This morning begins one of those unusual days, those days that seem fresh and new like the first days of the long-sought-after job in my youth. My good fortune, this morning, is almost impossible to believe. How wonderful—and what an utterly improbable and random luck of the draw—that I stepped into this beautiful life of mine instead of the life of a scrap collector enduring grueling poverty on the outskirts of Mumbai. This sense of joy and wonder at my good fortune seems out of place, though. My thoughts should be on that struggling scrap collector and his wretched existence. I should feel guilt at my serendipity and pity for his misfortune. And I do. But, this morning, I give myself permission to be glad, to be comfortable with my current place in this fickle universe.
In our youth, we wish for time to pass more quickly. At this point in my life, I would freeze time if I could. Or maybe I would turn the clock back just a little and allow time to move forward at quarter speed.
The good times and the good things outweigh the bad. I suppose they always have, but I’ve been too focused on the bumps in the road to give the smooth stretches the attention they deserve. Even on this day, this day beginning with such sparkling promise, I can’t help but allow my thoughts to be swarmed by the ripples, when I should permit my mind to marvel at the still waters. I am a man awash in abundance, yet I worry that the bounty is, perhaps, undeserved. No, that is a lie. I am certain my largess was an inadvertent mistake of the universe, given to me by accident. My worry is that the universe will discover its blunder and will come calling to correct the snafu.
That notwithstanding, I shall endeavor to make this day fulfill its promise. Shortly, I will leave the house to meet my friend, Allen Dameron, for breakfast. Allen lives on 115th Street, near Morgan Park on the Metra Rock Island line. We’ll probably go to a little Italian place near his house for espresso and sweets. Allen loves sweets for breakfast; I’m more inclined toward savory, but his food preferences are more limited than mine, so we’ll do what pleases him.
Ach! Here I am giving you insights into my soul and telling you about my friend Allen and about my dining habits and I haven’t yet introduced myself, have I? I’m Chester Dougherty. That’s really all you need to know now. The rest will come in good time.
I don’t know, Juan, are you seeing through my facade or ignoring my assertions? Clearly, I presented this as fiction, but you saw through it to it to the unmistakeable bedrock beneath the lie. I suppose, then, it’s impossible to hide behind my web of lies.
In all honesty to you, my friend: It’s the kind of writing I love to read …. a good essay like this … and when a piece like this gives me insight into the writer’s soul, then it gives me insight into my own.
You can write all the fiction you want, but’s it’s these pieces that I cherish … even over poetry. I think this is where your writer-power is…..pieces like this one!