Goose’s comment reminded me that I wanted to point back to his website. He chronicles his preparations, his trip and what’s he’s been up to so far in Colorfulrado. Wanna take a trip back in time? Watch his road trip video.

Goose’s comment reminded me that I wanted to point back to his website. He chronicles his preparations, his trip and what’s he’s been up to so far in Colorfulrado. Wanna take a trip back in time? Watch his road trip video.

John and I were sitting at the counter of our local greasy spoon when someone shouted, “Call 911.” I’d just wiped up some runny yellow with my wheat toast. Two girls to the left of us stood up, alarmed, but the commotion was occurring around the bend in the counter, to our right. I slid off my stool and thought, “Finally, someone to resuscitate, I haven’t done this in a long time.” A couple of steps and there she was, a girl of about sixteen flat on her back on the floor wedged between two stools, with her head at a funny right angle against the counter.

People were hollering the usual, “Give her air, be careful of her neck,” all against the silly drumbeat of call 911. Too much TV I thought.

The fallen girl looked like one of Matt’s friends with that blemishless skin that screamed sacrifice me now and the rains will come. That was my first clue that she was okay. Nonetheless, kneeling over her I had to do something so I felt her carotid artery. Then I knew for sure she okay, not because her pulse lub dubbed against my fingers, but because she opened her eyes and yelped. I fully understood the yelp. Had I been Matt she might’ve smiled.

This all brings me to another one of my pet peeves.

If you read our local newspaper’s police beat you’ll see things like, “Resident saw car parked outside neighbor’s house and called the police,” Suspicious looking man in black hat spotted on Arlington St, police called,” “Stray dog, police called.” As Matt is fond of saying, we didn’t call the police when our house caught fire. We called the fire department on their chat line after we put the fire out. Matt doesn’t want the police near him for any reason, and I don’t want to bother people.

The girl on the floor? The rescue squad arrived and she walked into the ambulance.

He looked like Raymond Carver, but with modern, rimless reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. His brown hair  combed neatly back from his furrowed brow which looked ready for spring planting, like mine. I’d stopped in at our local auto parts store for front brake pads for the Mazda, and I carried this funny collection of bills from our trip to Aruba. Hundreds, fifties and lots of singles.

“You want the knock offs for thirty or original equipment for seventy?”He asked.

“What’s the difference?”

“Maybe ten thousand miles.”

I chose the cheaper pads and I gave him a fifty. I said, “Can you use ones? I’d like to get rid of all these so I can sit down again.”

“I’ll take all you’ve got.” Ray’s lookalike replied.

As he pulled change from the register I dealt those dollar bills into a neat stack and laid them on the counter. He didn’t watch me, he didn’t pay much attention at all, and when he asked how many I said, “Twenty.”

He picked up the pile and dropped them in the singles slot in the register and handed me a twenty.

“Give or take three or four.” I said.

He smiled.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” I asked.

“I’m not, I’m from Oregon.”

Same as Carver, I thought.

“How did you know?”

“You didn’t count those bills.”

“I trust everyone.” He said.