Idle Speculation

We stood together on the sidewalk and watched as the roller purred back and forth over the new road surface. The heat emanating from the asphalt was a reminder that the seasons are changing and I was surprised at how welcome the sensation was. The kid, about four years old, was asking his mother what was going on and she explained, in a patient voice, the process. He was transfixed with the perfection of that top layer, so smooth and black. It looked like the beginning of something to him and I knew then that he had none of the doubt I harbored. It didn't look like a beginning to me, it looked like asphalt. In thirty five years he'll know what I mean.

On the highway, on the way home, I was watching the horizon, waiting for the tall buildings to rise up and tell me I was home. A day earlier I had been watching them shrink in the rear view mirror. The coming and the going blurred into one long-lasting sensation of traveling without reaching any kind of destination. It's a restless kind of movement, like shuffling your feet on a subway platform, hearing the murmuring of the people around you and testing the air for any breeze that will tell you that your wait is over.

I'm keeping an eye on that pile of garbage, waiting for the truck to arrive. Someone keeps ripping open the bags to see what's in them. The first time it happened I wasn't too surprised. Some people can't stand the mystery of what I call trash. The second time convinced me that the neighborhood is losing its collective memory and needs everything in the open to feel secure. No secrets here.

Beginning last week, my phone has been ringing off the hook with wrong number calls. My curiosity has been piqued. I lost my temper with a woman who, after three tries, refused to admit that she had the wrong number. I yelled at her that last time and then wondered for the rest of the night if there might be some unknown reason I was being targeted. I wandered down that line of speculation until I began to believe that some higher power might be trying to contact me and finally, when my imagination had me jumping at every strange noise and peering into the faces of my friends with suspicion and doubt, I imagined what I might do if I called a wrong number. I decided that having been told once I wouldn't try again. There's definitely something going on here and I'm going to find out what it is.

I was talking with someone recently about how crappy television is. I speculated, as I am wont to do, that life without cable might be a good thing. I got home that night and fell asleep to the weather channel and now I can't get that damned song out of my head. I came to the conclusion that I'm afraid of life without t.v. I was out last night and I found myself thinking, "Why am I here? I could be at home watching television." In a rational world, with a rational mind, I would have slapped myself silly to hear that. As it is, I saw a new episode of C.S.I. last night. That was all the convincing I needed. My real friends live in Vegas and it's time I got myself down there.

I got a call from the Globe and Mail people asking me to buy a subscription. The salesman seemed genuinely surprised to hear that I don't read newspapers, or rather that I read them online. I was in a funny mood and told him that I wasn't going to support a model of information gathering that was destroying the environment and that he was going to hell in a greenhouse gas handbasket. He broke from his script to deny any wrongdoing himself and said he was just trying to earn a living. I felt bad for a minute until I realized that he nearly had me offering to buy a subscription. Having caught on to his tactics, I screamed, "Not today, you cold blooded tree killer!" I hung up the phone and found the cat staring at me. I felt embarrassed and fed him an extra spoonful of cat food. He let it slide without comment.

I had another dream in which I could fly. I woke up believing that, if I had the space to get up some speed, I might get off the ground. I wondered if there was a park close by, without a lot of spectators, to give it a try. I remembered seeing a possible location on a walk last week and decided to go over there after breakfast. By the time I got out of the bathroom I had forgotten about the dream and I didn't remember it until just a few minutes ago. I was pouring a second cup of coffee when it came to me and I had to laugh at my foolishness. There wasn't anywhere near enough open ground to get off the ground in that park. Too many trees. If it doesn't rain today, I'm going down to the Arboretum. There's more than enough room to fly there.