Chapter 6c
When I got back to the bar Darren was already cleaning off another of his fine glasses and Paul was scribbling notes in a notebook. The air had cleared a little, the sun was back out, and things seemed pleasant in the room. I said, "Pour it again, Darren," and he did so with a smile.
"When was the last time you guys caught a ball game? Any game, any sport? I was thinking about it, you know, kicking back with a beer and catching the game, but I never know when things happen.
Darren said, "I think L.A. is playing St. Louis today," and turned on the big TV in the corner.
I smiled, nodded, drank my beer. "What are you up to, Paul?" I asked. "Not much mail to deliver?"
He looked up quickly. "Oh, nothing, just noting some things, you know, mail routes and things. Yeah, slow day on the mail. It's Sunday."
"Oh," I said, "right."
He said, "Who's playing today?"
I told him Rams versus Cardinals.
He said, "Sounds like it should be a close game."
"Really?" I said, "Why's that?"
"Neither of those animals have thumbs, how can they catch a ball?"
He was right. I said, "Something's wrong with the picture, Darren, you want to give it a little slap for me?"
Darren walked over to the TV and hit the side of it with a sledge hammer, tearing it down to the floor and smashing the screen. "Better?" he asked.
"Yep," I said, "thanks. If you wanna grab me another beer I'll stop hassling you."
"Nah," he said, "don't do that, how would I keep busy without you hassling me?"
We both chortled a little and I thanked him.
The rest of the game seemed normal enough, although I didn't pay much attention to it, don't even know who won. Darren spent his time whistling and cleaning. Paul spent his with his face turned down into his notebook. I just sat back and lost myself in thought.
This little area I've lived in for so long just keeps getting stranger. I don't recognize the faces around me any more. I always feel like I'm losing it. I feel like I have trouble recalling features, for instance, but then I see the person and they're the same as I imagined. I'll think I remember somebody perfectly then I'll look and they'll be something else altogether. The thought took a long time but that was all I got.
Paul interrupted me. "Hey Erwin," he said, "what year is it?"
The otherwise simple question caught me completely off-guard. A whorl of numbers breezed through my mind and I replied with the first one that I could reach out and snag.
