i woke this morning to the horrifying news that the dukes of hazzard is number one at the box office.
when i was a kid, my dad found the show its based on so insipid that he demanded it be viewed only in the cold, mildewed basement of our house. it wasn’t even good enough to make it to the main floor with such gems as fantasy island.
who are these people who made it number one, i ask? i don’t want to meet any of them. how boring does your life have to be to sacrifice two hours of it to bear witness to fake bo and fake luke yee-hawing and trying to out-car fake boss hogg? if you desperately need to see the butt fake daisy “worked so hard to get”, just grab one of the ten thousand magazines she is in and save yourself a few bucks and a bit of dignity.
this afternoon, as i found myself cleaning up cat vomit from the one carpet we have in a house full of hardwood floors (nice aim, jack), i took comfort in the fact that, while i was handling bits of half eaten food still warm from jack’s insides, at least i wasn’t somewhere watching that asinine movie.
i know who she must be the instant i see her slowly shuffling up the
alley. she is wearing a red sweater, but all I can see is pain and
loneliness. i want to reach out to her. i don’t even know her, have never
laid eyes on her before, but she must be my neighbor who recently lost her
husband.
she is walking with her eyes to the cement in front of her. she is feeble
and frail. even though it looks like she doesn’t want to talk, i call out
to her. “hi” i say from my balcony above her, a little too cheerfully. she stops in her tracks, a smile slowly washing across her face before she even lifts her eyes up to meet the person who is assaulting her with optimism.
i introduce myself as her new neighbor. i can tell her eyes are so weak, she can barely see me hovering a few feet above her. but now she is all smiles. a transformation.
we only chat for a few seconds before she tells me her husband died
recently. 5 months ago. they were together for 63 years. she starts to cry and apologizes, explaining she has had a difficult day. says she thought she would get some fresh air for a few minutes. she cant see well, so she will only walk to the end of the alley.
she walks a few houses down and then heads back alone to the house her
husband built for them 51 years ago. i call out to her again, “bye!”, too
enthusiastically and not at all like myself. but it makes me feel better. for a brief moment the smile returns and she feebly waves her hand. she looks like she could just break. i want to run out to her and fix her and tell her i will take her for a walk every evening. that i will make her dinner. that i will be her friend, her confidante, her counselor.
at dinner i am solemn. i know if rob wasn’t sitting across from me, i
would be crying.
her name is eleanor and she is my new friend.
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