At 6 this evening I found I had been tided over the whole afternoon with nothing more than a little bottle of Gatorade. I had one more trench to dig and another intake to set. It would be dark in a couple of hours. Still, it seemed as good a time as any to take a break.
The closest town was Churchville. The closest real town was Martensdale. “Real” in this case means a group of houses with a gas station and a post office. Churchville has neither; Prole has one.
Martensdale also sports a school, and twenty years ago this spring I left it. I was happy to go; they were happy I went. I never looked to make sure the diploma was signed; they never looked to make sure it was there. It was a draw then.
In my day the gas station was known as K&W. It’s called something different now and is further proof that my day has passed. Beyond the name I wouldn’t have known the difference until I had either tried to rent a VCR or noticed that John, the man with the curiously long fingernail on his pinky, was no longer manning the register.
Tonight I found the heat lamp trying to culture a science experiment on the jalapeno poppers. I wagered that the heat of the jalapenos would kill anything that was attempting to grow. Had I thought it a close bet, I would have hedged it with booze from the cooler in back.
I was in the process of paying for the poppers, a Sprite Zero, and a cheeseburger hardly worth mentioning, when a former classmate walked in. We caught up, and as we did so my attention wandered down to his son.
“What’s your name?” I asked him.
His son looked surprised that I had spoke to him and bashfully looked up to his father.
“Answer the man,” his father said and pointed in my direction.
“Nolan,” the boy said quietly.
I judged him to be in fourth grade, but I asked to make sure.
“Well Nolan, I’m Dan. Your Dad and I went to school together. What grade are you in?”
“Kindergarten.” And just like that the bashfulness fell away, and Nolan began to talk. “But nobody believes that, though, because I am so tall. I’m the tallest one in my class.”
“Have you started playing basketball yet?” I asked with a touch of sarcasm hardly above his head but evidently beyond his grade.
“No,” he said in an honest and puzzled way with the same clear eyes I remember his father having when he and I were boys.
His Dad was there to pick up a taco pizza, and Nolan was excited about it. I suspected time would cure him of this, and I thought that a shame. Adults are never satisfied with the right moment unless it comes at the right time. A taco pizza is nothing to get excited about if the bills are piling up, work is a mess, and the neighbor’s dog is still fertilizing your yard. To the young, however, the time is always right if the moment is.
No junior high boy worth his keep worries where the girl he’s attempting to steal a kiss from is going to be five years down the road. He only knows she’s worth the attempt, and that the moment currently presenting itself might not come again.
“Well, Nolan, you pay attention in school. If you don’t, you’ll wind up like me, digging a ditch someday.” It was my standard joke.
“Don’t let him fool you, Nolan. He was one of the smartest kids in our class,” said his Dad.
I was trying to instill in young Nolan a certain sense of work ethic. Work hard, and good things will happen. His Dad comment, however, might give him the idea it’s mostly for naught anyway. I suppose it’s best to have the boy see the world for what it is, instead of forcing on him what we hope it to be. Maybe that’s what being a man is, after all.
Still, when he gets older he should try to steal that kiss when the moment presents itself, even if it is for naught. Tomorrow might be a foolish thing to do, but today usually ain’t half bad.
True Stories and Tall Tales 