I’m not saying we’re living in Egypt. I’m NOT. Everyone who knows me knows my spatial aptitude is less than stellar. I don’t want to go into it here, but let’s just say proof abounds.
But the fellow next to me was getting on my last nerve . . . Okay, let me give you some background. I was in a geography class at the University of Write My Opinions On Your Test to get an A, and had slid into my seat at the last minute; having a weakness for Burger King bacon, egg, and cheese croissan’wiches, and convincing myself I had time to get one; going into the restaurant because the drive-through line was too long, and dropping some quarters on the floor which I then had to retrieve, slowing down the line. I know.
Anyway, my being barely on time is why I was seated next to a Mr. Know-It-All. All the back seats were taken by early arrivals. I hummed the chorus of It’s A Little Too Late – the one by Keith, not Chesnutt, as I passed each full chair until I found a place in the
second row. I unscrewed my thermos lid, took a sip of coffee to show the people behind me I wasn’t in a hurry, and burned my tongue.
We were supposed to be talking about Pangea and this guy kept mumbling about how Palisades Park, New Jersey was Morocco which, let’s be clear, if Morocco was anything, it was in New York, maaybe Boston. NOT that it should matter now, mind you, since we clearly have the Atlantic Ocean in between anything that might’ve been something but now isn’t. See how irritating it is? I mean, think about it. Were we learning names of cities, nations, and continents only to have a switcheroo thrown at us by the time my descendants turned 80? I was getting a headache.
This is where things went slightly askew.
The professor pointed to me (ME! As though I was the one mumbling – which I wasn’t, other than to tell Mr. Know-It-All he was giving me a headache.) and asked for my opinion about Memphis. All I could think of was Memphis, Tennessee which he probably didn’t mean (did he?) which prompted me to say a little too loudly, Egypt.
What?
Our country could’ve been Egypt years ago. Yes, I KNOW. Spatial aptitude, remember? Silence descended over the class. I have never considered silence particularly comfortable, but I’d backed myself into a corner, so I kept talking. Was that a mistake? Of course it was.
Yes, Egypt.
At this point, I decided to take a distraction tactic.
And thinking about it, Brazil and the Congo, I pointed to the map at the front of the class, were a little too cozy. No wonder they parted ways. I don’t blame Australia for wanting nothing to do with Antarctica and just wanting to be left alone. I feel that way sometimes, myself. At this point, I glared at the fellow next to me, and added just to irritate him further, And I can’t imagine Anne of Green Gables in Halifax would have wanted anything to do with Play It Again, Sam in Casablanca. Well, maybe. She certainly wouldn’t have gone for Rick, at any rate. Unless his “We’ll always have Paris” line lured her in. But – no – I don’t think so.
The professor wasn’t keeping up. Egypt?
At this point, I thought it best to give in to the silence. I folded my arms, and to my surprise, Mr. Know-It-All said, Well . . . Memphis, Tennessee was named after the Memphis of Egypt. He shrugged his shoulders in a sign of solidarity.
I stared into space the rest of the hour while the professor waxed on about this and that. I couldn’t believe I’d said what I said. I couldn’t even remember what I’d said, but I knew it wasn’t terribly scholarly.
I never liked puzzles anyway. I do, however, have a predilection for country music, which is good because after class Mr. Know-It-All asked me to a Luke Combs concert scheduled the next Saturday, and, still being in space-out mode, I accepted.
And you know what? It was nice. Fun, even. And as we walked into a Burger King after the concert and he took my hand, I began to think that maybe this world is a little more connected than I thought.
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The kitchen was equipped with a gas stove, an unremarkable refrigerator that would eventually need to be replaced, and a copper single bowl sink. Rubbing tungsten oil into its wooden cupboards could’ve taken the place of any gym workout. At least, that’s the excuse I used. Those cupboards, though. They included a bin that was part of the bottom row, and I felt like a Disney princess when I placed my bread and crackers in it. Charming!
cat who loves an hour or two in front of the fireplace while I read aloud to him. And I wonder where his little cat thoughts wander while he listens.
The meal was some of the best Italian I’d tasted in – well – ever. By the time I’d enjoyed a second helping and gelato to top it off, Chloe had coaxed from me most of the important parts and some of the boring parts of my life story, including the suffering I endured from a theory book at every piano lesson until I was 16. When I told her I thought of G7 as having to do with more politics than music, we both laughed.
So the next time she walked out of the store, I clocked out (easy to do since I work plenty of overtime) and followed her again. And again she did not return home. She went to a small white church that had sat empty for as long as I could remember. Again she jiggled the door handle just so and let herself in. Again she turned on a light. And again I sat outside into the night, this time in between some bushes nearby.
of the door handle thing). I had never noticed its existence until that evening. Another week it was what I supposed to be a garden of sorts enclosed by a stone wall, and still another, the back door of a public library after it was closed for the day. A run-down playground. A boat house. My effort to discover the why of her grocery peculiarities gave no satisfaction at all, but rather led to more questions, and I began to lose sleep.
goods. Or rice. Not many shop for fish unless it’s in a little round can. For the most part, maybe without conscious intention, customers put the same things in their carts week after week, year after year.
What. She jiggled the doorknob just right, turned on a light, and let herself in. It began to mist, but curiosity kept me crouched behind an old oil drum for the rest of the evening. I must have dozed, because when I opened my eyes around midnight, the light was off, my clothes were soaked, and she was gone.
emptied the cold coffee from her mug into the sink, and refilled it from the still-hot carafe.
make a beeline for the cheeping sounds of chicks kept in a large trough under warming lights at the back of the store. As a young man, I found satisfactory clothes there and, when I was on my own, I bought the kind of food and drink a person can actually enjoy. Tools? For home and auto, just like an insurance commercial. Hunting and fishing supplies capped my needs. In fact, I’ve often thought everything I’ve ever needed can be found at the Fleet Farm.
I’d been moseying through the aisles, stopping too long at fishing lures and probably not long enough at propane. It was because I was gazing at the new fishing lure in my hand, that I ran smack into a customer at the endcap. She nearly fell, but I caught her; and we stood there for a split second locking eyes and sizing each other up. It was uncomfortable and a little exciting at the same time. I’m not sure she felt the same way.
turned myself completely around and reaching my destination after it closed. Fortunately, there was another auction nearby the following day, and I didn’t care to return home and risk a late arrival not to mention wear and tear on my truck. It was the first time I’d ever parked in the first space in a parking lot.
$15.00 and took them to my truck to see if there was anything of value. They held some pictures taken around the 1920’s I guessed, an old set of encyclopedias, an interesting variety of electronics, and a few things I thought maybe I could sell on FBMP.