The Empty Hollow

It is five o'clock.  I've been up since four.  Bad night.  I was sleeping o.k. until three, then the gremlins decided to visit.  Went right up into my skull.  Ugly little buggers.  Wouldn't leave me alone.  So. . . what else could I do?  Maybe I'll go back to bed with sunrise.  

But wait--I need to back up all the way to yesterday morning.  I'd been up for awhile and was in the bathroom when I heard a knocking on the front door.  This couldn't be something good, I thought.  Maybe they would just go away.  But the knocking continued.  When I went to the door, I saw my across the street neighbor.  Now what?

"Do you know whose car this is?"

He was talking about the black Mercedes G Wagon that had been parked in front of his house since the prior morning.  

"Nope."

He turned toward the car.  

"It's blocking my mailbox."

"I can see that.  It looks like it broke down.  I don't think it belongs to any of the construction workers."

I was referring to the multimillion dollar mansion going up next door to him.  

"Hell," I said, "maybe my tenant had someone stay over."

"No.  He drives a red Volt," he said dismissively.  "This is an expensive car."

"Maybe she traded up."

He laughed.  

"What do you think I should do?"

"You could call the police.  They might give it a ticket, but I don't think they will tow it.  Maybe wait a day."

Long pause.  He had turned facing his house.  He just stood there for a bit.  

"I've been going through some mental issues," he said.  

Uh-oh.  

"I broke up with Karen.  We've been dating for ten years now.  Off and on.  Every couple of years we break up, then we get back together.  But she's a MAGA nut.  I just couldn't take it anymore."

What could I say.  

"Wow."

"I started seeing another woman.  I really liked her.  A lot.  So I just laid it on her."

He looked at me.  I had no idea what "laid it on her" meant.  

"She quit coming around so much, so I asked her what was going on, and she said that she couldn't get over the age thing."

He is the same age as I am, and I asked, "How old was she?" expecting her to be very young.  

"In her sixties."

"What!?!?  What the fuck is SHE talking about," I said with a laugh.  He didn't.  

"You know my son is moving away to do his residency in Boston.  My daughter is moving, too.  It is the first time I felt my age."

"Well. . . that's a lot of change."

He looked at me with pleading eyes.  He thought, I guess, that I understood.  

"Yea, it is a lot at once."

The conversation went on for awhile.  He was going to rent a place in Colorado for a couple months this summer.  He was going back on a dating site.  Blah blah blah.  He has a lot of money, and I thought to tell him to tell the sixty year old he would give her all of it, that hell, he'd be eating gruel and shitting his pants soon, anyway.  But I didn't.  

"If I were going to make a change," I said, "I'd want to move into a dorm at Country Club College."

He's not much like me, and this moved him toward his home.  

In a few minutes, I got a text from him.  

"Look out your window.  Tow truck."

And sure as shittin' there was.  

I got ready for the gym.  It was later than usual.  The boys would probably be gone.  It was leg day.  That's funny to say in general.  Leg day.  But my knee has been killing me.  The last injection did no good.  Maybe I shouldn't work legs, I thought, but the thought was fleeting.  

After the gym, I had a hard time walking to the car.  "Maybe I should have skipped leg day."

I decided to take my car to the repair place my shock jock buddy has been touting.  My power steering is shot.  I didn't want to go, but I needed to.  When I got there, though, the place looked abandoned.  I walked into a shitty little office.  Sitting at a desk with his back to me was a huddled figure of a man.  He turned.

"Can I help you?"

"Hi.  Are you Jeff?"

"Yes, I'm Jeff." 

"My buddy (by name) told me I should bring my car to you.  My power steering is shot and he said you'd just fixed his, so. . . . "

He looked sad, lost.  

"I'm going through some mental stuff right now," he said.  

WTF?  

"My mechanic's wife had a stroke, and he's not here.  I have two engines to rebuild but. . . I'm just overwhelmed.  I manage the place, you know, talk to customers and do the analytics, but he does the mechanical work, and I don't. . . I can't do this all alone."

He launched into the whole story of the wife's stroke and of his concern about his mechanic, mostly about the work he wasn't doing.  He talked for a long time.  He, too, looked at me with pleading eyes.  He wasn't a young man.  

"Here's what I can do.  Let me get your information and I'll let you know when I can take a look at the car."  

We walked outside.  He took down my tag number and some numbers I didn't know were inside the car door, then he asked me to pop the hood and he looked at the steering mechanism and got down under the car and looked.  Then he said, "I'll need to do some diagnostics on it. . . I don't know when.  I'll call you and let you know." 

"Sure," I said.  "O.K.  Thanks."

WTF?

Later, I went to see my mother.  She was with her ninety-one year old neighbor.  My mother sat with that grin that lets me know she has no idea what is being said.  Once in awhile the neighbor would say something to her and my mother would look troubled and lean forward and say, "What?" and the neighbor would yell it again.  This went on for an hour before I said I needed to go.  I had a date with the boys, I said.  I was already late.  

I needed a drink.  We were going to my new favorite bar on the Boulevard, but when I got there, two of the fellows were sitting on a sidewalk bench outside.  

"We can't go in," they said.  "The whole bar is reserved."

We waited for the last fellow to show up, then we walked down the street to another place.  The boys said they made good cocktails there.  I trailed behind them, back and knee killing me.  They walked a normal pace, but I could barely keep up.  I caught a glimpse of my reflection passing a shop window.  Quasimodo.  

We got an outside table and ordered drinks.  The waiter was bad and the drinks didn't come.  We ordered starters.  

"This place sucks," I said.  "It's owned by the woman who owns the place across the street that just closed.  She's awful."

Everyone agreed.  But the drinks finally came, then the food, and the boys talked shit and commented on the passing women.  We ordered another round.  When the check came, I split it with one of the fellows.  

"Where are we going now?"

It was still bright and blue, so we headed to the little beer garden down the street.  The crowd was beat.  We ordered beers.  I was still hungry and ordered ribs.  Someone ordered wings.  It turned out to be a shitty night, I thought, and just after dark, the party was breaking up.  A group of fellows walked in as we got ready to leave, younger guys in their thirties.  Up and comers.  T knew them.  One of the young guys owned two new car dealerships.  They all wore pro shop outfits, polos and plaid shorts, and they talked with T about golf courses.  T was playing with some financial guys in the morning.  

Blah blah blah.  

So, yea. . . it had been a weird day.  And when I woke up at three, I felt alone.  I wanted to cuddle up against my true love's back and fall asleep.  But the room was hollow and empty and the gremlins were hard at work.  My knee and back were hurting.  I tried, but I could think of nothing pleasant.  So at four, I hit the coffee maker and read the papers.  

It is six now and sunrise is still a fair way off.  One more coffee, I think, and then I'll go back to bed.  It is Friday.  Good Friday, some say.  I'll need to get my mother flowers and maybe some candy.  We will have Easter dinner with her across the street neighbors.  

The empty hollowness surrounds me.