It’s time to go

I waited for the bus uptown to get my teeth cleaned, and realized I have to do more with my life than project manage drive thru sign installations. Good money does not a good life make.

I sat in the waiting room at the dentist’s staring at the receptionist desk, dulled by the radio. The hygienest was rough with my lips and made small talk, asking questions like where do I work at moments when I couldn’t answer, so I just grunted.

I hurried down the street to get the bus back to the office and a black guy stopped me. I knew he wanted money, but I was stuck on the thought of starting a project to write about the homeless, and so I listened. He could be my first subject.

He just got out of the hospital and needed 10 dollars to stay at a shelter up that way. I asked why he was in the hospital and he looked away, looking sad, unable to speak, about to cry. (I realized it was the state hospital, and felt bad for asking. I touched him on the shoulder and said it’s okay, you don’t need to say.)

I showed him my wallet and this was my last dollar, but he urged me to go to the ATM and get more, I said no. He didn’t say thanks for the dollar, he just looked upset.

I waited for the bus and stood in the shadows, brooding. A woman got on and started talking, and never stopped. She talked and talked and talked: blond pigtails, blue eyeshadow, plastic bags full of clothes. The guy across from her just nodded.

She said The Enemy can’t give you messages in dreams, only God can. And then she looked at me and said, Because Life’s The Choices You Make, then got off the bus.

We waited at the railroad crossing and I looked at the Mexican guys in a truck idling next to us with their lawnmowers and weed whackers. It’s time to go. Am I unravelling, or starting to bloom?

About pinklightsabre

William Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose, and lives in the Pacific Northwest.
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11 Responses to It’s time to go

  1. Fantastic reflection! If you so desire, I think you would enjoy reading the three entires Daisy’s Bread ‘n Barter Chapters 1, 2, and Finale (January 2013). The tipping point starts somewhere. Mine started in July 2011, at the very beginning of my sabbatical. The tipping point starts somewhere.

    “We cannot know in advance what we need to learn, else we would not need to learn it. Therefore, we would not know who our teachers are, until we have been taught.” ~ Eric Gilman


  2. Waiting for you to bloom, it’s coming – maybe in the sunshine on the weekend?


  3. I like the part about where the dentist asks questions with tools in your mouth. Isn’t that the truth!


  4. rossmurray1 says:

    These might seem like signs, but we usually interpret signs through our own egos and biases, so it’s ultimately self-serving to believe in signs. Instead, this just might be the world’s way of telling you your mental health is relatively sound, and for that be grateful.


  5. Thanks for having us. You will have a post card in Episode 11’s video post marks that should be up by tomorrow night. 🙂


  6. kilbo says:

    The sheath unravels to release the bloom; seeking sunlight, not the gloom. Bees work their way along that flowered vine, without the aid of a drive-thru sign. The wheels on the bus go ’round and ’round, ’round and ’round, where can I find my happiness before they put me in the ground? I’ve had my fun, my jest is done, please forgive me poking fun.

    > I liked this vignette, Bill, but I’m still not sure if the description of the talkative woman talked about her, too. I could go either way. Well done.


    • pinklightsabre says:

      One of the most interesting comments e’er received! Thanks Chris…will need to re-read this…

      Sent from my iPhone


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