I open the door walking into the laundromat. There is a ~6-year-old girl and her father pulling their clothes out of the dryer to fold. I look at him, and as is my norm, I say, “Hey there, buddy.” That little girl gave me the dirtiest and meanest look I had seen for a while. She stares at me in anger for a couple of seconds, and then says, “My dad isn’t your buddy, he doesn’t even know you.”
After contemplating for the brief moment the humor of it not yet occurring to his daughter that he may know somebody she doesn’t, I replied to her, “But someday he could be, so shouldn’t I treat him like he is?”
She was a little taken aback as she considered that response. I started loading a machine. I look up and see her looking at her dad for some guidance. I could tell he appreciated what I said, but he looked at her, trying to look neutral, giving a slight indication of “I don’t know”, leaving it for her to figure out. She then came over to help me load the machine, beginning that process of questions and “can I do that?”
I went to get change from the machine, letting her try to fit the bill into the slot. She was having to give a great stretch to reach it, and it was hard for her to keep the bill straight enough for the machine to take. I see that father patiently watching, but eventual he had break-up the good times because they needed to catch the bus.
It turns out they were in the process of moving in with her mother, making sound like it was a move of desperation rather than desire. To some degree, she was truly feeling stressed and scared, and in that moment of pain with distrust, I gave a positive focus. Hopefully, I planted a little seed that can be fed and grow, so that someday she could make that same difference with a simple, “Hey there, buddy.”
That was one of the good moments of laundry day.
– Duckin’ Kev
Author Archives: Duckin' Kev
The Canyon Clamber
Today’s dog walk was, what I will for now on call, “The Canyon Clamber”. It is the same canyon as the earlier post, so look there for pictures. This time, I came from the bottom instead of the top. My goal was to power to the top as fast as possible, but the beauty of that cleavage of heaven was too much. For a brief period, as I rise above the filth of Bakersfield, I can forget, for just a moment, and I can feel the world through an innocence of humanity. I see the tire marks of enduros riding through the most difficult terrain I have seen tire tracks. I’m sure those riders didn’t notice the wonders I did, but I saw the wonders of the paths the selected and the obstacles overcome, and I can be amazed. Any other human artifacts are rusty relics. Times long gone, people long gone, turns their litter into an humbling monument of innocent callousness.
I finally checked out a hunk of rust I have been curious about. After getting to the top of the bluffs, I walked along a little bit and came across what I suspected was a truck cab. I looked down and contemplated a path for a controlled downfall off the face of the bluffs. As I am sliding down, I see metal sticking out of the dirt, it is a transmission. I am sliding down a 70% grade, and there is a random transmission sticking out the face of the bluff. I spent time considering the geologic wonder that lead to this transmission being buried dozens of feet underground, and exposed on the face of the bluff, then fell on.
Sliding down, now a much steeper grade, I’m noting I am near vertical, being supported mostly by the avalanche being pushed ahead by my feet that is completely showering my dog with sand. A typical favorite thought of mine at this point is, “I wonder why my shoes never seem to last.” Another thought, a newer thought placed into my mind, maybe having somebody to love me enough to note I am missing and have not returned from taking the dogs potty, that may have a clue as to where I may be, would be nice. That less then gentle landing, a protesting ankle, with only ravens to laugh, highlighted that.
Turns out that rusty metal was a truck cab, 67-72 Chevy C10. I do feel a spirituality when I come across such monuments where you have to wonder how, and why. It is the partial skeleton of so many lives being indirectly touched, rusting and wasting away, waiting to be buried with the next failure of the cliff.
The dogs and I made it back.
Then people happen.
-Duckin’ Kev
It Only Take One
It only takes one…
This gentlemen was
desperate. He was desperate in a way I know all too well. I
needed somebody, anybody. I can hear those pleads for help as if I
were there. I hear those pleas because far too many times I have
screamed those same pleas.
I don’t think I could
count, I can’t even keep track of all the times it took one word,
one smile, one gesture of good will to turn me around from that dark
road this soul tortured soul was on. I think the latest was while
doing laundry. I was beyond emotional, trying to find that strength
to keep alive, and I held the door for a young man. He was a recent
immigrant, he was eager to show is appreciation. He hadn’t had the
time to learn English, I never took the time to learn Spanish, but
after starting his wash, he offered to get me something while he got
something a the corner market. I said I was good, but I was terribly
thirsty but didn’t have the energy to communicate anything
resembling a desire, much less deal with a decision of what. He went
off, and brought back an Arizona tea for me. Not only that, but he
randomly got a flavor I had been curios about. It was really good.
I my bodily thirst and emotional thirst were quenched. That young
man will never know what that drink meant for me, but at that moment,
that drink saved my world.
I truly wish I were there, again. I understand that need for just one. So I smile. It hurts so goddamn much to smile, but I smile. I acknowledge. Sometimes that smile, that acknowledgment that they exist is all it takes. Sometimes it takes more. Sometimes it means opening the ears on your heart. Not listening through judgment, because it is you you are judging, but listening through your own story. Their stories are your stories. What they did, you could, should, would, or have done.
A “hi’, a smile, an ear when there is nothing else to hear-
It only takes one.
It never takes none.
What this person did was horrible. So was the willful blindness of countless of humans. He was begging, begging, and begging. There is only so much begging you can handle.
It only takes one, it never takes two.
It only takes one.
Duckin’ Kev