He never forgot what she said. After he said what he’d said.
“I know you are,” is what she said.
And what the old man had said, this is true, he had heard himself utter these actual words,
“I am happy.”
I know you are, that’s what she said. I know you are. How many layers are in those words? She smiled her Mona Lisa smile when she said I know you are and she twirled her head like a angelic nymph or nimphy angel. Whatever, there was actually a light around her. A glow radiated.
And the old man knew better than to fuck with that feeling. He wanted to feel it again. And often. Wasn’t that life, really, after all?
Feelings are dangerous. That’s what made the old man so good at his job. No feelings. Ice. But then he got old and he met her and they caught him. Now he was stuck solid in the world’s largest waiting room. And he was feeling unsettled.
The old man needed to get happy again. And soon. But it couldn’t be often. Already pushing his luck. The only hundred-percent means to throw them off the scent, you know, get killed himself. Frankly, that was just crazy talk.
Sometimes the old man just had to wait for the accidental opportunity to present an opportunistic accident. He chuckled. If you know what I mean. He loved how so many people said, but of course, of course we know what you mean. But they have no fuckin’ clue. He was who he was, the old man. He liked being happy.
And active. Vital. Relevant. And left the fuck alone!
His wife almost backed over Bubba Roy one foggy morning. Wasn’t her fault. The windows are all steamy and she’s late for work, practically still dark, Bubba Roy tries to stop her by standing behind the Grand Cherokee. Frantic tap on the window. Did she think he and his mother should paint their house white? My wife’s input seemed necessary because she always dressed so nice when she walked the dogs.
Walked the dogs might as well been code. Code for whatever the crazy idiot was talking about. The old man managed to push the guy in the wrong direction, pushed the bastard to safety.
What the hell was he thinking?, he thought.
The old man was thinking two things. Too much paperwork and no guarantee of the results. None.
And that’s crazy.