplicably considers the most desirable assignment in the department, "Introduction to Creative Writing." In a way, creative writing is my specialty.
Shirts
Elaine's boyfriend, Ron, had a job at an auto repair shop where the employees wore shirts with their names embroidered on the pocket. The boss didn't feel like buying a new shirt, so he gave Ron the shirt from the previous guy, Carl. All day long, the customers called Ron Carl. He got used to it. When he came home after work, still wearing the shirt, all of Elaine's friends called him Carl, and he answered to that name. I imagined that shirt being passed along for years. The person doing that job would always be Carl, until the job itself was Carl. When the guy moved on, nobody would say, "We need to hire a new mechanic." They'd say, "We need a new Carl." To this day, when I encounter a worker wearing a shirt with a name, I ask, "Is your name really Andy, or are you just wearing Andy's shirt?" It’s always the shirt.
Knighted
In my elementary school, half the boys in the fourth grade were called Larry. Officially, they may have been named Lawrence, Laurence, Larrimore, or even Larkin, but they all answered to Larry. The predictable incidents of mistaken identity brought the easily-amused class of nine-year-olds to hysterical laughter all too often. The teacher, Mr. Barnes, was not amused. He decreed that all Larrys would be called by their surnames. To me it sounded delightfully Arthurian: “Greetings, Sir Name.” |