I wrote a short story. Hope you enjoy it!
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George was a tech guy. Or maybe a writer. I was never sure which.
He was focused, George was. Nose to the grindstone. He hated distractions. Called them cockroaches. Gotta resist, he’d say. Gotta keep the roaches away.
He’d trained his mind to resist anything that might interfere with his work. He could project this privacy zone around himself. He called it his Cube.
He didn’t stop and smell the flowers. He blocked them out.
He didn’t date, didn’t socialize. He hated small talk and thought jokes were stupid.
He never took vacations, didn’t go on hikes. He liked birds, but never bought a feeder because he’d have to keep it filled. Just something to distract him from his work.
He didn’t go to concerts or baseball games because they were a waste of time. He didn’t go to church because the idea that there might be more to life than work was, well, threatening.
He didn’t go home for Thanksgiving, he just sent his mother a fruit basket. He never did crossword puzzles. Who cared what the name of Sherlock Holmes’ landlady was?
The only thing his mobile phone could do was make phone calls. He didn’t watch television, especially the news, and he steered clear of Facebook and social media. There’s a lot to be said for resistance.
Then one fateful day he was downtown and saw a little old lady drop her cane in the middle of a busy crosswalk. She couldn’t bend over far enough to pick it up. Horns blared. The people walking by ignored her.
Against his better judgement, George picked up the cane and helped her across the street. He turned to go, but she held onto his arm.
“Do you see these two places?” she asked. She pointed to two establishments side-by-side. One was the Cockroach Bar, the other Olive’s Cocktail Lounge.
“There’s a difference between a distraction and a discovery,” she said. “Come, I want to buy you a drink for helping me.” George began to make excuses, but her grip was like iron.
She led him into the cocktail lounge. A young woman wearing bib overalls and a big smile was walking towards them. She was carrying a tool kit.
“I want you to meet my friend Gigi,” said the old woman. “She’s some kind of technical genius. Gigi, this is George.”
“I repair sound systems,” laughed the young woman, shaking hands. “This one had some messed-up gain control settings.”
George noticed she had a dimple in her chin. He blinked. Had he told the old woman his name? He couldn’t remember.
That was three years ago. George and Gigi got married at St. Patrick’s and they go to mass there every Sunday.
They’ve got a son Andre who likes to take things apart, and another baby on the way. They’ll be going to his mom’s for Thanksgiving.
They’ve got a bird feeder in the backyard and they go hiking a lot in a nearby state park. George has stopped looking at his watch when they do the 5-mile loop.
