Ronald J. Morse
Portland, OR 97233
503-200-8154
Ron.morse@gmail.com
STRANGERS, IN STRANGE HOUSES
by
Ronald J. Morse
Walking
It’s cold out
tonight. Twenty eight degree at the
moment. And it’s late. Almost midnight. I’m on my way to the convenience store. Seven-Eleven, if you must know. This is my second trip there tonight. The first time I bought a package of Pall
Mall Red. I prefer Camel Non-Filters,
or, as they use to call them in the old days: Camel Straights. But they’re just
too damn expensive for me now. At least
another two dollars. Makes no sense at
all. I also picked up a gallon of drinking water. Use to be, I’d be buying one or two one-liter
bottles of Mountain Dew. But back in October of last year, I was admitted to
the hospital and was diagnosed with Diabetes.
That’ll put a damper on your mood in a big hurry. They said with exercise
and proper diet I could probably keep it under control. When I left the
hospital, after five days, I had been instructed on how to inject the insulin
as well as given a large box of syringes. I guess it could be worse. I’m 52
years old, have been abusing my body, in one form or another for the better
part of at least two-thirds of it. You
know the old saying: If I’d had known I was going to live this long, I would
have taken better care of myself.
Anyway, all that’s pretty much immaterial and I’m getting off the
subject.
The girl behind
the counter was nice. She had an open face and seemed easy to talk with. Not
that I have any trouble talking with people. I’m pretty outgoing and I’ll talk
to just about anybody. Sometimes, just for the hell of it, even if they don’t
want to talk with me. But there was something pleasant about this girl. I’m
usually a pretty funny guy, at least a lot of people tell me that. Others say I’m an asshole, so go figure. I
think she thought I was funny. I had her
laughing right away, and told her something funny that happened to me
today. Then I told her some one-liners,
and then I told her some off-color jokes.
She didn’t get offended at all, in fact at one point, had she been
drinking milk, I would have had her shooting it out of her nose. I even told
her if I can get a girl to do that during our first date, I feel like I’ve
really achieved something. At that point, I told her, they’re pretty much putty
in my hands. I told her a few more ‘dirty’ jokes before I left, including, I
think, a couple of penis jokes. And
Jesus jokes too. Didn’t seem to faze her one bit. I liked her even more for
that. Before I left I found out when she
normally works and told her I’d stop back by. I didn’t even ask her what her
name was. I thought about her a bit on the walk home. It’s about a ten or
fifteen minute walk. I take a pathway that runs alongside a creek to one side,
and the backside of houses and apartment complexes. Actually, they’re more like
townhouses than what I picture apartment buildings to look like when I think
about them. Walking along the path, there isn’t much to see regarding the
creek. Much too dark, even when the moon is out, like it was tonight. There
were no clouds in the sky, and you could see the stars clearly. That’s part of
the reason it was so cold out. No clouds to keep the warmth blanketed to the
earth. So the only thing of interest to look at while I walked were the houses.
They sit fairly close to the path, and it’s easy to see inside the ones that
have interior lights lit and no curtains drawn. Since it’s pretty secluded back
there, a lot of them were like that tonight. So I walked, absently gazing into
the houses I passed, and passed the time thinking about the girl.
Home
It was much
warmer at home. You might think that’s a given, but you don’t know where I
live, or how I live. I mean, how could you? I haven’t said anything about it.
It was warmer because I have a little space heater that I’ve had running on
high for at least the last three days. I live in a garage, if you must know.
But it’s not as bad as it might sound. It’s a clean, neat garage. There aren’t
any car parts or gas cans or jars of rusty screws and nails anywhere. Nothing
that might come to mind when you think about a garage. I’d recently put down
carpet so I’m not walking around on cold damp concrete. I say recently, as if
I’ve been here a long time. I put the carpet down about four days ago. I’ve
been here about two weeks, again, if you must know. I’ve got a mattress pushed
up against one corner. It’s one of those cheap thin kinds. You’ve probably seen
them at Goodwill or The Salvation Army thrift store. With the coil springs
throughout it. It’s really not very comfortable at all, but I’ve got a sleeping
bag on top of it, along with a couple of thick blankets. Anyway, it’s a step up
from the foldable cot I was using, and compared to what it would be like to
sleep directly on the concrete, I sure can’t complain. I’m really not much of a
complainer anyway. God knows, if I was, there are a lot of things in my life I
could complain about. I also have a heavy tarp that splits the garage in half.
I live in the back half. The tarp also helps keep the heat in. Other than that,
there’s a big screen television in another corner, a little lamp and stool and
my laptop. I guess the television works. At least that’s what I’ve been told.
Doesn’t really matter to me. There’s no antenna on it, and even if there was, I
doubt I’d watch it for more than five or ten minutes on any given day. I don’t
have much interest for anything I’d see on it anyway. I don’t know why, that’s
just the way I am, I guess. I’m more likely to be thankful for things than I am
to complain about them. It could be worse. In fact, it has been worse at times. It’s much more comfortable here then it was
at the airport when I stayed there for a few days. That was only a month ago,
although it seems like longer. In fact, if you’re keeping track, it was two
days before and one day after January First. That’s right, I
spent New Year’s Eve on some lousy waiting benches at the airport. You
got something you want to say about that?
I didn’t think so. It may have been uncomfortable, but at least it was
warm. A lot warmer than my other option;
that would have been the streets. It was cold on New Year’s also. Down in the
low thirty’s. And while it was warmer at
the airport than it is here in the garage, it lacked privacy. If you can’t
tell, I’m pretty big on privacy. I mean, what I do really isn’t anybody else
business. And I don’t like people watching what I’m doing, even when I’m not
doing anything at all.
My garage is
about twice the size of a prison cell, in case you’re wondering. I know how big
prison cells are as well. Lived in one for a while. I didn’t like it much; you
don’t get much privacy there either. But that was a long time ago. Almost a
lifetime ago, it seems. I guess you could say my life’s had some ups and downs.
That’s a pretty safe statement. I’ve even had times that I could easily say
were good time. Really good times. These last couple of years haven’t been too
good though. A lot’s happened, but I don’t feel like going into all that again.
Maybe some other time. When I have the strength, then again, maybe not.
.
Back to
Seven-Eleven
I’d been home
for about 45 minutes, maybe even an hour. I’m not sure; sometimes I really
don’t keep track of time. Especially if I don’t have something to do, or
somewhere to go. Like earlier tonight.
But I know at one point I decided to make another trip back to Seven-Eleven.
Even though I know it must be even colder outside then it was earlier. That
didn’t bother me much. I really didn’t even have a good reason to be going
back. There wasn’t anything I needed. I hadn’t forgotten anything the first
time. In my mind I tried to think of something I’d buy when I got there, but I
came up blank. I bundled up and went anyway. I took the same path as before,
but this time I hardly noticed the houses, with their warm glow of the dimmed
lights. My thoughts were consumed with what I was going to buy. And what I was planning
on saying to the girl whose name I didn’t even know. Trying to decide what I
was going to buy was interfering with my thoughts what I was going to say. I
was putting together some pretty funny shit in my head, but couldn’t concentrate
until I decided what I would purchase once there. I couldn’t just show up, walk
in and wander around the store for a few minutes and then casually stroll up to
the counter without it looking a little odd, now could I? Then it came to me,
as I was recalling a joke about a duck that goes to the drugstore and selects
some condoms. He tells the man behind the counter to, “Put ‘em on my bill”. Let
me ask you something: Where the fuck do ideas come from? I mean, one minute I’ll be damned if I can
come up with a single thing to bring to the counter to buy, and a moment later,
there it is; the perfect item. Oh, I wasn’t going to actually purchase them. I
don’t need em. I got that taken care of years ago, not that it’s any of your business.
No, all of a
sudden, I had a plan and everything that was going through my mind to say fell
in place. I’d grab six of seven of the Magnum XXX condoms that are boldly
advertised on the box as being the EXTRA LARGE size. I think they come in three-packs
or something. Anyway, I’d bring them to the counter, with a straight face tell her I’m a firm believer in the
power of positive thinking, plus I’m more
of an optimistic than the average guy, and then I’d ask her if she had any plans after she got off work. I
didn’t think I was going to get any action out of this, and didn’t expect any.
But I think she would have thought it was funny as hell, and from there I could
tell her a few more penis jokes or something.
When I got to
the store, the first thing I noticed was it wasn’t her behind the counter. It was some fat guy with mutton chop
sideburns, and let me be the first to tell you: I didn’t think he was nearly as
cute as she was. Hell, you’d be generous if you were to label him as just
‘unattractive’. What the hell, I’d walked all this way, might as well go in and
buy something. Now I had no problem choosing something to buy. I bought a large
coffee because it was so fucking cold out. I asked the guy where the girl was
that was working a little earlier. He didn’t know shit. He didn’t even know what her name was. He
wasn’t one of those kinds of guys who become friendly with customers. In fact,
he didn’t appear to have much of a personality at all, and I had no desire to
talk with him. Whether he wanted to talk
or not. I just wanted to pay for my coffee and get away from him. And I’ll be
damned if I was going to tell him any penis jokes. I have no idea what his name
was either, but I couldn’t have cared less.
The Strange Part
I took my time walking back home. I mean, as much time as you can take on a ten
or fifteen minute walk. I really wasn’t in much of a hurry. When you’re living
like I am, ‘home’ really isn’t much of a destination that calls to you with any
urgency. And now, for some reason, I wasn’t really bothered by the cold, in
fact I wasn’t even aware of it. Now, as I strolled along the path, I had other things
on my mind. Different things. My mood had changed so much from how it was just
minutes ago. Still walking the same
path, but now going in another direction. Before, I had a destination that I
wanted to reach, and was looking forward to reaching it. All of a sudden, what
I realized was that I had become a little saddened. I’d like to say I had
become ‘melancholy’ but it seems that word isn’t used much anymore. Hell, I’d
be surprised if half the kids today even knew what it means. So I’ll stick with saddened, even though I
like melancholy better. I got this way, I think, from looking into the windows
of the homes I passed. I was doing more than just looking into the windows I
realized, I was looking into the lives of people who live in these homes. At
least that’s the way I imagined it. In a few of them, there was some late-night
activity. An older couple sitting side by side on the couch, drinking
something. Close to each other. I was staring right at them, and it looked like
they were staring back at me, but I knew they couldn’t see me out here in the
darkness. The television set was between us, and I imagined that maybe they
were watching an old black and white movie that they had once enjoyed together
a long time ago. Back when they were younger. I stood and watched them for some
time and didn’t feel the least obscene for doing so. At one point it looked
like he commented on something that was happening on the television and she
turned and looked at him, kind of surprised, and then they both started laughing
and he leaned over and pressed his lips against her cheek.
All of a sudden
I felt a little funny about watching them and moved on down the path. There were several other homes along the way
that I was able to see into, and they all had ‘warmth’ about them. Maybe it was
the lighting, maybe it was something else. But it occurred to me that in my
mind the ones I could see into were ‘homes’, while the remaining ones that had
the drapes closed and the lights off
were just ‘houses’. I had to think about this for a minute and figure out what that
meant. I knew there was importance in the distinction, and it touched me
somewhere inside, somewhere that made me feel uncomfortable, and for a brief
moment I didn’t want to think about it at all. Houses, homes, what difference
did it make? I walked by another, and while there was nobody to see inside, a
table lamp was on, as well as another light. I couldn’t tell where the other
light was coming from, but it warmly lit up a dining room. Attached to that
room was what looked to be a family room, and the embers of a fire in the
fireplace still glowed. I imagined the family that lived there. A happy,
healthy family. In my mind, I could picture them gathering for their evening
meal together. Possibly saying Grace before eating. Excited to share the events
of their day with the others. I thought about this family for quite some time,
wondered what they talked about when they talked. For a few moments, in my
mind, I had become intimate with this family, who, in reality, were but
strangers to me. Strangers in a strange
house. But I felt I shared something with them. Or at least at one time in my
life I had. That was my life, a long time ago, in fact, a lifetime ago, it
seems. Until tonight, I hadn’t given
much thought to that life of mine, gone for so long now. I really hadn’t even realized, or noticed
that it was, in fact, gone. But the
thought and emotion that stuck me the hardest, and most surprisingly, was how
deeply I missed that life, and how, the further away it became, the emptier
mine had become. These strangers, in
their strange house, no; their ‘home’, had something I had forgotten I once
owned as well. Remembering this brought a new wave of emotions about me, and I
could no longer endure all these thoughts.
In fact, I felt the need to be away from here as quickly as possible. To
go somewhere else, anywhere else, even if it’s my lonely garage. When an
important part of your life is missing, and has been gone for so long that it’s
faded from your memory and you’ve forgotten how it feels to miss it, I think it
hurts twice as much when the memory comes back. I also knew that tomorrow I had somewhere I
had to go that was as equally as important.
I have to return to seven-eleven and ask the girl who works behind the
counter what her name is.
