Monday, August 13, 2012

I'm BETER Than You Are!!!

I can ride by homes with paint peeling off them, the lawn full of two foot high weeds and see five unattended dirty kids fighting each other on it. My middle class snootiness can come out and I think to myself, “Ugh...you people actually live like this?”


And I do suppose, if Bill Gates rode by my house he'd say to his chauffeur, “My Dear God, Jeeves...would you look at that...do they actually live like this?” I can see myself, picking lint out of my belly button as he rides by in his Bentley.


Feeling smug is great huh? You can pass judgment on all who seem below you.


I've said before that I can sometimes really make a horrifically bad, first impression if the cards are right, and I don't have to try too hard either. I chalk that up to my spastic uncoordinated nature at times. I walk into walls, trip on lines in the sidewalk and generally do things too fast to be able to do them safely. Ask around, others will back me up. Always on the go I can be.


My brother, was ga ga over this one woman who was more sympathetic than attracted to him (due to his sickness) for about two years. I never met her as she rarely came over to the house and if so, I was out at work or the like. But one day, we met.


That late morning I was working on my car, doing the exhaust actually. My mechanic's garb was a too small, filthy Army Field jacket. I kept it because canvas is a great material to work in, you can abuse the hell out of it and NEVER bother to wash it. The pants I wore were my “I Don't Care What Happens to These Jeans” which were torn (some holes in the 'right' places) and spotted with grease, anti-freeze and what not. My sneakers were of the same category.


I had to leave for the auto parts store to get a reducing coupling to mate some exhaust pipe together and I come back, crawl under the car and start the work anew. As I do this, I whack my forehead on some protruding bolt and start to piss blood down my face. Ah well, par for the course for me. I held the blood back till it clotted and continued to work. I then find out I need a newer cutting wheel for my drill and have to go in and downstairs to get one.


I didn't know that my brother's flame, Angela, had come over. I went into the house, my face caked with dried blood, my hair sticking all around and in my possibly very odorous of stink clothing.


Oh, Angela, this is my brother Ron, I've talked about him before.” Ken says.


Hi Angela!” I say.


She stared at me. She stared at me with that “What the fuck just walked into this house” look. It wasn't hard to miss that reaction on her face. Did I care? Nope, I had other things to do and downstairs I went to get the cutting wheel.


As I came back up they were chatting away. Well, my brother continued to chat away but she shut right as I passed them to the kitchen door, again with that “I have met you and you stand convicted!” look.


It looked like Angela and I weren't going to be the greatest of friends.


As time passed, we'd meet each other on occasion, she was coolish to me and I knew she had harbored few romantic feelings for my brother. It was obvious to me but not him.


Flash forward six months:


One day I was visiting my brother in the hospital and as I walked into the room, I stopped. I saw Angela there, holding his hand while he lay there oblivious to the world, zonked to shit on morphine. I stepped back some and watched this scene. I saw her face and it was one of pain, sadness. It was real. I stood there perhaps 90 seconds and realized she did have some feelings for the guy. I then noisily walked into the room and she got up and hugged me. Wow.


Without saying it, we both lowered our walls some, got to know one another a bit better and realized we both weren't that bad after all.

No comments:

Post a Comment