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Things
By Terry Burns
“Good morning, sir,”
Sister Carmella broadcasted to the man lying on the grass in an effort
to get his attention. “Fine morning isn’t it?” she said as she reached
the shade of the tree in the park.
“Every morning is fine.
Just look at those clouds. I’ll bet they’re at about 25,000 feet. Seem
to be moving to the east, I’d guess they’re going fifty, maybe sixty
miles an hour.” Henry replied, barely opening his eyes. The man had his
fingers intertwined, hands behind his head, and feet crossed at the
ankles. With eyes closed, he presented at the moment, the picture of
total and perfect comfort.
“I’m sorry I woke you. I
hope you can forgive me,” Sister Carmella said in her precise English.
“You didn’t wake me; I’ve
been up for hours. Had breakfast, read the paper, showered and all that.
Say, did you know today is the Pope’s birthday? Do you do anything
special today?”
“I did know today is the
Pope’s birthday, have you been drinking?”
“Yes ma’am. Water. Oh,
and a glass of orange juice for breakfast.”
“You know I mean alcohol.
Why are you avoiding the question?”
“Why do you answer a
question with a question? And no, I don’t touch the stuff.”
“Is it drugs then?”
“Is it drugs then? Then
what? Could you be asking if drugs are the answer to the riddle of
life? I suspect not. But if you want me to help you, you are going to
have to be more precise in you questions.”
Sister Carmella’s sigh
would have spelled out e-x-a-s-p-e-r-a-t-i-o-n if one could have read it. “Are
you lying in this park because of a drug problem?"
At this, Henry shifted
his eyes to get a better view of his interrogator. “No I am not here
because of a drug problem. I am lying here because if I were to lie in
the street I would surely be run over.”
“You don’t appear to have
mental problems, if I might be so forward. Why are you leading your life
like a common homeless person?”
“Oh, that’s what you are
trying to ask. You must work on how you deliver questions. W. Edwards
Deming found that few people are good questioners. Most of us ask
questions beside the point and hope the answer comes back near the
subject. I could help you with that if you like.”
“Are you avoiding my
question again?”
“No, I changed the
subject and didn’t change it back. The answer to the, and I like the way
you stated it, ‘why are you leading your life like a common homeless
person’ is things.”
“Things?”
“Things.”
“You must explain
yourself more completely. What on earth do things have to do with
it?”
“You still need to work
on your question asking abilities. Things are my downfall. You are lucky
if you took a vow of poverty and truly live by it. When I was younger, I
was like everyone else. My goal in life was to accumulate. Accumulate
fame, accumulate recognition, and above all, accumulate things. I did
well at it. Better than most. I had a car. Then one car wasn’t enough, I
had two. I needed a boat. If you have a boat you must have something to
pull it. I got that too. I never used the boat, don’t like water. I
could only drive one vehicle at a time, but I had to have them. The big
house on the hill? That was mine, or at least one of them. Then one day
it ended. My office was in the Tradewinds tower, I fell thirty-eight
floors when the stock market dropped three hundred points about a year
ago.”
“You jumped, and you
survived?”
“No, I took the elevator
down. But when I got to the ground floor, I didn’t have a job.”
“A broken man; you poor
dear.”
“I wasn’t a broken man;
that’s the point. I was much wiser. After the fall, it took a while to
recover. I had been to the top, or nearly so. From my exalted vantage
point I could see all there was to see. There wasn’t anything to see.
Nowhere to go to satisfy my wants and desires. Several months after I
became unemployed, I had an appointment for a job interview and drove by
the park here. I saw a man sitting on one of the park benches. He looked
so content. I parked the car and walked over to where he was sitting.
When I got within a few feet of him, I saw why he looked so content. A
bottle securely wrapped in a brown paper bag sat next to him. This
bothered me so I went to a nearby bench and sat down. I concluded the
man on the other bench was onto something but just hadn’t gotten there.
I sat on my bench well past the appointed time of my interview; until
the sun set, thinking and wondering. Free of stress and pressure, time
to admire the beauty in the world I rationalized, is at least a partial
answer to the meaning of life. All one had to do was figure out how to
obtain it. Over the next few months, with the help of three financial
advisors, I succeeded in developing a plan. I could support a no frills
life by selling all of my things, which I had come to realize were my
biggest impediment to happiness. Not long after, I moved here to the
park.”
“So that’s how you live
your life?”
“Yes. My only task when I
get up in the morning is to enjoy life, nothing more.”
“Well you seem quite
content in your own way. Let me give you this blanket, it gets cold
during the night.”
“And where would I keep
it? I don’t have anything to carry belongings.”
“You could get a shopping
cart like the rest of them do. I know it isn’t right, but the grocery
stores can afford it.”
“So then I would have a
shopping cart and a blanket. Things - the ruin of my salvation. Are you
a pusher?”
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