Of course, hosing slow as a lullaby--in the freezing-ass rain--required the hoser to recite his secret anti-aging mantra with frequency to keep from catching his death.
"Grow, yes, but it's not in my interest to age."
No, that's the beauty of my fountain-of-youth; no matter where I was, what I was about, a sip was always there for the taking. Beautiful, too, the workings of the universe, the way in which The Word manifested things--The Word waving out with the unwavering belief of a child, that is.
"Grow, yes, but it's not in my interest to age."
No, with a fountain-of-youth mantra like that, odds were good I'd die at eighty still looking thirty-five. Which brought to mind a follow-up mantra I really needed to get up and running: "Die, yes, but it's not in my interest to suffer."
Oh, what deep wells of wisdom we old souls held our pails above. No, I was going to get back to work on that second paragraph to my Great Work, but first I had to celebrate my full pail. Of course, when an old soul is tethered to a hose, the only way to celebrate is to check out of reality altogether.
There I was, lying on my death futon, ex-girlfriends and Oprah gathered round. I gave a nod, ready to go to the great beyond, when my peace was disrupted by a face looking out from a spray of funereal flowers. Why, it was the face of the birthday girl, Coral Score.
Who knows what silliness the 19-year-old had in mind, but when an 80 year-old man looks down from the head of his death futon, sees a girl in her prime climbing up the foot--all dressed up in her birthday suit--the great beyond doesn't look all that great.
Of course, just as a guy's death-bed fantasy is getting to the good part, he up and experiences some real pain back in reality. I checked in on my hose job. How about that? Here I was working my arm so hard I was getting hoser's elbow.
Back to hosing slow as a lullaby, I felt a little guilty for using Coral's youth and innocence in my death-bed fantasy. No, whatever Coral and I were down here to do, it sure didn't involve carrying on like animals. I stopped hosing, pulled out my pad and pen. "Any two dogs can go at it, but it takes a couple of high humans to carry on a meaningful exchange."
I looked up to thank the gods for their choice words-to-live-by. No, I saw no gods up there, but what I saw up there sure put the fear of God in me--it was the widow maker shaking its no-no head directly over head. No, it wasn't death I feared; it was ending up the laughing stock of the gods who gave us humans our callings--dying before I even got the second paragraph of my Great Work off the ground.
Coiling up my hose, I heard my name called out. Before looking up, I allowed my crack intuition to take a shot at discerning who was approaching. Why, I bet it was none other than Ezra's friend, the pediatrician. Say, didn't Ezra say this Fern person had a horse? And that's when it all came together for me. No, that's how the creative writer writes his horse paragraph--he gets his baby doctor to write it for him.
I looked up to receive my baby doctor. But, no, it was Coral and Trent who were approaching.
Trent raced on by, but Coral slowed. "So this is your Eden," she said, holding out a hand to catch the rain. "Yuck."
"Ya," I said, wringing a glove, "little Eden in the garden today."
I hadn't meant to be funny, really, but Coral was laughing so hard she had to stop walking altogether. Further down the walk Trent had stopped as well--had to check out the laughing girl he hardly knew. But then he threw the stern to guy who'd made his girl laugh--the girl-stealing man he knew too well.
Gathering herself, Coral started down the walk. "Anton, I've got to work the Front Desk now, but I need to talk to you about something."
"Good," I said, "cause I got to talk to you about something myself."
"Good," Coral said. "Come find me in Fibers after my shift."
"OK then," I said, "I'll come find you then."
Cold and starving, I headed off in the direction of my truck. But then I remembered I had yet to put away my hose. Nearing my coiled hose, I stopped, thought of what I had to talk to Coral about. All of a sudden, telling Coral I was as old as her mom didn't seem wise at all.
So I reexamined the argument that had convinced me to come out of my old age closet. How had Deirdre put it again? Something to the effect that Coral was bound to find out about my old age sooner or later. Ya, and wouldn't the girl be more inclined to forgive me for my old age if she'd gotten it from the stallion's mouth rather than from some vengeful campus mare who was out to pasture with me?
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