It was our last night in
Yet we still find ourselves in the touristy part of town. I don’t have anything against tourists. I have something against people who don’t like tourists. They bring money and a sense of wonder the home-landers don’t have. Be gracious. But I digress…to the restaurant. They serve a Balkan/Mediterranean fusion thing. Meats, cheeses, bread, and pasta. It’s all good. And all quite a bit. We got there early, another mis-estimation of time and distance. That was a strange end to an oddly rushed day. The night before we thought there was not much left to do in the city. We should have a looked harder in the tour book as there was in fact more to see. We didn’t realize this until we had taken a very slow approach to the day. The afternoon then became quite rushed as we crammed to make trains, tours, and still get photos and actually appreciate what we were seeing. To arrive early was a nice reprieve. So we had more time to waste, just enough for all the food that came.
The place was quiet. In what feels like a cellar, but not quite that deep. Some randomly strange décor you wouldn’t notice if you didn’t look around. Not because the strange objects are not huge and glaring, but because it’s a small place with a lot of stuff everywhere, the huge strange things manage to just blend in to a room of stuff. Plus we’re hungry and tall, so we just look around enough not to hit our heads or knock stuff over. The strangest thing is the table, with chairs, food, plates, lamp, and a small pair of shoes stuck to the ceiling. I’m not sure how I feel about this. It probably took a lot of effort to get it up there, but it has absolutely no affect on the room. It is quirky though. My surface scratch of interior design. I’m done.
I wondered how many others were here because of Lonely Planet. Looking, no, listening around the room, all Americans. The couple across from me is an older one. Quiet to match the room, but comfortable, not lost. Sitting next to each other. I have yet to get how or why couples choose seating next to each other. Its being close, but don’t you want to see all of the person and engage in a little non-verbal communication? Maybe not after so many years when you just need the support of the other person being there.
The trio in the corner was odd, not just in number. A very in depth conversation about media, politics, human resources, and the
The table next to us caught my ear. A little girl was telling an older man about what it means when you take your finger; place it on your body, and making a hissing sound. “It means you’re on fire.” Kids explaining childish things in a childish way. So be it. But something kept me there, perhaps the quiet in the rest of the place, perhaps not. They are explaining to him as if they have never explained anything before. The first time he is listening to the inane ramblings of his children. Certainly "perhaps not".
A man, twin blonde girls. Blonde, as the man is not, although obviously the father. I would tell you their approximate ages, but I have no idea. I have never guessed correctly in such things. It’s like guessing the number of marbles in a glass jar, though completely different except in that I am guessing and I have no idea. He’s an older man, father age. They are girls, and they are children. Twins, except in one capacity (not their consciousness for those “obvious staters” in the audience). One girl across from me and more visible than the other, and clearly the more talkative (okay, two capacities), had a cast on her left arm. Going about everything with no regard for it, so it’s obviously not brand new. “Did you girls wash your hands?” A parent thing to say. Its one of those things that was such a big deal when you were a kid, a punishable offense, and yet not at all when you’re an adult, regardless of the ever presence of germs. A mom thing to say. Where’s mom?
The waitress comes by with more bread. He asks for another glass of wine. I know this because a glass of wine eventually arrived. He ordered in
“But why?” she cries. No. Further back. A fire. No, she was injured, but not afraid of fire, or “being on fire”. Bone crushing. Further back.
“Can we have McDonald’s for dinner?” Ugh, nag factor. Maroon5’s This Love came to life as she reached for her cell phone to start his Fur Elise (came with the phone). “How’s it going?” “We’re about to run out to the pharmacy. How’s mom?” “She’s feeling much better. Just resting now. Go run your errand. I will call later.” “Alright. Give her a hug for me.” “Will do.” What is tragedy? I rarely paid attention in any class that would have told me. If “it” is just misfortune, then there is no room for anything else (i.e. criminal acts, bad policy, god’s plan, karmic retribution, or irony). We’re all sad and very comfortable giving another point to chance. “C’mon kids, we’re going to the store.” She says with a sigh.
She says store for everything. They wouldn’t care that it’s the pharmacy. “Do you have your seatbelts on?” The same way she would have asked about washing hands. What is she on the way to the pharmacy for? Irony fanatics might think it was something horribly foreshadowing like birth control. I did. But its really just for antibiotics. It’s just that she has to drop off the prescription and wait an hour for it to be ready. An hour of quiet would have been nice, hence the sigh. Turn the engine, and it’s the news radio. That news radio every short attention span worker has going on their radio. “All the news in just a few minutes, but when that nonsense is over, we’ll get to the good stuff; traffic and weather.” She always has this on, and it’s a little depressing at first until she remembers she needs to check the traffic.
More than drizzle, but not quite light rain. Enough to make it the most dangerous time on the road, she remembers from driving school. Not driving fast, but not slow either. Enough for the conditions I think. Same for the oncoming traffic. Traffic on the radio doesn’t tell you about the many nails that are strewn across the roads all over the town, state, country, and world. How do they get there? Some big nail truck travels the world hitting bumps and dropping nails? More likely something with loose nails being transported. Even more likely a garbage truck carrying garbage that included some metal nails. But these things make there way across the streets of the world, any nobody asks. Another point for chance. The oncoming truck hit a nail, lost a tire, slipped at the most dangerous time to slip on a wet road. The driver made all the right moves, but just couldn’t hang on to it. The first hit was bad, but now knocked out of the turn lane, she had another one coming. Broken arm in the front passenger seat. Broken and bleeding in the driver seat. Bleeding on the inside.
She made it to the hospital, but not much longer. All he got was a phone call and a ton of grief. The airlines did their duty and got him back quick.
So here he is, doing what he sees as two jobs. Always figured he would do more of that, but never quite got there. He’s gonna need the grandparents’ help to figure this out. That on top of the need for time with the family that’s left. Now, having conversations with his kids, hearing stories which they have likely told many times to mom, for the first time, he orders more wine. And like kids, they are excited to tell those stories again and again to a new audience.
“Dude, we should probably head out if you want to get your name on the jam session list early enough.” “Yeah, let’s get the bill.” And we headed out.
