[lit-ideas] Sunday Story
- From: David Ritchie <ritchierd@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
- To: lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx
- Date: Sun, 27 Mar 2011 14:37:16 -0700
For two weeks we have been living without heat. The furnace broke. Bids were
slow to come in. The first repairs needed tinkering. And yet my mind remains
clear, and sound as a bell.
Woken by Garden Guy yesterday. Standing on our doorstep in his lime green
soccer shoes, he was knocking to explain that he would be working just as soon
as he had changed into his work clothes. He'd been on some local field,
practicing to get back on the U.S. National Team. Before more than a couple of
hours had passed, he wanted me to drive him somewhere to pick up more concrete.
In addition to concrete, what he really wanted was money or confirmation he
was going to be paid. Every week I've paid him when we agreed, what we agreed,
to the minute and to the dime. On Saturday this wasn't enough. He said he was
"Jonesing" about it, because government dogs rip off his checks.
In the car he revealed how the last World Cup was "thrown." "Italy, England,
France, the U.S. they were all drugged man. Not many people know this." And
then we got onto how little the CIA values his telepathic abilities and how
many millions of dollars of checks he will get one day. Then he'll move to
Arizona or Utah and turn pro and get his cancer cured.
Returned home just in time for Painting Guy's appointment. This rep from a
firm that employs college students had been trained to secure our business. He
laid a thick file folder on our dining room table, detailing where he went to
high school, the fact that he was earning a 2.4 GPA at the U of O, with some
coursework in Design... pictures of his track exploits. I thought, "I want
someone to paint the house." Also, "Wait till Garden Guy meets him."
Garden Guy claims he once was the fastest sprinter in Somewhereorother (the
location changes) California.
Painting Guy went outside to measure the house. Garden Guy ran interception.
When I went outside more than an hour later not much was happening; I could
find neither male. Had they run up to the park to test who was faster? Had
Garden Guy been jolted by seeing a version of his former self--they're both
strapping--and reacted..., who knows how? I wondered what my insurance policy
says about Garden Guy doing harm to Painting Guy, or vice versa.
I decided to keep cool. So I went inside.
It was an altogether odd week. Earlier, ghosts seemed active. I bet there
were deals, Spring specials for earthbound trips. Tootle on over. Stephen
Straker's shade suggested it would be kind to tidy up; one's wife and kids
shouldn't have to clear up an office when one pops off. He gestured, like the
ghost of Christmas Future, sweeping his arm across piles that are exact
historical recreations of those he made in his own office.
Daniel F. chatted about the news that a gay Scandinavian soccer player has come
out. And then my mother-in-law showed up. In life she was a powerful
personality, one who always had a very direct way with questions. Even when
dead, like Napoleon she drives right at the heart of one's defences.
When it comes to domestic local loons and ancestors, this week's evidence
suggests that hereabouts we're pretty much cutting edge.
David Ritchie,
Portland, Oregon
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