Many Pots

The problem with memory is that it is not as truthful as we believe it to be, want it to be, nor as prophetic. I’ve had dreams where I outran the Devil, and everyone knows that can’t be done. You can’t outrun a mystical figure contrived to keep us in line, civilized. If you could, everyone would be doing it, and where would that leave the collection plates?

Don’t get me wrong, God has a place, just as we do. Pretending though that it’s God’s will that makes our lives what they are, is abandoning the principles that we proclaim make us human.

When we are reduced to our animal instincts, we slip from the mud and become the evil we fear we would become given the opportunity. Our species is not known for its benevolence. Kindness is a word we have made up to give meaning to a notion we are expected to entertain, even though we do not understand its significance. When we look to the sky we can only watch ourselves fall because we realize we are the only one who can catch us, and we are too busy watching us fall to make the time to save ourselves.

When death and dying are all that remain, we find an instinct that rivals the sixth element. A concave vision of the opposite end of the rainbow. The vison of a mountain reflected in the dubious notion of forgiveness. When faced with extinction the ideals of forgiveness are usually shipped C.O.D. to whoever answers the door.

When faced with death, we are forced to contemplate the eternal flame that burns behind the notion that life is more important than the idea of life itself. Something kicks in, something we don’t understand, and don’t want to, although we feel an obligation too. 

It is possible as it is prophesized, that “we outgrow the pot we came in.” The first time I heard that, I was so confused I had to take a nap. Then it came to me like the rain in Juarez, and me without an umbrella. 

It is possible, the voice inferred; your roots can only take you so far. When you are afraid to leave the safety of the pot you have manufactured to keep from being taken by the fear that waits around the next corner, it could be all is lost. You are backed into a corner, and that ain’t easy to do in a round pot.

#

I stopped to say hi to a guy sitting on a bench by the rose garden in the park. He looked like he could use a friend, turns out he didn’t. Said he just liked roses, reminded him of when times were good, the sky was green, and the grass was blue. I left him sitting there, too big to carry, too stubborn to change.

He asked as I turned to withdraw, subtly of course, “Do you need any.” 

    I asked, “what?”

    He said if I didn’t know, he couldn’t help me. He also said, “if it was free, would it make a difference?” I said, “I supposed it might. But what would it cost?” He laughed like he hadn’t laughed in a hundred years. I smiled back, being the polite type I sometimes am when confused to the point of being civil to the uncivil.

I then did something I never do. I asked a question I was sure I knew the answer to. “You homeless by chance?” 

“No,” he replied with a slight grin of anticipation, “No chance involved. You interested in some freedom. It can be arranged.” When he reached into his pocket, I must admit I felt a little uneasy. 

“My real, honest to God name is Darwin, but you can call me Dar if you wish. None of my friends do.” His blatant attempt I could see to endear himself to me, apologize. People apologize in different ways, so I didn’t hold it against him. 

I no longer know if I can believe anything he has to say, as it seems like he’s attempting in his feeble way to confuse the issue of who he is, and who he wants me to believe he is. “My name is Ezekiel Ramos,” I tell him, just to see if it will solicit a reaction. 

“Ramos, strange name for a gringo,” he says, looking me in the eye and taking off his hat. I had no idea his scalp was a deep purple color. Not the hair, the skin on what used to be a fixture for hair, or so I assumed.

“Do you often go around telling people your name is such and such, just to see what kind of reaction you are going to get?”

I don’t know how he knew, but he was on to something. “A bit much,” I protest as he puts his cap back on. I assumed he showed me his head just to see what kind of reaction he would get, or perhaps he was just aerating his scalp.

“You travel much?” he asks again scanning the ground for edibles. 

“Enough,” I reply, attempting to remain aloof.

“Like, you leave town once a week, month, year? Only reason I’m askin is that Christmas is coming up and I might be relocating to a warmer climate, and wouldn’t want to send a Christmas card to the wrong address. They ain’t givin stamps away you know. Costs money I ain’t got, and even if I did, why would I want to give it to Uncle Sam. He never did nothing for me. Wouldn’t even let me vote. Said I needed a legal address. Told them I don’t remember reading anything about that in the Constitution, and they got upset because the likes of me was readin the Constitution. What is this country comin to when a man can’t vote without an address of his liking. Do you vote?”

“For what?” I didn’t know what to say. He’d taken me off guard. I admit it. He was up to something, but what? Voting is the basis for our constitutional republic. I know it was argued about, some thinking others weren’t educated enough to know who or what to vote for, but nonetheless, voting determines who gets to have their say, but mostly, just their way. I guess that is why it is so contentious, and so many will do any and everything to not let others have their say.

“Just askin cause so many people take voting for granted, as if they was born with the right…Oh Yah, they are. They can lock you up for not havin a home, but then they can’t define what a home actually is. You ever wonder about things like that?”

I hadn’t, so I just hung my head in concentration, hoping a divine impulse would come to me, possibly a police man who could disrupt this get together, and I could go back to a time that felt more normal.

“Why would you want to do that?” he asks as if reading my mind. 

I hate when people do that. It makes me feel like they can see right through me. See all my inadequacies. Kind of like standing naked in the middle of a crowd where everyone pretends not to look cause they know what they are going to see. That don’t make sense. See what’s happening to me? He’s got under my skin and into my head and I don’t seem to be able to prevent it from happening. 

“Sam, you mind watchin my garbage for a while. Got to go up town and place a bet.”

So he’s a gambler, should have guessed it.

“Got to check on my stocks. Did you know you get money for just picking a stock. Don’t have to work or nothin. They just give you money if the business does good or the gov’t decides it needs to do good. It’s one of those win, win, things, they is always talkin about, but no one knows what they is really talking about. You ever bet on anything? No! spose not, don’t look the type really. Too conservative. I can tell a lot by the way a person ties their shoes. You double knotted yours. That’s a sure give a way. Suggest you change your ways to something more subtle, private. 

I wear two pair of socks. Gili, my mailman, wears two pair of underwear. Says you can’t be too careful with the way people drive today.” I assumed he was referencing the old adage my mother used to pull from under the bed when she needed something more substantial than lint. 

“You never know when you are going to be in an accident, and you have to assume the first thing they do is check to see if you have clean underwear.” He seemed to like answering his own questions. 

What could I say to that. I should have known my laps in the debate would allow him another opportunity to slip something by me. Wasn’t expectin what he came up with, however.

“You ever think about the last thing you might do?” he says once again on his hands and knees, kind of crawling through the garbage. He took a deep breath and said, “Ain’t life grand.” Then he goes on so as not to lose my attention.

“I’m not talking about what you did or going to do, but the last thing. Like yelling at the kid to get off the grass and then collapsing on the walk with an aneurysm, or something as life threatening. Now if it was the last thing you did, obviously it meant that you was a goner. So what do you think? What would be the last thing you’d do if you had the chance, and knew it was to be the last thing you ever did. I’ll tell you what I would do. But first, I’ll give you a little time to think up something good. Something to impress me.”

He gets off the ground and looks off in the distance, hands on his hips, chin up, like he was Columbus. “I’d like to make a splash. Might as well go out with a bang. Let people know you been here, that you left with no regrets. I’d go up there on the bridge. I’d take off my clothes, except for my underwear. No use making a display of yourself, takes away from the point of what you are trying to do. That is the mistake so many people make. They get caught, like they is standing on fly paper, trying to do two things at once, and then neither works out. Real shame if you ask me.

Do you remember Humpty Dumpty? He made the same mistake. You can’t jump or fall off a wall, the stories never been real clear as to his sense of balance, and expect not to suffer the consequences. If you sit around waiting to be put back together again, well, that’s another mistake in its own right. Expectin someone to do it for you is like expectin your prayers to be answered. Everyone knows when one prayer is for rain, the others are probably for sunshine. It all comes down to being lucky, more so than being smart, or expectant. 

    “So you are goin to go up on the bridge in your underwear and jump. You are going to make a splash. Did you happen to notice the bridge is over the railroad tracks, not the river?”

    I couldn’t help myself. Sometimes arrogance has its benefits. It tends to reveal the truth behind the truth. Having good intentions does not make it a reputable move. It just makes it a move.

    I might have hurt his feelings cause he didn’t respond; not like him, or what I knew of him. Expected some kind of fight. Can’t see him just pretending I didn’t call out his intentions of a reputable response to… everything really. I don’t think he ever got onto just one thing. He gives me the impression he has many pots boiling at the same time, just in case.

    Sometimes it isn’t what someone says or does that gets your attention, it is what isn’t said or done. I believed he liked the idea of pulling strings, a puppet master of the third kind. Darwin reminded me so much of a guy I read about who liked to play with theories about stings and atomic bombs. I believe his name was Albert.