Happiness

Have you ever been happy?

Not this again.

You never answer.

Because I know the answer, and you are always asking.

You are so evasive.

Of course I have been happy ....

When?

Let's see, really there are too many times to list.

Do you really think it was happiness or just what you think happy is supposed to be? 

How would I know the difference?

Really?

Well, there has to be some guidelines, something to use as to measure or whatever.

When everything just feels so right and there are no worries - the mind is free. How is that?

No worries?

Exactly.

I remember, when I was little, we were going through the country, dad was driving, I leaned out the window and waved to those girls, we stopped at that burger joint, the weather was perfect and it was .... yeah, just happiness.

Yeah, that was nice, but remember what happened next?

Yes.

So, you really want to put that on the list of happy moments?

One can be separate from the other.

True, but the latter surely takes the shine off of the former.

Whatever.

Just saying.

I always loved my alone time with him, but then again I knew it was ending soon, so there was anxiety.

What about that night with Teri?

That's a good one, that was a few hours of bliss.

H'bout sustained happiness, not just fleeting moments?

Oh, I know, that summer working at the ballpark and my first car. That was so much fun.

So true, but you have to go that far back to find something? Nothing recent?

Not really, plenty of good moments these days, remember last week at the park with the little one?

Yeah, always good times. Really, I think happiness is relative.

True, but none of my relatives.

Fill it up

I could not believe my luck as I spotted the air hose at the gas station on the corner. I swerved into the parking lot and pulled up to the hose. I spotted a worker near the front door as I stood with door open and eyeballing the hose. I quickly decided to ask about it before grabbing the hose.

"Hey, is the air free for anybody?" I motioned to the hose lying on the pavement in front of my car.

"Does a bear shit in the woods?" He smiled and spit brown liquid to his left. I immediately recognized the outline of the Skoal can in his pocket and the small bump below is lower lip.

"I guess it does." I laugh to myself, not hearing that phrase or question in years. The old neighborhood had not changed.

"Air get you only so far if that tire is leaking." He pointed to my car, seemingly trying to make a sale.

"It's a slow leak, just wanted to top it off before hitting mom's house and then heading home."

"You o'er fill it and it'll be ruint." 

"Yeah, good point, I'll stay at the recommended amount, I have a gauge." I hold up the silver tire gauge as proof, thinking I need to proof I am not an idiot.

"I can plug her up if just a hole, otherwise it'll be more work or maybe a new one."

"I appreciate it, but it is covered by a warranty, I'll take it to them tomorrow." Why was I trying to explain myself to this kid?

"Suit yourself."

"Thank you, I really appreciate it." I filled the tire and went through the motions of checking with the gauge although I had never planned to use it. I looked up and the kid was gone inside.

I sped out the parking lot towards mom's house and I kept wondering if bears actually do relieve themselves in the woods, I assume yes and there has to be plenty of evidence scattered around forests.

Surprise

[BEFORE]

“I’m pregnant,” she stood at the top of the steps looking down on him with one hand warily cupped between her legs.

“What?” His gaze drifted from Monday Night Football.

She released her hand and it fell to side. The site of blood on her hand was alarming, a pool formed on the floor.

“I wanted to say something sooner, I tried, I don’t know, it never felt right.” She shifted her weight from one leg to another and back.

“It’s okay,” he shot from this perch on the couch to be by her side. He wiped one tear from her check just before kissing it and dialing the hospital.

“But….” She looked down at the collection of blood.

“I’m going back and forth between ambulance and driving, I dunno. He eyeballed the blood wondering about the long-term damage to the oak floors.

“No, I can get a pad, let me grab some sweatpants and we’ll go.” She gingerly climbed the steps.

“I can get uber if you insist on a cab,” he talked while tapping the uber app.

“Jesus, I said PAD not TAXI – you know the things that help control the bleeding?”

“Uhm, okay.” He was dazed, but the slight smile on her face as he looked at the blood was hard to ignore. Would she have ever told him? Is this what she wanted? He walked outside to the car and pulled it to the side door.

“Here, put this on the seat,” she handed him a towel before dropping into the passenger seat. 

The drive to the emergency room was painless given the Sunday night traffic. He eyed the passenger seat hoping there was no stain. He whipped into the emergency entrance – wheels screeched to a stop.

“Here you go,” he guided her into a nearby wheelchair into the dimly lit waiting area with a only a few people waiting.

“I’m fine, you can park the car,” she tried to guide the chair herself but finally dropped her hands in her lap as he guided her down the linoleum lined hallway. 

He felt numb as she provided the necessary information to the nurse. Fatherhood was not a foreign concept with a stepson at home, but his own flesh and blood? Would it be a boy or girl? What about names? He turned and examined her and sadness enveloped him.

“You okay?” She reached and patted his hand while leaning toward him.

“Me? What about you? How is the bleeding?” The words left his mouth but he could not remember their formation. He wanted to scream, he wanted to run, but he quietly accompanied her to an exam room.

“It seems to have stopped or least only a trickle at this point.” 

“How long?”

“What? It’s only a few drops since we’ve been here, so much better.” She looked down and pulled back the pad as she talked.

“How far along?” The anger and frustration was percolating just below the surface. He wanted answers now.

“Oh, yeah, right, well I think, let’s see ten weeks? Yeah, twelve is what we discussed at the doctor last week.” She looked up into the fluorescent light while doing the math.

“Doctor? Ten weeks? Seriously?”

....

[AFTER]

“I’m pregnant,” she stood at the top of the steps looking down on him.

“What?” His gaze drifted from Monday Night Football.

She released her hand and held it up to show blood - a puddle formed on the floor.

“I wanted to say something sooner, I don’t know, it never felt right.”

“It’s okay,” he shot from the couch to her side. He wiped one tear away just before kissing her and looking at his phone.

“But….” She looked down at the blood.

“Ambulance or drive, I dunno. He eyeballed the blood wondering about the long-term damage to the floor.

“No, I can get a pad, let me grab some sweatpants and we’ll go.” She disappeared into their bedroom.

“I can get uber” he talked while looking for the uber app.

“Jesus, I said PAD not CAB – you know the things that help with bleeding?”

“Okay.” He was dazed by  the slight smile on her face. Would she have ever told him? Why hadn't she told him? He walked outside to the car and pulled to the side door.

“Here, put this on the seat,” she handed him a towel before dropping into the seat. 

The drive was painless given it was a Sunday night. He eyed the passenger seat before whipping into the emergency entrance.

“Here you go,” he guided her into a nearby wheelchair and then almost empty waiting room.

“I’m fine, you can park the car,” she tried to guide the chair herself but gave up as he guided it down the hallway. 

He felt numb as she talked to the nurse. Fatherhood was not a foreign concept with a stepson at home, but his own flesh and blood? Would it be a boy or girl? What about names? He turned and examined her and sadness overcame him.

“You okay?” She reached and patted his hand.

“Sure, what about you?” The words robotically left his mouth. He always seemed to say the right thing, but he wanted to scream, he wanted to run, but instead quietly accompanied to a room.

“I think the bleeding stopped.” 

“How long?”

“It’s only a few drops since we’ve been here.” She looked down and pulled back the pad while talking.

“How far along?” The anger and frustration was percolating -  he wanted answers.

“Oh, yeah, right, well I think, let’s see ten weeks? Yeah, that is what we discussed at the doctor last week.” She looked up into the fluorescent light while doing the math.

“Doctor? Ten weeks? Seriously?”

Rainy

[BEFORE]

The raindrops hit the window sill, the sky lights up and I am suddenly sitting in Mamaw's kitchen. She is baking her famous apple kuchen, baking it just for me. I can smell the rain through the screened back porch, it mixes with the dog pee as the porch is their bathroom as well. I sit on my stool and smile as she sings her favorite Eddie Rabbit song - I Love a Rainy Night - you see a rainy night washed away all of  his cares and just makes him feel good. I think of my time with Mamaw the same way. A big hug and my troubles were gone. She would send me to the utility room - washer/dryer and storage area - to fetch a bottle of soda, a bottle just for me. I'd open that bottle sitting at her table, savor every drop as she worked her magic in the kitchen or told me a story. I was one of her ten grandchildren, so one-on-one time with her was extra special. Like the Eddie Rabbit song, I always woke up to a sunny day after time with her. The power of a song to transport is amazing - Mamaw loved country music, so I am forever tied to Merle, Conway, Dolly and many more forever embedded in my memory.

[AFTER]

The raindrops strike the window as lightning fills the sky. Mamaw is baking her famous apple kuchen. The combination of rain and dog pee from the back porch is overwhelming. Mamaw hums her favorite Eddie Rabbit song as I am perched on my stool. Eddie proclaims he loves a rainy night as it washes away all of his cares making him feel good. A big hug from Mamaw affected me the same way.. I would sit drinking my own bottle of soda with her at the kitchen table doing any number of things while telling me stories. Being the youngest of her ten grandchildren had its perks. I always woke up to a sunny day after time with her just like Eddie Rabbit after a rainy night. The power of a song to transport is amazing.

Arrival

[BEFORE]

The truck crept through the entrance as he examined the numbers above the doors. He double checked his car doors  before heading inside. The kids playing near the dumpster eyed him suspiciously. The suit and tie were a warning sign in this neighborhood.

He held his breath while climbing to the third floor - the smell of urine filled the stairwell The crumpled paper instructed him to go to door on the right - number 6 - at the top of the stairs. He stood facing the door. The number nine laughed at him. A quick glance at the door on the opposite side yielded the number five. He reached out and nudged the nine upward until it said 6.

[AFTER]

The blue compact truck crawled while he searched the building numbers. He stabbed the remote button twice to ensure locked doors before darting inside. The neighborhood kids stopped and watched him, his suite and tie triggered alarms as residents wondered who was being served.

He climbed the steps two at a time while the strong urine odor stung his nostrils. He flattened the paper with his hands while confirming number 6. He held up the paper while  searching the hallway. He flipped the nine hanging lower than other times to reveal its true identity - nine. He fell and swing back and forth when he released it. He mad a fist and gave the door two loud knocks that echoed down the hallway - he heard footsteps at other doors as they snooped.

Mail

Noise surrounding me, a familiar engine humming, inching along our road. I walk and peer outside, but it was gone. I step into bright sunlight - looking in all directions, empty like a desert. The mailbox beckons me - anticipating special delivery. Walking on driveway - rocks hurt. Empty, nothing but darkness inside my mail portal, dejected while returning with nothing.

Laugh

Always find a reason to laugh. 

Unlocked

I yank the door open and step into the darkness - light bulb out again. My eyes slowly adjust as a door slams and two bodies scramble across the yard and down the street. I jog to the end of the driveway and then in their direction, bat firmly in my grip. I stop after three houses and walk back to my driveway. 

I stand for a moment, complete silence in suburbia - both soothing and disturbing. Every house is dark, except not far away, light beaming from the door I left open. I stroll past Mike's impeccably manicured yard - mums blooming. I swing the bat and strike one, then another and then another, exhilarating. I suddenly remember where I am, look around and hurry towards my house.

I open the truck door and immediately notice the missing duffel bag. Anger erupts, I hop inside, turn the key, quickly retreating and speeding down the road towards my visitors.

A quick right after speeding through the stop sign and I spot two silhouettes approaching the playground just past Dave's house - a non-stop talker that always manages to catch me when heading to the swings. I gun the engine and they turn, see me and start running. I laugh when noticing they stay on the sidewalk, but I stay near them down another block, to the left, another block and then they disappear into the woods at the edge of the neighborhood.

I stop and jump out, standing at the edge of the trees. A giant For Sale sign to my right announcing a new development. Adrenaline is pumping, the bat feels good in my hand, the truck's engine echoing against the trees. I return to the truck and stand there, surveying the door. I think of crime shows where they look for scratch marks, it is old and full of scratches. I realize that is a good description of my hands and I smile. I realize I had probably left it unlocked. A quick mental inventory of the random contents of the missing bag calms me down. I drive slowly, taking the long way home, searching for any sign of light, am I the only one awake?

New ending for tomorrow

Hey, there is dad’s friend Eddie. He gave me a Coke earlier when we were in the bar. He told me that he hoped I turned out better than my old man and everybody had laughed. That was nice of him to encourage me. Dad was smoking and Eddie told me not to start that nasty habit and end up a runt like Dad. Boy, people were really laughing.

I’m getting tired, but there is no way I am sleeping on that couch. Dad said I could sleep with him. It is so hot in the room. I hope I don’t wake him up.

I lower myself into the bed, my body disappearing behind dad lying on his back, like the sun setting behind a mountain. I lie down, staring at the ceiling, I wish it was tomorrow. The sunlight will wash over us and make everything better.

I am fine

I wake and feel the all-too-familiar weight of life on my brain, the dark cloud has returned. I am fine. I will myself from bed, robotically dress and prepare for the day. I am fine. I stand at the door, do I really have to leave the house today? My actions are the answer, as I push my body - one foot in front of the other - to the car and away we go. I am fine. I don't normally drink coffee, but it suddenly seems like a good idea - jumpstart the brain, yes, I say and join the snake of cars at Starbucks. It is bitter to taste, but I force it down. I am fine. Smiles and chatter assault me as I find my seat and setup. I am fine. I answer the many questions about weekend and current weather with no memory of what was said. I am fine. I stare at the screen, joining all meetings via Zoom, why am I here? I am fine. Problems arise that are quickly addressed, my stomach grumbles. I am fine. I avoid the lunch invitations and sit quietly in my car in a parking lot down the street, consuming food that is not good for me, but is greatly satisfying today. I am fine. Afternoon meetings whiz by as people flee the building early to 'avoid traffic'. The office is now quiet with most gone. I am fine. I force myself to wait until after 5 to leave, creeping out the back door to avoid the remaining prisoners. I am fine. Traffic is a mess, but easily navigated. The car returned safely to garage, I close the door behind me and flip shoes across the room. I am fine.

Number 9

I survey the selections in the cold case. I meet the eyes of the worker behind the counter and request a pound of turkey.

She stares back and looks away before bellowing "Number nine!?"

I look to my left and then right - like I'm preparing to cross the road. There is nobody within fifty feet of the counter. I repeat my order.

"Are you number nine?" It is a cold reply.

"Uh, there is nobody else around," I again survey the area as I answer and gesture with my hands so she gets the point.

"Sir, we have a system, you must have a number or I can't serve you," she says flatly.

"Okay, I'm number nine." I smile.

"I need your ticket." She calls my bluff.

"Are you kidding me?" I feel the anger, but the situation is insane.

"Sir, we have a system." She now resembles a robot as she utters the standard response.

I evaluate the situation with the impulse to walk away, but I really need that turkey. I don't have to HAVE it, but it is on the grocery list so it needs to be crossed off. I clench my jaw and turn to the right and walk to the ticket dispenser. I return a minute later and place the ticket on the counter.

"Can I help you?" She smiles while depositing the ticket in the trash.

"I already told you what I want," I am defeated.

"Oh, can you repeat it?"

"A pound of turkey," I point at the specific meat. I watch as she slowly (deliberate?) prepares my order.

"Can I get you anything else?" The package lands on the counter with a thud.

"No," I want to tell her she needs a number to speak to me, but why bother.

Let Love Rule

The Haddaway song "What Is Love?" immediately popped in my head with this writing prompt where he repeatedly says "don't hurt me". The trajectory of romantic love is it begins with a flurry of passion and longing while often ending with dying embers in a heap of rubble or rather a phoenix rising! The beginning can never be sustained, but the story or journey often tries to return to its fiery origin which is most often a mistake. It terms of structure, the story begins with their meeting which is followed by a lot of action (if they are lucky) that builds with unavoidable conflict - maybe existing relationships get in the way; society does not approve; apprehension from one of the parties; another character enters the picture providing an alternative or threat to the love or it just isn't meant to be and it is realized. It all climaxes (unavoidable pun) with a decision and then the dust settles. If it is ending, the relationship limps along until it is exhausted. However, sometimes it survives the knives thrown by society and the apprehensions of the lovers - it pushes through and takes a new form - it becomes one, a united duo that can conquer anything together (and often annoy those around them). There may be a few false starts in the process, but the flame keeps burning. This new, united beast is different story altogether. A Lenny Kravitz says, you gotta Let Love Rule! 

Onsite

Hey,

Everybody was in the office today. The first time I have seen most of them - in person - in two years, and I could wait another two to see them again. It was a meeting labeled "onsite planning." I showed up as late as possible, finding a seat as far as possible from the action. 

It was one of the longest days of my life, but I can't tell you much of what was discussed. I don't mean it was secret, but rather there wasn't anything useful. Staffing plans were finalized along with prioritizing projects and reviewing the budget. Stuff that I actually thought was already complete. A lot of the time I found myself staring out the window, wondering what wrong decisions led me to this place. How do you really "do what you love" when there are bills to pay?

I surveyed the group from my seat and wondered who currently had covid and how long before I would get it (again). I suggested masks, or even sticking to a virtual meeting format, but was shot down.  During lunch, there was a lively discussion regarding how often people brush their teeth - I am not kidding, they discussed how often, how long and alternative and electric options. Apparently, one guy's wife is a dental hygienist, so he thinks he is dentist. The HR guy with the yellow teeth and coffee breath said he flosses daily, I highly doubt it. 

I did find everybody's attire interesting. It was clear that the long time away from the office left some disoriented. The HR guys were formal, project managers leaned business professional and the IT folks were all over the place with one guy wearing "dress" sweatpants, I know this since he would not stop saying it. Towards the end of the festivities, I wondered if anybody would have noticed if I had not showed up.

It will pass

 I lean back, pop open a coke from the cooler, enjoying  sunny afternoon. My red and white bobber dances as the wind picks up. The bobber disappears and I yank the pole, but  the hook is empty. The sunlight disappears as I pull a worm from the box. I ensure no hook is showing and return it to the water.

"Those don't look good." I raise my voice while pointing to the sky.

"Nah, they will pass over, we are okay." He looks, examines the sky and finally speaks - pointing to the right, predicting cloud movement.

I return to my bobber with the occasional glance over my shoulder. The clouds are darkening and the smell of rain is strong.

"Whoa, those are dark." I gesture upwards while glancing at the dock in the distance on the opposite bank.

"Nah, they will pass over, maybe a sprinkle, it's fine." He stands and surveys the sky, clearly not wanting to leave.

I yank the line again, snagging a bluegill. The fish dangles in front of me, I firmly grasp before tossing in the cooler. The first rain drop hits my arm as I reach for worms.

"Uh oh."

"Just a few sprinkles, it'll be past us soon."

The sky opens just as he finishes. A clap of thunder startles me. It is suddenly raining sideways and the other side of the lake has disappeared I look to the rear of the boat as he is scrambling - the motor roars.

"We better head back, grab the anchor!" He motions to the front, behind me.

I lift the anchor from the dancing water and push us away. The intensity of the rain increases as we race across the open water.

"Is that it?" He points towards what we both think is the dock while wiping his eyes. 

"Crap, that burns."  

I laugh while getting soaked from head to toe as I realize the hair spray from his thin hair is now seeping into his eyes as the rain pummels us. He is irritated, but starts laughing as we drift up to the dock.

Just laugh

 I flip flopped on what to write about - my large nose or sense of humor. I guess the nose is visible, so it is not so unknown. I often make a joking reference to it and people will giggle - the kind of laugh that lets you know what they had been thinking all along. Anyway, I settled on humor as it how I make it through most days. If you talked to a therapist - not mine as they aren't allowed to talk about me - they'd call it a defense mechanism. That's how my family would push forward through some not-so-funny moments, we'd find humor in it, laugh and move forward. It's how I make it through most days in corporate America - find the humor in the moment or what somebody says and does. A good laugh is an elixir for the mundane nature of the work and the inane meetings. Now that I think of examples of the humor, maybe the stuff is not so funny, some of it a little mean. There was a sort of training meeting the other day and we asked for questions which was framed with "there are no dumb questions" whereas my friend asked a question and I immediately said "okay, I change my mind, there are dumb questions" and the group laughed followed by a good discussion. Wait, maybe my high school teacher was on point and the problem is my attitude.