catching heartbreaking glimpses of our lives

i

Sitting at my desk, staring blankly at the empty page in a typewriter. I light a bidi, pour a drink, scratch an itch, rub the tension from my face, look out the window, stare back at the empty page, rub my hands together, take a deep breath, expel it loudly, smoke, sip the drink, stare at the letters on the typewriter, point one by one to the letters P-O-E-T. Finally, frustrated, I type the following word in caps with one finger: “TIME”.

ii

Sitting at my desk, staring at the word “TIME” I typed the night before. Stare out the window, run my fingers across my scalp, belch, get up, drop to the floor to do a series of clapping push-ups, then rise to my feet and do about ten jumping jacks.

iii

Sitting at my desk, my right elbow leaning on the desk top. Take a drag from the bidi, set it in a tin ash tray, look at the word “TIME” on the paper, wait, then begin typing the following sentence:  “Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of their country.”  I stop, read the sentence, begin typing the same sentence again on the next line. Halfway through, I recall an army recruiting office where an army recruiter smiles wide as he hands me a pen so I can sign a contract. Then a hand stamps an official document with the phrase:  “UNFIT FOR SERVICE.”

iv

Lying in bed, unable to sleep. Look at the clock which reads 3:45 AM. I sigh. See the image of me at age 10 holding a stack of books in my lap which my father has advised me to read.

I glance at a few of the titles:  The Old Testament, The New Testament, Plato’s Dialogues, Aristotle’s Book  IV of Nicomachean Ethics, Lao Tzu’s Tao Te Ching, J.D. Salinger’s The Catcher in the Rye.

 I look up at my father, quite puzzled.

“Your assignment,” says my father. “Is to write a two-hundred page report on each of those books and deliver it to me on the day you turn 30.”

 I am totally overwhelmed.

 “Any questions?” says my father.

v

On the morning of my 30^th birthday, my father, overwhelmed by a coughing fit, is rushed to the hospital, and dies later that day, without ever having read my two-hundred page book report.

vi

Sitting at my desk, a lighted bidi dangling from my lips, it finally dawns on me:  I didn’t read all those books for him;  I read them for myself. And I didn’t write that two-hundred page book report for him, either.

vii

Sitting at my desk, concluding a big yawn, staring at the word “TIME” I typed the night before, I begin typing.

“The Poet runs down a long, dark, narrow corridor, sweating profusely, anxiously looking back at where he’s been and quite uncertain of where he’s going; yet he continues to run in search of the finish line.”

 

Reviews

[GlendaK]

The assignment was to write a 200 page report on EACH of those books. Lah tee dah and fly like butterflies to shores of seagull poop

[Patricia Wedel]

dear Philip... we leave our Heart prints across the Land as if to plant seeds where flowers grow. Lovely to feel Theatrical as Seagulls fly along the Shore of Destiny. Aging is a challenge that finds me falling like Feathers in a Pillow. Be Well and Rest by the Shore where Dreams become Reality. softly, Pat

[Philip Gaber]

Thanks Pat, your words put perspective on my feelings. I will gladly leave my heart prints where ever they are welcomed.