The call I got
A normal Wednesday morning. I wake to the slips of sunshine which had casually made their way through the blinds. The sun climbing into my second story window, beckoning me to stir from the deepest of sleep, to hurry and start my day. This had become routine. A weak yet gentle gust of wind played with the blinds projecting the sunlight into a parallel shuffle across my bed. Most tourists only dream to wake up to a warm caress of light. Only to be further comforted in their awakening into the material world by the naturally orchestrated rustle of tree leaves in the distance. Which to anyone who could appreciate it, would claim the sound to rival the greatest composers of all human history.
But something was different, something threw off the majestic natural awakening process. I was already awake. And to sit and watch the day arrive felt different. It was as if the sun was late and I had been just waiting for it to arrive. Or maybe it was the fact that I had not slept a whole night, and this massive symbol of my prolonged nocturnal solitude had just accosted me with the harsh reminder. Either way it felt a bit out of foreign. I felt foreign in my own room, my own bed, even my own skin. This a troubling feeling one that would make a person question themselves in the grand scheme of life. And so I did, but before I could properly indulge in my own personal metaphysical questionnaire. My telephone had rang. I answer.
"Hello" I said articulately, yet plain.
"Hello, Josh?"
The number wasn't familiar. What time was it? 10:00 AM, I had been pondering my life for four hours.
"Yeah, this is Josh, who's this?", still plain.
"It's me Ben, remember from New York? Ben Peirson. Ring any bells, eh?"
I had remembered him. He was a lively outgoing person who worked construction. I had just moved into town, and gotten the job. He brought it onto himself to be my friend, which I felt guilty for never calling him since I left two years ago. New York had not been good to me. My memories of New York meeting a few girls, falling in and out of love, getting punched in the face on occasion, narrowly escaping death, with a few laughs and crys in between. Most of those memories included Ben. He had been there to congratulate me on the highs and to console me on the lows. When I had fallen hard his mantra to rejuvenate my spirit was "A few beers, a hooker, good prayer. Frees mind, body, and soul." followed by the almost heart wrenching laugh. He was a husky fellow, so I always was made sure he was just trying to catch his breath and not signal for heart attack. A humble man who had made his own mistakes but somehow manages to come out on top. I envied him a bit. Ben speaks again into the receiver,
"Josh, its been forever, how ya been? I was afraid the only way I was gonna hear from you again was if you needed to borrow money. So I'd figure I'd beat you to the chase and ask you for money. Ha! Just kidding, but seriously how are ya boy?"
Like I said he was outgoing and lively, I could hardly get in a word edgewise. The questions processed in my head and responses were formulated. I figured he had more interesting things to say, so I just responded with a coy "I'm doing well, how bout you?".He didn't catch the coy projection and continued to tell me how things were going in his life and in explicit detail.
Ben had gotten married to this Latino woman who he claimed has the "nicest rack" and that I should see'em. He continued to explain that after our construction company had fallen to a bigger contracting industry. His outgoing personality shone through and his commanding gruff voice fitted him perfectly for a high up contracting position within the acquiring industry.
"I told them when they gave me the job, hey now I won't seem like a loud asshole when I tell people what to do on the site. I actually will be the asshole telling them what to do. Ha!"
He goes back to his wife, Sophia, the love of his life. Who he had only twice cheated on. That is love if I ever heard it. He kept reiterating the "only two times" as if to justify the action. He continues to joke "Hell, she's lucky it was only twice." Ben was a very confident person who felt that everything about him was great, especially his looks. Although his actual physical appearance did not back up his strong belief. I didn't want to bring him down from his high tower, I even found some comfort in knowing that I wasn't the only person kidding myself when it came self-perception. The entire conversation consisted of standard neutral replies to signify that I was ,but not, listening. Cars, homes, thoughts about having kids, how to maintain fidelity, stocks, baseball (which I don't follow), and even monkeys came up in our talk. All the while I didn't pay attention to how much time had gone by. It was 11:00, I groaned.
"What's up, man? You OK."
Apparently the groan was picked up.
"No, I'm fine."
I again felt bad for making it seem it was a chore to talk to such a friend, but the conversation seemed a bit more stressful than doing nothing and pondering the short comings of my life. The next question he asked however stunned me.
"So you living a good life, Josh?"
It was a simple question that could have been given a slew of non-nonchalant "yeahs" or maybe an f aux enthused "Great!", but this question puzzled me. How did he mean "living a good life"? I'm not murdering or stealing from anyone, so I guess I can narrow it down from there. I have a job working with kids at a elementary school. I'm actually the school nurse, there isn't a better title to give myself that doesn't require further explanation. So what could he mean. Was he really asking if I was happy? and to that I only had one response, a response that was neither here nor there, a one foot in one foot out sort of response, a response that said like I did would be a suitable response for Jeopardy.
"Yes, I'm doing pretty good..."
But something was different, something threw off the majestic natural awakening process. I was already awake. And to sit and watch the day arrive felt different. It was as if the sun was late and I had been just waiting for it to arrive. Or maybe it was the fact that I had not slept a whole night, and this massive symbol of my prolonged nocturnal solitude had just accosted me with the harsh reminder. Either way it felt a bit out of foreign. I felt foreign in my own room, my own bed, even my own skin. This a troubling feeling one that would make a person question themselves in the grand scheme of life. And so I did, but before I could properly indulge in my own personal metaphysical questionnaire. My telephone had rang. I answer.
"Hello" I said articulately, yet plain.
"Hello, Josh?"
The number wasn't familiar. What time was it? 10:00 AM, I had been pondering my life for four hours.
"Yeah, this is Josh, who's this?", still plain.
"It's me Ben, remember from New York? Ben Peirson. Ring any bells, eh?"
I had remembered him. He was a lively outgoing person who worked construction. I had just moved into town, and gotten the job. He brought it onto himself to be my friend, which I felt guilty for never calling him since I left two years ago. New York had not been good to me. My memories of New York meeting a few girls, falling in and out of love, getting punched in the face on occasion, narrowly escaping death, with a few laughs and crys in between. Most of those memories included Ben. He had been there to congratulate me on the highs and to console me on the lows. When I had fallen hard his mantra to rejuvenate my spirit was "A few beers, a hooker, good prayer. Frees mind, body, and soul." followed by the almost heart wrenching laugh. He was a husky fellow, so I always was made sure he was just trying to catch his breath and not signal for heart attack. A humble man who had made his own mistakes but somehow manages to come out on top. I envied him a bit. Ben speaks again into the receiver,
"Josh, its been forever, how ya been? I was afraid the only way I was gonna hear from you again was if you needed to borrow money. So I'd figure I'd beat you to the chase and ask you for money. Ha! Just kidding, but seriously how are ya boy?"
Like I said he was outgoing and lively, I could hardly get in a word edgewise. The questions processed in my head and responses were formulated. I figured he had more interesting things to say, so I just responded with a coy "I'm doing well, how bout you?".He didn't catch the coy projection and continued to tell me how things were going in his life and in explicit detail.
Ben had gotten married to this Latino woman who he claimed has the "nicest rack" and that I should see'em. He continued to explain that after our construction company had fallen to a bigger contracting industry. His outgoing personality shone through and his commanding gruff voice fitted him perfectly for a high up contracting position within the acquiring industry.
"I told them when they gave me the job, hey now I won't seem like a loud asshole when I tell people what to do on the site. I actually will be the asshole telling them what to do. Ha!"
He goes back to his wife, Sophia, the love of his life. Who he had only twice cheated on. That is love if I ever heard it. He kept reiterating the "only two times" as if to justify the action. He continues to joke "Hell, she's lucky it was only twice." Ben was a very confident person who felt that everything about him was great, especially his looks. Although his actual physical appearance did not back up his strong belief. I didn't want to bring him down from his high tower, I even found some comfort in knowing that I wasn't the only person kidding myself when it came self-perception. The entire conversation consisted of standard neutral replies to signify that I was ,but not, listening. Cars, homes, thoughts about having kids, how to maintain fidelity, stocks, baseball (which I don't follow), and even monkeys came up in our talk. All the while I didn't pay attention to how much time had gone by. It was 11:00, I groaned.
"What's up, man? You OK."
Apparently the groan was picked up.
"No, I'm fine."
I again felt bad for making it seem it was a chore to talk to such a friend, but the conversation seemed a bit more stressful than doing nothing and pondering the short comings of my life. The next question he asked however stunned me.
"So you living a good life, Josh?"
It was a simple question that could have been given a slew of non-nonchalant "yeahs" or maybe an f aux enthused "Great!", but this question puzzled me. How did he mean "living a good life"? I'm not murdering or stealing from anyone, so I guess I can narrow it down from there. I have a job working with kids at a elementary school. I'm actually the school nurse, there isn't a better title to give myself that doesn't require further explanation. So what could he mean. Was he really asking if I was happy? and to that I only had one response, a response that was neither here nor there, a one foot in one foot out sort of response, a response that said like I did would be a suitable response for Jeopardy.
"Yes, I'm doing pretty good..."