In A Way To Be Present
Kai Medina
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“You still there?”
“Yah, I’m still here.”
We leaned on each other's backs, feeling each breath travel between us. We would stare at the shelves, and clips, and thimbles until their lines were removed, and shapes free to expand into outer space. Fingers tapping signs of love onto each other’s hands as we lose ourselves to thought, and eventually to sleep. Sometimes we’ll still tap love, even when out for the count.
That morning I put on my jogging shoes, and she would don her penny loafers. It was a gift from my grandfather, because “you could never go wrong with penny loafers” he says. We headed out the door parting ways where the trees made a crooked L. I’ll see her for the afternoon taco van, and it’ll be nice. Until then, I'll jog west, and make do with what my hands can gather.
Only one good stone for the stack on the way here, but that’s a good sign. They usually only make it after a good amount of foot traffic. I always wonder who comes and drops rocks, and maybe they wonder who picks them up. The kids seem to enjoy it, and the Guardian calls it a plague on the natural world. Over here the stone stacking is not as damaging, as the news’ not-so-wrong claims focus on beaches and shorelines. Here they mark already claimed terf. I started seeing turkeys and deer more often on these jogs, and rather I wouldn’t. New real estate always brings more foot traffic onto the streets, for the good and bad.
A misplaced rock in a natural environment takes away from it and shows the intrusion. A misplaced rock here welcomes the intrusion. Highlights the fact someone did this, for as known a reason as to why we pick up rocks.
The longest stack I made lasted about a month. A week before it’s fall, I saw it shift. Call it fairies, but the reality might be more wonderful after all. Someone knocked it down. That same someone, or their more cautious compatriot, put it back together. They saw it’s value.
I made it to the newsstand with the free papers. I take one out, and gather the shovels. There's always someone looking for a snow shoveler or a hand to move some bed frame outgrown by time and sisters alike. I leave the newspaper on the top to show, ‘hey, this one isn’t full’. One would think this wasteful if it didn’t always vanish when I get back, even with a stone placed on it for security. I checked the trash once too. Don’t worry, it didn’t end up there. Once the stone was returned with a smile drawn on it.
“Thanks”
The stone said.
I just hope the stone isn’t sarcastic. People interpret these things differently, you know.
On my way home I stop by the boxes for the mail. It’s been four weeks and I still don’t know the mail person’s schedule. Do you think they could use a penpal? That could probably just bug them, and would they even be able to bring it home. The legality of letter pocketing is often most looked after.
I did it once as a kid, when mum said pen pals had potential to learn our door. If it was mail meant for another door, then we wouldn’t be worried. I picked out just the right target. Mack Dan. In hindsight I suppose that wasn’t his name, but it was my understanding of it, and who wouldn’t want a name like that. It's to the point. I like Deeve too, even if it’s just my middle name. Parents thought if they gave me a simple first name, I could choose to go and be a lot with my middle name if I so desired. I so desire, but I don’t think we see eye to eye of the frivolity of Deeve. Most people don’t. Anyway, Mack Dan could manage. They were tough enough to stop a pen pal from finding pebbled keys hidden in bushes and tossing it in a window to get in the house. But, Mack Dan wasn’t fast. See, a pen pal stirring trouble would just need to be scared off, but if I got caught being the one who brought on the wrath of a pen pal, I could run off with ease. I was seven after all, and the rest of my class was only six and a half. I had a leg up in the races.
The plan was simple. Each time me and mum went to the post office, I’d look at a new post box number. Then, on the drive back, I’d pick a sign. This was also good because I wouldn’t know their door, just their sign number. Same logic as me adding extra credit problems on half wrong homework assignments. I built up an argument for something that wasn’t the point of defense.
Each week I sent out a new letter. Different handwriting each time so I wouldn’t be traced. I sent them a polite hello, asked them about their cats, and what they thought about this new levy situation. Then they could mail a letter back to Mack Dans address, and I’d just have to check his mail each morning. The poor guy probably thought racoons were in his box, because it wasn’t easy using a paper clip to pull stuff under the mail door.
I only got one response, and am now presently surprised they didn’t think they got the wrong person's mail. It was probably because she was only a bit older than me, nine. Scandalous. A nine year old talking to a seven year on the playground would make people talk. Unless it was at four square, because they were cool enough for that. I didn’t take to four square, my head never hit the ball the way I wanted it to.
My latest stone stack is gonna be a step up if I can pull this off right. The goal is to have it noticed only from east side. Mrs.Podela always walks to and from the west, so only those passing by from the east will notice a pyramidal structure, topped with a troll rock. All I’m thinkin' is, if this can last for more than the month, maybe others will show up. Sure those would topple, but the source would still be here. We all seek the fountain of youth through different means. Mine just involves awkwardly passing by and putting a stone up there, without lingering long enough for it to be questionable. The risk lies in having a whole day before I can check from the west.
Yesterday was the first time it snowed this year, and Halloween’s still weeks away. Over in the city, a first snow is magnificent, and, well, the next exists too I suppose. I’ve been enjoying having more than one day of magnificence here, and we’re now just close enough to the bus system to get work. The library’s a little far, so we’ve been getting our own patched together in the living room. It gets harder to move each time.
…
The taco truck had a new veggie quesadilla. Good stuff. We waited for our order over the pond bridge. The county needed to give half of it to a conservation effort and half to a public park, so they split it here at this bridge over an outward stream, and out through the pond. I doubt the fish know, except through the shadows of fishermen on one end, and Great Blue Heron on the other.
It was a lovely lunch. I’d see her puffed up from work back at home tonight, and we’d go on about our day like it was laying plans for another. Good plans. The next day I saw a new rock on Mrs.Podela’s wall. Lovely.
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