Hear Jim Reed’s Red Clay Diary podcast: https://youtu.be/yXKU8ka3mRs
or read the transcript below:
A SOGGY DAY IN ANY TOWN
“Flash flood warning for parts of…”
A robotic voice, its syllables clear but raggedly paced and unemphasized, interrupts life in this Deep South village for a few seconds. The voice is reporting the fact that rain is a-coming.
Lightning and its rapidly tag along thunder seek my attention.
Funny how fright and fear constantly shift their subjects. One day I’m afraid of the pandemic, another day I worry about tornadoes, next moment I might be obsessing over where my meals will come from in a few weeks—or my toilet paper.
And, with enough idle time on my hands, I even wonder: just where is my waist? It used to be Coke-bottled-defined. I knew where to tighten my belt. As I morph into someone shaped like the Pillsbury dough boy, I lose my waist. Oh, well, not to worry. There will be something else to fret over any minute now.
In order to battle the forces of worry and concern, to distract myself, to make up a cheery life in order to occlude the dreary feary life, I stay busy.
I am on my way to the bookstore to spend the day cataloging and arranging, preparing for the post-apocalyptic world we hope will save and savor us.
The silence of barren streets is somewhat comforting. It tells me everybody’s in this together. It allows me to see the town itself, unencumbered by other vehicles, other denizens. For a moment there seems to be no future.
But the future always hovers, reminding me that my world is not a world worth having without the presence of other people.
And, sure enough, I pass by the father of the owner of Pop’s Deli outside his daughter’s diner, smiling and waving a box of door-to-door meals he’s about to deliver. I long for the soon-to-be day when I can sit within and see Heather’s sweet face as she chats and cooks and produces a tasty omelet while I read my morning paper and scan newsprint for signs of hope.
I pass by a few stragglers, roll down the window and wish them a good morning, make them smile despite the hard times. And here we all go forward, one asphalt stripe after another, one step prior to the next step.
Each day I park in the nearby deck, punch the down button with my elbow, and gaze out a huge window, waiting for the elevator to awaken. The deserted hollowed-out skyscraper across the street sports many broken windows and seems bereft of life at first glance.
But after months of periodically staring with nothing better to do, I notice that this lifeless structure is perhaps not yet dead and gone.
From one high-up gap-toothed window, a makeshift shade flaps in the breeze. Some days it is not there, other times it is crooked but present. This means that someone is occupying upper-story space. Someone is residing under circumstances I can only imagine.
Now and then, when fright and fear encroach, when my guard is down, I think about this ghastly ghostly building and what might be going on out of sight of passersby, out of sight of the absentee owners of this property. I wonder whether I’m the only person who knows that, high up, a life or lives may be going on.
And when fright and fear gain the upper hand, I wonder whether I’ll someday be looking for space like this to hide from the horrors.
But never mind. I have books to cherish and customer promises to keep. And the wonderful ability to brush aside all this depressive meandering in order to nurture hope and family.
There is no other journey worth considering
© Jim Reed 2020 A.D.