Lost

“Where is everybody?”

“What do you mean?”

“You are here, sitting in this booth, I can only assume there is a reason. The sign on the road says the Spring Fling was to take place here. The here, being designated by an arrow pointing in this direction. Did I miss something? Wrong day, time, city? “

“No, this is the right place. What were you expecting?”

“I guess I was expecting there to be people, cars, noise, music, even clowns as they seem to be everywhere these days. But look, nothing, nada, grass, and an empty parking lot. Please explain, I feel I have missed something.”

“You do realize this is a virtual Spring Festival. It is dedicated to all those that have wanted and needed to get together to celebrate the arrival of better times, digitally of course. You didn’t really think after the, "Winter of Our Discontent," we were going to all gather cheek to jowl, and kill each other with kindness, did you?”

“Well, of course not. I just thought we’d stay distanced, and wear masks, and, and… be careful. I just thought it was a good excuse to get out of the house and be amongst other living creatures who are not six years of age or younger.”

“So, you are one of those. I get it. I know what it’s like to be alone with just your thoughts. I know what it is to not have someone to share your most recent imaginative and possibly Nobelian thought, on how to bring communication back amidst the isolation, and the need to kill someone or something if things don’t change, and quick!”

I decided to leave while I still could. I will be the first to admit, that when killing and quick jump into the conversation, I am gone. I understand the need to feel that we play some role in how our lives are lived, but what is it they say about lemons? When you are given lemons you make…a terrible scrunchy face, your eyes water, you begin to pull your hair, no that’s not it. Something to do with lemonade. It doesn’t really matter, haven’t ever met a lemon I didn’t like. 

When I left the fairgrounds, I have to admit, I felt as though I’d been cheated. Even though I had created this vision where everything would become once again the good old days, last year, when I could go outside, come within six feet of people, and not feel like I had just received a death sentence, if someone shook my hand. Feeling depressed, as everyone claims the youth of our nation are, I too felt like jumping in front of the first bicycle I saw. But what good would it do. Probably just ruin another perfectly good bike.

Feeling like yesterday’s lasagna, delivered two days previously by a Uber driver suffering from nostalgia, who had brought the food I ordered to the Hungarian Donut Shop, thinking they were the only ones who could possibly want Italian cuisine for breakfast. Apparently, they were so confused by his nonchalant attitude involving food service, they put it in the bait cooler and forgot about it until today, when they called him back to rectify his mistake. Unprecedented things happen when you don’t pay attention. 

I have come to believe that is one of our biggest problems, substituting presumption for speculation, after having discarded attention to authenticity and a sense of duty to country, citizenship, and a God, if you can find one, that hasn’t had a hand in this pandemic for reasons no doubt, of His own. 

“Things will get better,” the guy in the booth shouted as I was leaving. He had told me with prophetic insight to look in the Sunday Comic section for a means to salvation. He said all the comedic characters portray, “real people, in real life, and they can’t get sick."

I thought about that after I abandoned the idea of committing suicide by bicycle. He was right. It’s difficult at times to take advise from a guy who lives in a booth in a deserted parking lot, but being of liberal persuasion, I make allowances for slight variations in sobriety or sanity.  I’m not proud, as they say, or presumptuous, but accused often of both, in case you were wondering.

I do believe he is on to something. I found a partially chewed Sunday paper and began to peruse the colored print for reasons to live. I did not have to wait long. Garfield, I believe said it best, “Never say your prayers on an empty stomach, it never helps.” I liked his reference to double negatives. I don’t normally pray anyway, as I am usually too busy and polite to introduce Someone, I don’t know, to things they have no right, to know. But then that may, just be me.

Perkins, this unemployed valet, and his wife, they are the main characters in the Perkins and Perkins strip. I thought they had a wonderful outlook on the situation we find ourselves in today; move. They were going to move to Holcomb Nebraska, where, although he’d have limited employment opportunity, she could continue to disparage the artist of the strip for his insensitivity regarding her physical appearance. She feels he makes her look more robust than a comedic character has a right to. Regardless, they say there hasn’t been one confirmed case of virus, Covid, or otherwise, in the entire town: population one. 

I assumed because they were not ill, and the only survivor in town was still considered a survivor, the Perkins would be in effect, immune to each other and single resident, and free to carry on their lives as any normal comic strip character, would.

I have pledged however, that I am not moving as the chances of finding happiness and contentment are as possible here as anywhere, should I find the panacea equivalent of nitrous oxide, an infinity inducing drug used by native Chicagoans to survive the cold and snow, following their two full months of summer. 

When I begin to feel the world closing in on me, I sometimes end up in places like the parking lot of the Spring Fling.

I should know better. Last year I went to the Hoboken Hopscotch Tournament expecting to see something that could make me believe once again. All I got was indigestion from the kraut dogs they serve with deep fried cheese and jalapeno extract. 

The concoction however did get my attention, which caused me to re-evaluate my life. I discovered after fasting for forty days and forty nights, as suggested, that I lost eighteen pounds and was told to find other lodgings by my landlord. 

It seems like no matter where I go, or what I do, there are always people there who can’t see the glass is half full, they can’t even find the glass half the time.

But I forge on as there is little else to do these days, but look behind to make sure you are not being stocked by someone who believes, that you may believe, what they can’t comprehend, so therefore you must be a threat to their indescribably introverted outlook on life, theirs.

I however have taken solace from the prophetic words, "Things will get better," and, "never pray on an empty stomach."  It always amazes me how much prognostication can be crammed into a comic strip character.