I woke up early to blue skies over Brooklyn. I reached over to my computer and opened up Skype to call Mam, the love of my life. There was no answer from Thailand and I figured that my son was sleeping early. The time difference is 12-hours and Fenway has not been feeling well. I haven’t been feeling good either. Shortness or breath, weakness in my muscles, and a tightness around my waist.
Three succinct words describe my condition.
Out of shape.
My good friend David Tidball used to say, “I like to think of my body as the Acropolis. It’s in a state of ruins but you can tell it must have been something once.”
My friends have been amused over the years by my adoption of this quip, however this winter proved harsh to antiquity and my body has slung into a sodden shape worthy of hippo-suction. I went into the bathroom and disrobed without a narcissistic regard at my reflection. The mirror was dedicated to truth. My shower was quick. Drying off even faster. I dressed in a pin-striped suit. Black-blue was a good color for the over-weight.
After coffee and a bowl of blueberries I attempted to call Mam again. No answer. It was 8:30. My normal departure from my Fort Greene apartment was 9am. Today’s early exit was timed to include a brisk walk across the Brooklyn Bridge. C train to High Street. Tulip burst from the entrance garden. Runners hurried past the strollers. Bicyclists raced across the span. My eyes searched the south for Staten Island. My doctor lived along the crest of hills. No prescription could waste away my overload. I quickened my pace.
My arrival at the diamond exchange was tardy. Ten minutes. Sister Mary Goretti had awarded a gold star for my perfect attendance three years in a row. Never late. Never missed a day throughout 5th, 6th, and 7th grades. Manny,my boss, greeted my entrance with a glance at his watch. he liked to think of me as part-time since Inever showed up on time.
After greeting everyone at work I set up the front window with several million dollars worth of jewelry. My several calls to Mam were unsuccessful and I put my phone on my desk. Deisy, my co-worker, placed a coffee on my desk. Black. No milk. No sugar. Everything was going according to plan until I opened my online banking account.
2 extra Western Union wires for 4/19 had resulted in three overcharges.
A $300 loss.
“Fuck.”
“What’s wrong?” Manny asked from his desk. The 80 year-old had lost his hearing aid a month ago, but still could hear what ever he wanted to hear. I explained the problem and he criticized my slovenly laziness. “You’re the smartest person I know, but you think too fast for your own good.”
“That’s why I stutter. I think too fast.” I excused myself from the exchange and rushed over to the bank. The staff were helpful but couldn’t explain how my financial misadventures had taxed my account for $300. I needed to send Fenway money. He was sick. I called Mam. This time she answered the phone and I asked if she had received any extra money.
“I not get anything. Maybe you send mia luang.” Mam hated that I gave money to support my ‘daughter’ from a previous relationship. She thought I was married. Nothing could convince her otherwise. Not even the truth. In her mind she would always be the mai noi or small wife. It didn’t matter what I felt in my heart.
“I think someone steal from my computer.” I answered in a panic. Last year a Russian had hacked my account for a $600 loss. The bank had charged a supplemental insult of $200 in overcharges.
“I not steal from you.”
“I know that. Don’t worry. This is not your problem.”
Mam was on the other side of the world. She was taking care of a sick baby and her older son. The words lost the meaning in the translation. Mam phoned back frustrated at being alone. My apologies meant nothing. My mention of money angered her further. Nothing I said could bring her back to before she met me.
I was a fuck-up.
She hung up and I sat heavily at my desk.
“Good news?” Manny knows my story.
“Yeah, great.” But like everyone else in the world neither Manny nor I knew the exact ending.
Oh what a wonderful day.
Everything could only be uphill from here and it wasn’t even noon.
For a related article click on this URL
https://www.mangozeen.com/2010/01/30/new-england/big-foot-by-peter-nolan-smith.htm