Purpose

Charlotte loses her dollar from the tooth fairy, but it takes too long to look for it, and we give up.

The woman outside the supermarket is selling newspapers for the homeless, and I buy one. She compliments Charlotte’s sweater, says it reminds her of her two little girls. She’s about 50.

Inside, the kid who’s bagging my beer has a name tag that says Austin. I say I like that name, he smiles.

Sam Shepard wrote a play called True West, and Austin was one of the two characters. Randy Quaid played one of them and his brother Dennis, the other. They don’t know who I’m talking about. Google it.

We drive to the Pacific Science Center, to get out of the house. The body under the blanket could be a corpse, it has no features. It’s dry, under the bridge.

The kid who’s giving 3-D glasses outside the IMAX theater looks just like J. Mascis, from the band Dinosaur Jr. He doesn’t know who I’m talking about, but someone else said the same thing, yesterday.

The movie is about the Monarch butterfly: how one man devoted his life to figuring out their migration to Mexico. How he and his wife drove south in 1970, spent two years looking for them, found nothing.

The caterpillar’s skin splits open and forms a chrysalis. Inside, its brain and lungs change shape, it grows legs and wings, and blooms. Less than 1% make it this far: the rest die, unhatched.

We drive home to let the dogs out, get stuck at a red light, and a homeless guy who’s smacking his lips stops outside our car to inspect the trash can. I think to lock the doors, protect the girls, don’t look.

Monday. I check on the progress of the sign project, where we’re adding more signs.

There’s the real estate conference in Las Vegas: union workers unrolling bundles of visqueen, covering the concrete on the convention floor with disposable gray carpet and padding.

I chose comfort over purpose. My purpose has shifted to extending comfort to others.

Comfort is a blanket to put over the dead, the dying.

About pinklightsabre

William Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose, and lives in the Pacific Northwest.
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5 Responses to Purpose

  1. alesiablogs says:

    Are you saying the guy with the blanket under the bridge is comfortable and maybe dead? Well there is no more pain if you are dead. He is probably very much alive though. : ) Interesting Post. I enjoy your take at life. The natural instinct to take care of our own is in all of us. Locking the doors is not just a ” mother” thing. Good for you.

    Like

    • pinklightsabre says:

      Ah heck thanks Alesia: glad you enjoy my take at life. This one wasn’t quite done maybe as the logic doesn’t hold, but I was done with it and had to lob it out there, get it off my chest. Best to you and yours. – Bill

      Like

      • alesiablogs says:

        I like things written like that. There is something in your day that grabbed you and you wrote about it. I think of myself looking at the same things you are when I read your blog and wonder about my own reactions. It is good.

        Like

      • pinklightsabre says:

        That’s cool – thanks Alesia. You are the best reader I have and it’s meant a lot to me, so thank you for taking the time. – Bill

        Like

  2. alesiablogs says:

    Of course. You have had an interesting life and I mean that.

    Like

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