#3

I took off work yesterday around lunch to pick up my bike from the shop in Bellingham, a small college town about an hour north of where I live.  There was a part they were still waiting on, so I went to the movies.  I saw The Stanford Prison Experiment at a small independent theatre downtown.  It was an usually rainy afternoon for a summer day and I was happy for an excuse to see the film.

It was only me and an older lady in the small theater.

So I have to ask, why are you interested in the Stanford Prison Experiment, she said, sitting a few rows behind me.

I don't know if I am, I said.  I don't know too much about it.

Well, I can't believe this whole theater isn't filled.  It's very important, she said.

That might have something to do with it being a Tuesday afternoon, I said.

You think so huh, she said.

I liked the movie.  It was tense and unsettling, though maybe a bit on the nose.  The older woman was very interactive with the movie.  I would have usually been annoyed, but there was no one else to witness me being annoyed, so I felt less inclined to be annoyed.  As the credits rolled, I knocked my cover off from the seat next to me and was feeling around for it on the floor in the dark.  The older woman approached me.

Are you okay, she said.

Yes, I said.  I'm just looking for my hat.

What did you think? she asked.  I was still looking for my cover and I flipped on my cell phone light to find it.

I really liked it, I said.  Very well done.

Are you sure you're okay? she said.

Yes, I said.  I found my cover and stood up.

Can I give you a hug? she said.

I said sure and she hugged me.

I really can't explain how odd it was.  I also don't know why she hugged me or felt moved to talk to me.  My only guess is that she connected deeply with the film and assumed I did as well, that the circumstances which led her to see a movie by herself on an early weekday afternoon were similar to what led me.  Well, sorry lady.  I was just waiting for my bike to be fixed.

#2

I didn't go to work yesterday.  I had an appointment earlier in the day, so I called in, but then, after my appointment, I just went home.  I did nothing special, rode the bike, read some of a book.  I got sleepy after lunch and I took a nap.  The day just seemed to slide past me without any remarkable detail.

It's early again and I've made coffee.  It's tempting to pull another yesterday, but scary as well.  Those days of blowing off work and insulating yourself in a curtain drawn bedroom can accumulate.  

memory #2 - my oak harbor neighbors

I live in a small cottage at the start of a gravel road on county highway at the neck of an island in the uppermost lefthand corner of the country.

There are three other houses, bigger than mine, down the road and this past Christmas I returned home after standing a 12 hour watch to find two tins of homemade cookies with friendly notes on them.  I don't know their names, I don't know which family gave me what.

When I first moved in, an elderly man with a club foot knocked on my door and welcomed me with a baggie of cherry tomatoes from his garden.

We pass each in our cars, unloading groceries.  On Sunday mornings when I'm on my bicycle and they're on their way to church and we wave and smile.  One of them tattled on me to the landlord when my yard became overgrown this past spring.  I had broken up with a girl I had been with for almost two years and was barely washing myself for a few weeks.  How could they have known?  I don't hold it against them.  Not one bit.

The family nearest me has a grown son living with them.  He has some clear developmental issues and knows my name and waves enthusiastically from his yard when he sees me coming home from work in my uniform.

What do you do in the Navy, he yells.

I just work in an office, I tell him.

The sadness I feel from these interactions is crushing and I don't know what prevents me from walking the 200 yards up the gravel road to talk with him a bit more.  It occurred to me to do that for the first time this afternoon.  

memory #1

While stationed in Jacksonville, I became fanatical about riding my bike to work.  Like, I would only ride my bike to work.  Part of this was practical--I was making just enough money to spend all of it. I was paying $425 a month for a studio apartment in a slummy side street of a sort-of downtown neighborhood and from my door to the squadron flight line was exactly ten miles.

If I caught all the stoplights and the drawbridge was down, it took 30 minutes.

I had to be at work at 7am.  What I remember the most about those bike rides early in the morning was how oppressively humid it was.  It would be dark out still.  The ride home was hotter, sweatier.  One time I rode home and cracked open my last beer and drained it, thinking nothing had ever tasted as good to anyone ever.

I remember leaving some nights, after working late or standing watch, and seeing the fog hang in the streetlights.  And me, mashing away on my bike, my clothes soaked through with sweat, still figuring things out.

Because at this time, I was falling out of love with a girl that I had convinced myself was the only girl I could ever love and she was far away.  At the same time, I was exhausting myself at work.  Saturdays I would wake up with my legs feeling heavy and sore.  I exclusively fueled with turkey sandwiches, carrots, hummus, and trail mix.

Sometimes I would feel confused and sad and alone, but mostly those feelings were comforting, I can't explain it better than that.  I would be gone on various training assignments, and one time I came back to find that in early November, the heat had broken.  I toughed it out for a few more weeks.  I went underway in December and came home again to find it colder.  Almost as immediately and committed as I began, I stopped riding my bike to work.  

#1

In 30 days from today, I will check out on leave for the last time after having been in the Navy for seven years.  It's a frightening and reflective time for me, so I've decided to detail each day with a quick post.

I woke up early today, 4:45am and made coffee and ate a Clif bar.  I interviewed for a job last week and submitted writing samples on Friday and they said they would get back to me early this week.  Meaning today?  I'm anxious about it.  I have vacillated between being entirely sure they would offer me the job and convinced they would see right through me and never contact me again.

I got home from work early yesterday and took a nap.  I'm working my way through Deadwood and watched a few episodes.  I draped a heavy blanket across the window that faces the afternoon sun and blacked out the day.  I checked my e-mail compulsively.

In anticipation of a gap in my dental insurance, I have been amping up my flossing.  Up to twice a day now, and that's good for me.

My greatest fear is for all my bluster and pretense that I'm not that smart, creative, or talented.

P.S.  Can you believe there's no AP Style Guide for Dummies?