A Halloween Visitor

Packs of kids roam the streets in colorful costumes, pelting ahead of their parents, swarming the adults on the stoops to grab handfuls of candy, shouting nonsense to each other, trading preferred treats with the cunning and avarice of silk road merchants. 

A scrum of them surround me - minions and superheroes and cuties with bearskin and wide, alien eyes - and I do my best to notice all of them, give them their due in both sugar and attention, so as the most recent wave begins to recede, one catches my eye, and I turn to her next.

It takes me a second to register that she’s not, in fact, in any kind of costume, nor is she a kid: her hair is piled in a ratted, single mass of a dread on top of her head, out from under which eyes with white showing entirely around the irises peer, while her black, shapeless dress, fallen off both shoulders, barely contains her heavy breasts that sag beneath. 

She smiles, but shakes her head when I offer her candy, and turns to Katie, saying, “I have a daughter who looks like you!”

Don’t Spook The Doctors

The new, young doctor and her even younger shadow bustle around the tiny examining room while my usual doctor goes to fight with the pharmacy about where exactly the lidocaine might have gotten to, and why it might be taking an hour to get it. They move the ultrasound machine, then move it back, do-si-do around each other, put on gloves, take them off, misplace them, leave and come back.

My dressing gown and I watch all this hubbub with mild concern. I mean, they’re doctors, so I definitely don’t ask, “How old are you?” or “Have either of you actually done this before?” because I know how that makes me sound, and it certainly wouldn’t help the case of nerves they seem to have, especially when they’re about to stick me with needles, so I keep my mouth shut.

Fall Dusk

There’s a light in the air, a gray light from the overcast sky, that pervades the park. I watch people outside the booth when it’s slow and I want a distraction from the pain in my legs. 

They move through the mild, gloomy evening, and there’s this sense of… not exactly nostalgia, maybe mild deja vu. Everyone is young and beautiful and completely unaware of the cold winter that’s coming.

In my head

“Excuse me,” the man asks me as I’m standing in the parking lot of U-Haul. “Where did you get that cart?”

“It’s not mine,” I say, looking down at the grey plastic dolly the company lets you borrow that’s piled up with merch for the upcoming market, “but I can unload this one for you.”
We go back and forth like this, with me thinking that he wants to know where I purchased this dolly and offering to unpack this one, and him trying to explain that he just wants to know where they ARE, until finally I figure it out and walk over to show him, saying, “Sorry, I’m kind of in my head today.”

East Coast Nice

“Where are you from?” the guy manning the “Road Closed” sign asks me.

The usual impulse behind this question involves me being pretty open and friendly in a conversation, which must mean I’m not from New York, Brooklyn, or the east coast - and I’m not, but I like to flex my bona fides: “Well I’ve been here almost thirty years, but I grew up in Arizona. What about you

“I’m from Connecticut,” he says sheepishly.

Come again?

 “You look like you’re having a pretty good day,” I observe. The older gentleman to whom I’m addressing these remarks looks at me me for a moment before continuing. 

“Well, I guess I’ve been perkier lately, but it’s been a rough year since my wife died,” he says, reaching down to some shelves near his feet.

“I’m sorry,” I say incredulously, “did you mention someone dying?”

Estimate

“We’ve only got help for a few hours,” Katie says as we enter the second day of move-in. “How long do you think it will take to finish this project?”

“I don’t know how long it will take,” I answer, exasperated. “I’ve never done it before!” 

Let’s Do Our Best!

Tomorrow is move in for the market, which can be physically challenging and kind of stressful. 

Whenever I would have to do the 500 yard freestyle, at a swim meet when I was in high school, I would feel sick. Just knowing the pain and the possible consequences of not doing my best would give me a sick feeling in my stomach.

I still get that, but at least I don’t worry about not giving my best.

Security Blanket

“What’s it look like?” the woman in the bright orange Home Depot apron asks skeptically.

“It’s an iPhone with a green case,” I tell her. The desperation is almost gone from my voice because I know she’s got it, and even though it’s only been ten minutes since I put down my phone for some reason in the lumber aisle of this Home Depor, relief is flooding over me.

She goes behind the counter and retrieves a phone, which is of course mine, and I can feel my blood pressure drop.

Heard That One Before

“Yeah, I’m picking up an order for Katie?” I tell the man behind the counter as I show him the email.

“Last aisle, all the way in the back,” he replies.

So I walk back there, not seeing anybody, no office, nothing until I’m almost at the end of the aisle, when I see the guy sitting in a very tiny chair at a tiny desk, perched under some stairs that are nearly low enough to smack him in the head if he turns too quickly.

“Boy, they really got you tucked in there,” I exclaim, and he smiles thinly at my lame banter.

Respect Your Elders

The young man is standing at the head of the line at the post office when we arrive, and the older woman who got there just before us doesn’t seem to notice him. Both the employees are helping other customers, so we settle in to watch.

Sure enough, as soon as the employee behind the counter finishes up with her customer, the older lady steps up to the window and starts talking, without any consideration for the guy who was waiting in line so patiently. 

But when I try to point out her mistake, the young man who was already waiting catches my eye and waves me off, content to wait while the older woman does whatever she needs to do.

What Happened?

I read her a rough draft of a new poem, one about killing spotted lantern flies, which ends with me stomping on one and dragging my foot across the pavement (in iambic pentameter, no less!).

“Jesus,” she says when I’m finished. “That’s not something I need to hear right before bed.”

“You’re such a happy boy!” she exclaims in confusion.

WAIT

The line to get in outside the Co-op is longer than I expected for a Monday at three in the afternoon (I later realized that the federal holiday probably had something to do with it), so I queued up and waited my turn.

When I finally got to the front of the line, I watched the sign reading “NEXT MEMBER” very carefully, but when it flashed for me to go in, the guy sitting at the member check in counter, visible from where I was standing on the sidewalk, put up his hand with a look of irritation, indicating I should continue to wait.

“It’s flashing,” the guy behind me said impatiently.

“Yeah, I saw, but he said wait,” I told him with a shrug, indicating the guy at the counter, and we both watched him intently until he waved me in.

Taking a Bath With Murder

Katie fills the tub while I finish typing up labels for some new pieces she made today. I can hear the water running and her sing-song voice as she chats with one of the cats, who’s joined her in the bathroom to supervise. 

The running water goes quiet as she turns it off, followed by gentle sloshing as she lowers herself into the tub. Then finally I hear the tinny sound of voices describing murder from a podcast on her phone, echoing off the tiled walls in the bathroom, and I know she’s settled in.

Timing

I key in my access code on the pad by the elevator, but I see the elevator is full, so I figure I’ll take the next one. I nod to the occupants, the door slides shut, and I wait what I believe to be an appropriate amount of time before pressing the call button.

But instead, the door that had just closed slides open again, and I find myself locking eyes with the same people. We grin sheepishly at each other, and the door slides shut again.

What’s That Make Us?

After 20 years of living literally around the corner from it (16 years for me), Katie and I finally joined the Food Co-op, and today was our first day shopping there.

Honestly, it was kinda weird. The prices were cheap, and the produce was excellent, but nobody seemed particularly happy to be there, and a lot of people seemed downright UNhappy.

Later, when we sat talking about it, Katie said, “People who join hippy communes tend to be neurotic.”

Out Damned Spot

“Move very slowly,” Katie warns me as I stand up from the couch. 

“That cat,” she continues, pointing to the off-white loaf of fur crouched sullenly beneath the dining room table, “has been running around the apartment, dragging her butt on the carpet leaving streaks, so can you pick her up and help me clean her off?”

Afterwards:“Could you please put away the cheese in the kitchen?” she asks, washing her hands in the bathroom. “‘Cause I’m never going to be clean again.”

That’s What You Get For Jokes

The doctor presses the ultrasound wand onto my leg to aim the needle he’s using to inject gel beneath my kneecap. We’re trying to alleviate some of the arthritis symptoms.

“Is it a boy or a girl?” I joke, and he laughs dutifully. Then he pushes the plunger home and an involuntary shout bursts from my lips.

Glad I Checked

“So I was just looking at the manual,” I tell the prosthesis technician who’s been fitting me for my new knee brace, “and  maybe I’m reading it wrong, but if we want to take the load off the inside of the knee, shouldn’t we crank it this way?”

He stares at the diagram for a minute. “You know, I think you might be right.”

“I’ve got three patients this morning and I guess I got it confused,” he adds quietly.

A touch of nerves

I remember in high school, when it was time to compete in one of my events in a swim meet, I would often find myself sick to my stomach - nerves, of course. I knew that it would hurt, and that there was a chance I wouldn’t do as well as I wanted to, but that there was nothing I could do about it except to give it my best. The race approached, it was inevitable, and in a little while it would be over and I would feel better.

Whenever the holidays approach, I feel exactly the same way as that teenage boy, battling his nerves - no matter how many times I’ve done it, I still get a touch of nerves.

Text to an absent roommate

Yeah, we are gearing up, becoming increasingly anti-social and feral. We miss you, at least partially because we like having another person in the house to chat with, besides the cats. I’ll ship everything this week, and we can figure out postage. I hope the show is going well!!!

Ciao Ciao

“I like the suit,” Katie says to the guys on the Vespa at the stoplight. One’s driving while the other holds a Burberry suit bag in one hand with his other arm wrapped around the driver’s waist. “Very European.”

“See, I was saying that exact same thing,” one of them says, clearly pleased to be recognized for his continental flair.

Safe Word

“I saw this thing on TikTok that said a green flag in long term relationships was turning a previously serious point of contention into an inside joke.”

The couple were having dinner with takes this in as Katie adds, “And a safety word.”

Now they look confused, so she explains. “It’s good to have something one of you can say to the other in case it gets too intense.”

Moved it when I wasn’t looking

The freight elevator is, I think, on the fifth floor, or at least it’s supposed to be. 

But when I get there climbing the stairs, my legs’ complaints a low grumble at this point, there’s no elevator. 

Now I have to check every floor, so I sigh, and trudge down, popping my head around the corner on each floor to check if the heavy metal door is open. 

Until I get to my floor, my knees and hips starting to sound like a chorus of huskies about to howl, and find the elevator, just waiting there, open, mocking me.

If Not Me, Then Who?

“I hate being that guy…,” I say as I get in the shower. 

Katie continues washing her face, but indicates with her expression that I should go on.

“… but in the book, there’s typos,” I finish, referring to a chapbook of our friend’s poetry.

“No you should be that guy,” Katie says decisively.

Debatable

We turn on the Vice Presidential debate, and get about sixteen minutes into it before we agree we are not having a good time, bro. 

A few minutes after we’ve turned it off, Katie stands over me with her first two fingers pressed to her throat.

“I can’t stand watching people arguing,” she says fiercely, “and I can’t get my blood pressure to go down.”

“It’s just so inauthentic,” I whine.

Reckless Disregard

I broke the lid of the toilet seat (don’t ask) but because of Katie’s work we have a LOT of adhesives in this house, so she fixed it.

“I know you like to jump up on the toilet seat in the morning,” Katie admonished the cat as she put the newly repaired lid in a spare room to cure, “but if you do it tomorrow you’ll end up in the drink.”

“Maybe we should cover it?” I muttered to myself.

“No.”