no longer in service
I dialed my mom's old phone number just for old times sake. I heard the usual message that one hears when a phone has been disconnected. I thought it would be cool to hear a message that said "The mother you have called is no longer in service. If you believe you have dialed the right mother, please hang up and call again". It would have been funny if it happened but more funny and miraculous if my mom had answered and said "Hi Donna Raye, how's my sweet baby girl?".
Today when we were running at 6 AM and it was so nice and light outside and we were both sneezing because of the good pollen smells and we saw a fawn, we talked about dead friends we remembered from high school. I thought of Peter, the guy who sat next to me in chemistry. I had asthma really bad in high school and at that time they used isuprel inhalers until they found out that people dropped dead unexpectedly from them. The inhaler had an alcohol propellant. I tried to hide the fact that I was "huffing" by almost climbing into my purse to have a hit, but Peter always said "Who's been drinking?".
Then one fine night (like Richard Corey in the poem") long after high school, Peter went home and put a bullet in his head and ended it. The poem, by Edwin Arlington Robinson, went like this:
WHENEVER Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored, and imperially slim.
And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
"Good-morning," and he glittered when he walked.
And he was rich—yes, richer than a king,
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.
So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head.
Peter was a shy red headed, freckled boy whose mom died when he was young. He had no sisters. Who knows why he did it? Who knows why any of us do the things we do? Peter is also no longer in service. I would have gone out with him in highschool if he had been brave enough to ask. I was a shy red headed freckled kid too. But I had a mom then.
Then there was Curtis, who was one of the few fat kids in the class. He drank warm beer at our high school senior party. He went on to die in an accident at the paper mill. I had to square dance once with him in gym class and he had sweaty chubby hands. Curtis = no longer in service either.
Yvonne was one of the wild girls in our class. I don't remember much about her except that she was rumored to be a "bad girl . She seemed nice and never hurt anyone. But she died of cancer a few years ago - no longer in service.
Most of the people I went to high school with (88 in my graduating class) are still living. I don't keep in contact with any of them really...except my one good friend Nancy who I see every time when I am back in my little town.
Today when we were running we also talked about how in high school you never knew anything about anyone's family life. You only knew what you saw at school. I guess that is how it is now. Nothing is really as it seems. We are the lucky ones to still be in service and able to be of service to those less fortunate.
Today when we were running at 6 AM and it was so nice and light outside and we were both sneezing because of the good pollen smells and we saw a fawn, we talked about dead friends we remembered from high school. I thought of Peter, the guy who sat next to me in chemistry. I had asthma really bad in high school and at that time they used isuprel inhalers until they found out that people dropped dead unexpectedly from them. The inhaler had an alcohol propellant. I tried to hide the fact that I was "huffing" by almost climbing into my purse to have a hit, but Peter always said "Who's been drinking?".
Then one fine night (like Richard Corey in the poem") long after high school, Peter went home and put a bullet in his head and ended it. The poem, by Edwin Arlington Robinson, went like this:
WHENEVER Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored, and imperially slim.
And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
"Good-morning," and he glittered when he walked.
And he was rich—yes, richer than a king,
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.
So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head.
Peter was a shy red headed, freckled boy whose mom died when he was young. He had no sisters. Who knows why he did it? Who knows why any of us do the things we do? Peter is also no longer in service. I would have gone out with him in highschool if he had been brave enough to ask. I was a shy red headed freckled kid too. But I had a mom then.
Then there was Curtis, who was one of the few fat kids in the class. He drank warm beer at our high school senior party. He went on to die in an accident at the paper mill. I had to square dance once with him in gym class and he had sweaty chubby hands. Curtis = no longer in service either.
Yvonne was one of the wild girls in our class. I don't remember much about her except that she was rumored to be a "bad girl . She seemed nice and never hurt anyone. But she died of cancer a few years ago - no longer in service.
Most of the people I went to high school with (88 in my graduating class) are still living. I don't keep in contact with any of them really...except my one good friend Nancy who I see every time when I am back in my little town.
Today when we were running we also talked about how in high school you never knew anything about anyone's family life. You only knew what you saw at school. I guess that is how it is now. Nothing is really as it seems. We are the lucky ones to still be in service and able to be of service to those less fortunate.
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