The winds picked up and I just could not bring myself to attempt to propel my self against the bluster. I did not have the intrepid spirit of Winnie the Pooh, but I had the head smarts of a grizzled sailor. Perhaps it is just a justification of my laziness, but I could have played hockey, so it follows that I was indeed of more veteran cloth then I projected.
Never mind that I have already had a conversation with a friend, whom is a year my junior, about in-laws and baby care today. I tried to skirt the issues of my current life with him, but questions about how I work and live were brought up, unavoidable as breathing. Substitute teaching every so often, I explain how the system works so he knows that I am not really working but once every few months. A clever little excuse, which leaves me in the same bed of my youth.
I tell him about the efforts of playing hockey more often, and in some small token this really seems to impress most people. I like to think that whenever anyone actually attempts to do what makes them truly happy, that they can sense it and experience some sort of genuine joy. Perhaps our shared experience of dreams and the effort towards experiencing their realization is the only way empathy can truly be achieved.
He responds to me by saying I have, quote, so many talents man. Is there a veiled attempt to make me feel better? Did I just come off as complaining about my meager existence? I hope not, I was trying to do the opposite. Wallowing does not become me, she said.
“You’re fucking smart as hell! Or at least I remember you being smart and funny, but funny doesn’t get many people far. So smart would be the rout I’d take.”
“Smart and funny doesn't get you too far, but the alternative surely helps less. The degree to which I am both, is highly exaggerated.”
“lol. You remember our history class together where we would lose our minds over the dumb shit we would hear?”
“Haha, damn straight. One thing I always liked about you, although I am sure we probably never would see eye to eye on a lot of things, you called out some bullshit straight as anyone and would have a good laugh about it. Those were good times. I need a bottle opener.”
“Lol, true.”
“I miss those days. Kids think they know everything these days. Just like our days, save we were right, of course.”
“I always liked the fact that no matter what the current topic was in those days, we could piss off the teacher with our views.”
“I still tend to be the devil's advocate.”
He continued, “Because you and I would smash any other view of any other student in the class until they shut the fuck up. Made them feel stupid with the 15 min of info we got from CNN the night prior.”
Laughing, “I don’t remember it like that, I feel less heroic in my exploits then the paining you are selling. Do not get me wrong, I think I'd buy a frame or two from you. Perhaps It was nothing more then being a bit of an opinionated ass hole.
I realized then that I am still more or less very opinionated. However, in my decade of maturing, it seems that I have lost that edge to call people out on bullshit, and generally have become even more quiet and agreeable. My outbursts are limited to less then one a day, and while I still seem to be the devil’s advocate, Lucifer would most likely seek out alternative council after I just let a few things slight to avoid a headache.
I have not even yelled at her for ignoring me for, what feels like 30 years. Instead of having a fight, and giving up all that moxie all those Great War Vets were crazy about, there was a bit of angst and some slights followed by somewhat of a return to the status quo.
He excused himself while my mind wondered, had things to do beyond waiting for something to happen. With a take care sir, we parted.
There were a few bits of fruit in the refrigerator that were maturing. I figured in a few days they would be thrown away if they were left to sit there to gather mold in the darkness, occasionally glanced over by those in the outside world. Unless, I sank my teeth into them.
