The End

I can't think of a lot of endings that I have loved as I usually don't want a book - that I love - to end. One fresh in my mind is Gone Girl as I recently rewatched the movie and the ending is the same as the book and the ending is just crazy. The ending is unsettling as Nick stays with Amy despite her insanity given that she is having her baby. Wow, I just reread that line and that seems like a summary of a Young and the Restless story. Meanwhile, Amy believes she has won and succeeding in keeping her husband with her forever. I read one review or summary that it highlights the complexities of a marriage/relationship, really? It makes me think of another one of my favorite books, The Talented Mr. Ripley, where the main characters gets away with everything and gets a reward at the end. A lot of books have endings where everything is wrapped up with no loose ends like Crime and Punishment where Raskolnikov goes to prison for what he has done.

Order Up!

I pulled the spray handle down and rinsed the dishes, placing them on the trays before pushing them onto the conveyor belt pulling them through the washer. Steam rolled from the floor length contraption as I, the lone worker in the kitchen, emptied the bus tubs were loudly placed on the shiny, stainless steel counter to the right. I wiped the sweat from my brow, dumping the uneaten food through the hole in the counter into the trash bin below. I looked up at the clock, nine o'clock, only two more hours before I was free with a book report needing completion for school tomorrow. I absently tugged on the trash bin. You had to be careful with how much it contained as water was deposited with the food. The result was a tripling of the weight, the one time I had let it completely full resulted in recruiting two other guys to lift it into the dumpster outside. As the washer whirred, I turned and leaned against the counter, suddenly realizing I had not seen another person in quite some time. We were nearing closing time, so where did everybody go? Where was my help? I strolled through the swinging door out of the kitchen into the open cooking area and the restaurant. There were seven, seven individuals including the manager. They were sitting, laughing, talking about who knows what with all of the customers gone. There were still tables to be cleaned, which went with kitchen duty. "There is a lot to clean back there before closing." I announced to the gathered group with no response. The irritation gathered in my system, percolating. "I really could use some help." I turned and directed this to the night manager - a man I had delivered money to a few weeks prior to cover gambling debts at a local pool hall. He raised his hands as if he had no control. The agitation within me grew, my body tense, I stood motionless for a few minutes, staring straight past everybody, through the front windows and out into the now empty mall. I could see the nearby fountain, remembering a friend and I scooping out the loose change depositing by shoppers making wishes. It was enough to buy us a pizza that night. I smiled for just a minute before turning and returning to the kitchen. I tossed my apron on the counter as the dish washer continued to run, now with nothing inside. I hit the button to shut it down. I walked to the far wall, removed my time card, clocked out and returned the time card to its slot on the wall. I found my coat and slowly put it on, one eye on the door as there was still time for somebody to step through that door and provide assistance. The silence of the storage room surrounded me before the decision was finalized. I picked up my apron before walking through swinging door again. "You'll have to find somebody to finish the dishes and cleanup now." The manager looked up and turned towards as my apron hit his face and landed with a thud on the edge of his desk. "Hey, calm down." He stood and faced me, letting the apron fall to the floor. He stepped over it towards me. "I quit!" I raised my hand and flashed my middle finger to all of them. The car started easily for a change with an uneventful and peaceful drive home.

Show Up

In the grand panorama of life, in this story, that is your own, Listen, dear graduates, to the wisdom, age-old and known, You stand on the precipice of dreams, of possibilities unfurled, Ready to etch your vibrant colors on the canvas of the world. Show up, dear dreamers, show up, let your presence shine, In moments great or humble, in the ordinary, find the divine. Awaken in the dawn of every day, every moment seize, For the magic of your journey lies in these myriad entities. Each tick of the clock, each beat of your heart, Is a chance for you, a new path to chart. Every choice you make, every step you tread, Lays the foundation for the life ahead. The classroom, the workplace, the world so wide, Need not only your mind, but your heart beside, The power of presence, so simple, yet profound, In the echo of your footsteps, let this truth resound. Showing up, isn’t merely about being there, But weaving threads of empathy, of love, of care, For life is a mosaic of moments, strung like beads, And the beauty emerges when each one intercedes. Show up for the laughter, the joy and the cheer, But also for the trials, the struggles, the tear. Show up for your loved ones, in their joy and strife, Because your presence might just be the light of their life. To show up is to honor the precious gift of time, To echo back to life, a melody sublime, It's the soft whisper in the silence, the strength in the crowd, The courage in the chaos, a voice gentle, yet loud. So show up, dear graduates, for this journey, so vast, Embrace each sunrise, be present, till the very last. Remember, every moment is but a brush stroke in your art, So show up, be present, gift the world the grace of your heart.

Namesake

I had a friend, or so I thought, in middle school and halfway through high school that shared my first name - the two Tony's. We were always cutting up and laughing in middle school, teachers would separate us to stop the disruptions. The one and only time I was disciplined was because of him - both of us standing facing the wall with hands on it like we were being searched by police. Mr. Williams proceeded to get a fellow teacher to witness as he delivered a blow with his paddle that he nicknamed The Enforcer. It was punishment for throwing water in science class that finished with a note to my Mom stating "Tony was throwing H2O in class" and my convincing her that was water and not acid or some other harmful substance. He was a Jehovah's Witness that was only a problem when we attended sporting events and his refusal to stand for the national anthem was an issue for those around us. His family called me a Worldly, but they never recruited me which seemed odd. We often played basketball together and he would demean me as teams were chosen. He would never choose me and as we entered high school the unkind treatment increased. He gravitated to more popular classmates and often ignored me until the others were not present. I detached from him during our sophomore year as his attitude worsened. Also, he basically gave up doing schoolwork since his religion discouraged higher education. It is odd to reflect on our so-called friendship and realize the pervasiveness of the bullying. One positive for myself is I faced him (his team) in a local basketball tournament a few years after high school and my team winning and my outperforming him. He tried to reconnect after that game, but I moved on to better people and friends.

Refuge

I love libraries and bookstores and the only explanation I have for that (other than loving books) is they were refuge during my formative years. I did not spend a lot of time in my school library other than assigned class time in there, but I did spend a lot of time in the main branch of our city library system. I would beg my Mom to take me there every chance possible. It is located at the edge of downtown Louisville. The building itself is grand with it described as a Victorian-style Carnegie structure. There is a library museum in the basement and a display space on the main level where art installations and historical presentations are setup. Any time I could get a ride to the library, I would walk through the giant doors and breath in the wonderful library smell. I would browse the display space and possibly learn something before heading upstairs to the main stacks. I would grab books on any subjects that were in my mind at that point plus some fiction selections. The limit was ten books at a time, and I never had less than ten. There were numerous fines to be paid, and I always had to pay with my own money. As we rode home, I would run my hands over the books, pull out the check out cards in the back and view the other times the books had been checked out. Once home, I would disappear in my room with the stack and tackle a few books - I can remember many times trodding through a book that was clearly over my head, but I tried and many other times the books were just what I needed. The books served as my companion during many hard times and the library itself was like a cathedral. My brother often teased me about the books and library and Mom never liked driving downtown, but I appreciate the fact that she did. As I reflect back on those days, I see the books provided plenty of learning and fantasy, but they also provided hope of better times which did happen. I actually lived close to the main library branch in college and it never lost its luster. While I don't go there often these days, I still provide support and hope it helps others but now the Internet offers a gateway not available long ago.

Streble

The bell rings ending fourth period, everyone grabs their belongings and bolts out the door into the crowded hallway. I put the completed handout in my folder, stack my books and stand in no rush since my fifth period class - Algebra - is only a few doors to the left down the hallway. "Mr. Patton!" I am startled as Mr. Streble approaches me, his standard disheveled wardrobe consisting of dark dress pants, plaid shirt, wide tie and well-worn brown shoes that I now know are wingtips. "Mr. Streble." "Your paper on Garfield was excellent." He reaches out and hands me the graded report with a nice fat red A at the top. "Thank you, his time in office was limited but he had a long political career before that." The assignment was a biography of a US President - any president. "Yes, your paper provided great details of his time in congress and his poor upbringing." He stands with hands stuffed in trouser pockets and grins. "It was interesting to read about somebody that is never discussed." I did not remember why I had chosen Garfield, but I had found a few books in the school library that provided all the information needed for five pages. "You actually read the books listed in the bibliography, didn't you?" "Sure, your assignment said to use two sources." I take a step back as his infamous coffee breath spreads and begins to fill the space around me. "You are probably the only one in the class that followed those instructions and read the material. You read, gathered your facts and crafted the paper. It is great." "Thank you." I am uncomfortable with the kind words. "I am serious, do not let anyone change the way you approach your work. I am not sure why you are in this level of class, but you are a great student - very smart. None of the others care about any of this." He waves his hand across the room while staring past me. "I do appreciate that." I have no clue what to say. "I am not kidding, keep up the great work, never stop." He leans in close to me and pats my shoulder. I thank him again and float out of the classroom to the next class.

The stranger cont.

I know something is amiss as my feet hit the floor Sunday morning. I look around, I am not alone - it is quiet, too quiet. I rub my eyes and forehead, unable to fully wake. I hear footsteps and then the grandson bolts through the door, landing in the middle of the bed before I can say anything. “Hey Pop Pop, it’s time to get up!” He lies back, giggling, his feet on my back. “What’s the rush?” I seize the opportunity to lie back on the bed, wrap my arm around him with a big squeeze. I just want to close my eyes a bit longer, but these quiet times with the little one are priceless. “Rush?” He whispers unequivocally and look at me. “It means hurry, like why are we hurrying? We have all day, right?” I explain while feeling dryness in my throat. I feel a lump as I swallow. I feel like coughing but somehow avoid it. “Blake at school said the F word Friday and he got in trouble. Nina helped me with math and I gave her one of my cookies.” He whispers facts or highlights from his week with his mother, it is the highlight of my week. I feel blessed to have these moments. “What is wrong with your head?” He sits up, watching me rub my temples. “Nothing really, just a headache, and I need some tea to start the day, maybe with some honey.” It was a small lie, or I think so, as my head pounds. I can close my eyes and count my heart rate with the throbbing. I am not sure if the hot tea will help, but it sounds good. Besides, this is how our Sunday morning talks end. I feel its presence with us, the stranger lurking. He bounces from bed, grabs my hand and I follow, making our way to the kitchen. Oatmeal is his favorite breakfast, so I start the process before grandma (oh yes, she loves being called that) joins and takes over. I shake a couple Tylenol from the bottle (in the back of my mind, I remember all the covid posts on the Web saying avoid ibuprofen), chasing them with water while rummaging though the cabinet for other remedies - the stranger taking over. I lower my increasingly achey body into a chair at the table as the little one finds a seat directly across from me. I smile while examining him, wondering if he had brought the stranger into the house. “You okay?” She sits a cup of tea in front of me while rubbing my shoulders. I mumble something incoherent while shaking my head yes. As I sip the tea (it does feel good on my throat), I wonder if I should isolate - it begins with a sore throat, right? “You don’t look good.” She leans on the kitchen island while eyeing me suspiciously. Thirty years together means a kind of familiarity that cannot be easily explained. “I am tired, and throat a little dry, but this weather is crazy - 70 one day, 40 the next and then all of the rain.” I motion at nothing specific with my hands. “You should go lie down. We’ll be okay, get some rest.” "Pop pop, is Godzilla bigger than King Kong?" The smile flashes in my direction from the other end of the table as he scoops up oatmeal. "Of course, he is the King of the monsters." This is not the first time I have been asked this, I know the answer because he is obsessed with Godzilla. I carry my cup and slowly return to bed. [The new part] The stranger completely consumes me over the next few days. The aches in addition to the throbbing headache explode across my body with fever alternating extreme cold with tropical heat. The covers piled on me and then on the floor and then back again. The only interesting aspect of the ordeal was the dreams - at one point I am walking the dark subway tunnels of New York and playing with rats while a stranger chases us, and then the rats chase me. It was a few days before the fever “broke” and the cough appears. The sleep was something to behold since I am a well-known insomniac. How could anybody sleep so much, but then my body reminded me of the how and why. I push forward with the commitments of my day job, but all of the coughing in zoom meetings was too much. Also, the few times I turned on my camera during calls is met with gasps and genuine sympathy and pleas to go rest and return another day. Eventually, I relent and retreat to bed and long stretches of sleep. At this point, everything comes to a screeching halt with not much fuss. The time leading up to my illness is a time of mounting tensions at home. Like a cliche, we had grown apart, each doing our own thing. “When do you think the stranger will be done with me?” I mumbled this to myself one night riding the wave of a fever. "What did you say?" She appeared at the door, wondering about the chatter. "It was nothing." I did not have the energy to explain. The many days of care somehow reconnected us - providing ample opportunity to demonstrate and accept love. "How is my patient today?" She would push open the door, mask firmly in place and disinfectant spray in one hand. At first, the precautions angered me, but I did not wish to make anybody else sick. In the midst of the covid pandemic, who really knows what to do? "I am good." I always say this even when laying on the floor covered with sweat. She caresses my forehead with a wet rag when the fever persists. She brings me food and drink followed by long talks once I turn the corner and the stranger walks away. These are talks we would never have if permitted to work and follow the routine. There was lots of talk of the many adventures, the sparks return - it is surprising to be reminded of why you are with someone. I shrug off the reminder of how many times I had mumbled the words “I don’t need you” while realizing that was far from true.