Morning
Glory
Matt
Levine
in issue nine: humor
Scintillations
Hair Dye Hell
Morning Glory
Made With Extra Love
My
Father's Legacy
It's A Gift
Toe Job
Need
A Laugh?
Cleaning Day
Letters to
My
Younger Self
Moody Girl
photography
Beach
Foot
Leaf
Gnome
Picnic
Tables
Flower Circus
Yellow
Bikes
poetry
Jellyfish
artwork
Cover: El
Grillo
Falling In Love
workshops
Play With Your Words
@ 826 Valencia - 1/11
Play With Your Words
Magic Money
take me back
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Issue Ten:
Free Write
Issue Eleven: Play
I’m
lucky. My job is
okay. I get paid
pretty well and my coworkers are the type of people I look
forward to seeing both inside and out of the office.
Yet lately the only thing that gets me out of bed is
the thought that the earlier I get to work the earlier I get
home.
Yesterday
I woke up at 4:30, couldn’t get back to sleep and after
tossing and turning for close to an hour I got up and off to
work earlier than ever. I
walked out the door and headed to the corner to catch the bus.
Bingo! There
it was, just up the street, meandering towards me like my own
carpool.
I
hopped on the bus satisfied and smug.
It only stopped a few times for the other early birds.
I was downtown quickly and punching my code into the office
alarm and flicking on the lights with joy.
It was 6AM and you better believe that I sent out a
couple of emails just to make sure that everyone
knew when I got in.
This
morning wasn’t as easy.
Once out the door, the distinctive clicking sound of
the bus’ overhead wires grabbed my attention. I dashed to
the corner too late to catch it and watched the lumbering
giant poking down the hill.
The bus was already half a block away.
I hesitated. Remember the golden rule, remember it, I
told myself: Never run for the bus.
There will always be another.
Save your dignity.
But
just two days before, I missed the bus by the same half a
minute so I’m panicking and anxious cause if I miss it I
won’t be able to make up another whole 15 minutes of sick
time due to the errant fates of mass transit.
The
reason I hesitate to run for the bus is simple. In life, I want to keep my poker face and avoid
admitting what I want. That
way the disappointment is so much easier to accept and anybody
walking by while I run to catch it won’t have the pleasure
of watching me die a little death of embarrassment when I’m
15 feet short of hopping on the beast.
So
there I am fighting the panic as that fucking bus is taunting
me again. I walk
calmly, try to remain cool, act not the least bit upset, but
those gerbils in the habitrail of my brain just won’t let me
be. The chatter
builds up telling me: Run baby run, you can do it, you can do
it and finally the knowledge that the earlier I’m at work,
the sooner I’m gone, propels me into action.
My
feet are moving fast now. I dash down the sidewalk, then move
onto the street. Galloping faster I misjudge the distance
between me and a Jetta and nearly rear end it.
I regain my balance and start picking up speed once
more, as I make
my move to cross the street. Suddenly
I look up and see a Buick LeSabre driven by an Asian lady with
midsize hair and I’m stopped dead in my tracks.
I can’t complete my crossing.
She is nearly on top of me, and I am certain all is
lost.
I’m
in the middle of the street, trying to act casual, like I’m
just hanging out, taking a closer look at those really yellow
lines. But my delay becomes momentary, fate intervenes, the
driver slows, and waves at me, granting me the right of way,
and BLAMMO! I
dash across, on down the street, the tension building as the
bus arrives at the corner picking up not four, not five but six
morning riders. Glory,
glory hallelujah! The streetlight is red! The streetlight is
red! I have a green and don’t have to stop and I keep on
running and I have arrived in time to join the others and
board the bus.
“Act
calm, man, act calm.” As
I enter the steely behemoth, I pull up my belt-less and
drooping pants, avoiding the oh so embarrassing showing of
CRACK, and walk down the aisle, sweaty, trying to suppress my
wheezing and enjoying the rare choice of seats on the empty
early morning bus.
Victory
was mine! I made
it. I embraced
the dream and I made it.
And who was my hero but a midsize lady with midsize
hair in a midsize car from somewhere far away.
And
as I sat there I knew she must have been watching me. Watching not as a driver on the lookout for obstacles on the
city street. But
watching as a spectator in one of the great dramas played
thousands and thousands of times every day in every city
across the world.
I
knew that saw me, traveling the same way as her but on the
opposite side of the street while her steely Buick streamed
down the hill. The bus was in front of her I was beside her and she was
watching, watching my progress and hoping, against hope, that
I would make it in time.
So
when I moved into the street, she didn’t jam on her brakes
or curse or get scared. She
just waved me ahead and emboldened my mad scramble for the
bus.
I
often see these dramas unfold.
Saddened when the bus pulls away, I wonder, didn’t
the driver see his or her frantic dash, why didn’t anyone on
board say anything, how could the bus have left without
waiting. My
energy drains. I groan and I remember the pain I had watching
figure skating on TV years ago.
It
was the Olympics and I’m rooting for somebody, I don’t
remember who it was and it doesn’t matter if it was the
youngster, the nobody or the aging star.
Because I’m rooting for them, not because of who they
are, but because they dared to dream and they only have to
make this final jump, a double socow and the medal is theirs,
the dream is fulfilled.
I
watch and I clench my teeth and I cross my fingers and my toes
too, but it does no good.
She jumps, she misses her mark and lands on her ass.
And when she hits the cold ice her momentum keeps her
moving and she just slides and she slides across the ice until
her progress is stopped when she bangs into the boards on the
side of the rink. Crash!
She
gets up. She goes
on. She smiles
but all the sequins in the world, all the big curly ringlets
and white grinning teeth cannot deny the ass bruised truth of
the moment denied, the voyage postponed.
So
when I watch someone dash for the bus and they reach the
stairs in time, and they smile, I continue on my own way,
peaceful and happy in the knowledge that sometimes, somewhere,
things do work out they way we want.
The
drama and the glory seem so real. Even
when I catch the bus and get to work, my organizational skills
cause some other problems that can’t be blamed on the whims
of Muni. Did I remember my lunch, pack my vitamins and
medicine, and bring the extra pair of socks and underwear for
after the gym?. And
why the hell do I have my kryptonite bike lock in my bag when
I’m riding the bus. Jesssssssssus,
Matt, can’t you get it together?
Yet
arriving at my office, the New York Times is waiting at
the door. It’s
still being delivered to the dot-com 6 months after it shut
its doors and I
feel grateful and happy that I was here first to grab it and
that it’s Tuesday and the crossword puzzle will be easy.
So
I get upstairs and turn on the computer as fast as I can. I
tell myself: remember
to put lunch in the fridge and don’t forget to take my
vitamins and my medicine after I eat and DO remember to take
them within an hour after eating so the coffee, the low-fat
banana blueberry bran muffin, and whey protein smoothie made
with a not too brown, but just brown enough banana make those
pills get really, really absorbed into my bloodstream
The
gerbils in my brain don’t have a treadmill they have a theme
park. Unlike Disneyland they get to smoke pot, and drink
Jagermeister and even have the occasional sleeping pill or
kava-kava melatonin combo.
Yep,
I try and keep them relaxed and mellow.
Enjoy the ride you fucking rodents!!
Why the hell are you holding on so tight? Huh? What’s
the big deal? You’re
not going anywhere, the joy is in the journey
so run for the bus or wait for the next but for crying out
loud just enjoy the day.
Sheesh--what a bunch of morons!!
I
didn’t forget my lunch or my pills and I brought extra socks
and underwear too. But
ninety minutes after turning on my computer I’m heading back
to the kitchen, hoping that somebody made another pot of
coffee when my buddy Chris looks up from his desk, smiles and
says to me “XYZ PDQ. Examine
your zipper, pretty darn quick.”
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