'Not reading glasses,' I wanted to answer, 'the glasses I use for reading.' But first I had weigh that shot I took in the arm. And that's the thing; an arm, full up with youth, don't weigh a thing.
I pulled that young arm down, patted my heart. "My glasses--the ones I use for reading--must have fallen out of my pocket. Ya, when I picked some litter up."
Alicia gave me another shot in the arm. "Maybe you should get shirts with button-down pockets."
Two years ago, when I got old, I carried my reading glasses down in my front pants pocket. Turned out, sitting down had a way of breaking reading glasses. Seeing how my pocketless tee-shirts were on the worn side, I took hasty action; bought a fleet of pocket-tees.
I explained this to Alicia, adding, "Where I erred was not buying button- downs. Sure, I should go buy a fleet of button-downs now. But I can't afford to do that till my pocket-tees are thread bare and then some."
"How many pairs of reading glasses have you lost?"
"Half-a-dozen."
"How much do reading glasses cost?"
"Fifteen dollars."
"Anton; six times fifteen. That would buy a lot of shirts with buttons."
This was always happening to me; women emasculating me with their math skills. Which made the boy-in-me want to say, 'Shove your six times fifteen.' And that's why boys always lose the war--well, the war of the sexes, anyway.
Having beat the boy-in-me down, I had the man-in-me step up to the plate. "Mmm," he said, "I guess I'd never stopped to do the math."
Alicia looked upset that I hadn't put up a fight--the brat. Which, in the language of war, said, 'Chalk one up for the man.' No, you know a man's a man when he can admit math has never been his strong suit.
"Have to admit, Alicia; math has never been my strong suit."
Alicia didn't say anything, but the vein cornering her head did.
Oh, was I ever walking erect now. And that's the thing; good posture's a breeze when your head don't weigh a thing.
Then again, I wasn't the kind to rub it in. A good way to share the spoils of war is through humor. "Nope, Alicia, that's why I majored in History in college. The only math there involves how many years ago, ha ha."
"Anton, how many years ago did you go to college?"
Something, how fast a head can put on weight.
"Say," I said, concerned suddenly with other timelines, "how's Bob's commission going?"
"It's done; in the mail. You'll have to tell me how it looks on his girlfriend."
"Yes, I will," I said, even though I knew I'd never notice. No, this had always confounded me; all the care a woman puts into her jewelry, when the glitz didn't move a male eye one way or the other.
There they were, my reading glasses, under the madrone tree where I'd bent over to pick up that dial of birth control pills. Which reminded me--I patted my back pocket--I had yet to get that dial to lost-and-found.
Sensing Alicia was about to detail the piece Bob commissioned, I looked for a way out.
"Sorry Alicia, got to run--lunch."
Alicia gave the look a girl gives when she wants to lunch. So I thought I'd feed her some sage. When arranging sage for a girl a guy wants to steer clear of man-speak. A good way to soften the callous is to fill the male eye with a feminine-specific visual.
I dropped an eye to Alicia's breast. Thinking better of it, I quick-shifted my eye to another breast--the perfect curve the madrone tree cut out of Mother Nature.
I left Alicia, headed for my truck. Taking a seat behind the wheel, I felt a crunch. At first I thought it was my base chakra breaking higher ground on account of saging Alicia so. But, no, it was that damned dial of birth control I had yet to get to lost and found.
I dug the dial out of my back pocket. Oh boy; the case was cracked clean through, a bakers dozen worth of pills had escaped from their calendar-critical nests. Well, that was that; I couldn't take the dial to lost and found now.
Or could I?
The escaped pills came in two shades of blue. We kids with few math skills showed a lot of promise with coloring books. Of course, my line of expertise wasn't coloring within the lines so much as selecting the right shade of blue. I just knew; a sort of built-in male intuition.
So, there I sat in my truck, using my crack male intuition to crack the birth control puzzle. Adding to the rush of guesstimating which shade of blue belonged to which nest were the high stakes. Yes, if said cracker gets said puzzle wrong, a good chance said lost-and-found girl gets knocked up.
Lost and found girl got me to fantasizing. What if Coral Score was the girl who'd lost her pills? Yes, and upon returning said pills, said girl's so grateful she dumps her toy boy, takes the pill for me forever more.
That was that, then; I'd ask Coral if she lost her pills.
Then again, asking a girl if she'd lost her birth control came with risks. Real risks when the girl in question had all the levity of concrete.
That wasn't that, then; no way was I going to ask Coral if she lost her pills.
Code cracked, I duck-taped the dial closed. I was opening my truck door when a new question came to me: If I did get the code wrong, mightn't the good gods of karma declare that knocked-up kid, my kid?
That was that, then; taking on a puzzle of this calibar was too high-a-stakes for this non-adult.
Instead of tripping to lost-and-found I untaped the dial, emptied all pills into my hand, chucked the lot of them into the bramble.
Well, that wasn't thinking things through. This was where I ate lunch, chucked the odd sunflower or whatnot out for the birds. And sure enough, down darted a Rufus sided Towhee, took to pecking away at a blue pill.
Damn, human hormones can't be good for a bird. So I opened my can of mixed nuts, started throwing feed at the bird. But no, the bird-brain preferred the pill--and the bluer the better.
Well, can't blame the bird--I, too, was partial to blue.
Sunday, Coral and I talked. She was talking Fiber Art again, so my mind was all to sea. But then she said something that dry-docked me. In reference to the toxicity of commercial dyes, she said, "Do you know Trent?"
"Well, I--"
"You've seen him with me, right?"
"Right."
What's this knowing-Trent line she keeps laying on me? Perhaps she was afraid I had the jones for her, and wanted to be excessively clear about her non-single status.
"Well," Coral said, "his mom was into dying fabric, and didn't take precautions, and got really sick. It took her months to get it out of her system."
I thought of the bird; sick from the pill.
Omen.
Perhaps a clear indicator I should ask Coral if she lost her pills.
But then I thought better of it--only a fool asks a girl about her birth control.
Wednesday found me in the pine grove talking my wheelbarrow out of marching as to war. "Listen soldier: You know I'd have no other point-man lead me into battle on any given good day to die, but this is my own personal war, and I'll be damned if I'll allow you to take any more lead in the ass on account of it."
I had finally found a new home for that last stepping stone--that precious circle of earth Coral had blessed with her sweet bottom. So, I grabbed my shovel, headed on down.
Losing much sweat, threatening to slip much disc, I rolled the stone like a spare tire into the orchard. After shoveling out the sacred circle, I positioned the stone with ceremony. Brushing off the stone, I said a few words in the way of dedication. And, oh, what moving words they were. Luckily it was my left eye that needed wiping, for, out of the peripherals of my right, I detected movement--Trent was coming down the path.
God, I felt guilty--felt as if he'd just caught me making out with his girl.
Though Trent could not have possibly known who I'd just been swooning over, he threw me, in passing, a look. And, oh, what a stern look it was. The kind of stern a gunslinger throws a rival at high noon.
Exiting the orchard, I put the two-and-two together. Coral must have told her boyfriend about our talks and now the toy boy was pissed, afraid the alpha-groundskeeper was out to steal his girl.
I thought of Trent the next few days; decided he was a good person--had seen the clear good in his stern eye. Seeing how I was the elder in our little triangle, I decided I must say something to Coral, confront this Trent thing before things got ugly.
Or worse; some clear elder got shot.
****
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