A peaceful man

March 1st 2020

It’s Sunday morning. I wake up later than usual after partying a bit too hard the night before. Saw some friends, did some shots. I’m getting too old for this.

I crawl out of bed, put on some pants, light a ciggie, and turn on the coffee maker. I sit there, head in hands, smoking, listening to the drip noises and letting the smell of strong, dark coffee finish waking me up. My stomach gurgles and my gut follows in kind. Too old, I tell ya.

Mr Coffee does his job, I get a cupful, take a sip, crush the ciggie butt in an ashtray and walk to the window to peek at the outside world. The outside world sticks daggers of light straight into my brain and I blink several times, shading my eyes with my hand while sipping more coffee. My throbbing head does not explode and after a while, a cloud hides the sun, and I can look out. The neighborhood is serene. I can see some brown grass patches through the melting snow, vibrant testimonial to the warm weather that lets me hope for an early spring. I look at the snow, at the grass, at the trees. My guts grumbles again. I’ll need to visit the can before long. That’s when Mr. Klein and his fucking mutt come into view.

Mr Klein lives two doors down. Klein and his dog, a shaggy grey mongrel, walk by my lawn. The mutt walks to a patch of brown grass, sniffs, and circles for a bit then assumes to position and dumps a steaming load. My gut clenches and my head throbs. I knock on the window. Klein startles, looks up, sees me then raises his shoulders in an apologetic shrug. Then he looks around, turns very red and pulls his dog behind him. The duo disappears around the corner. The steaming pile does not.

-Fuck you, you old fart. I wish your dog falls dead.

The clouds shifts and the daggers of light come back. My poor brain screams, and I retreat, pulling the drape on the world and on the pile of dog shit decorating my lawn. As I walk towards the bathroom, my last thought a hateful one, towards Mr. Klein. Then I drop my own steaming pile and the circle of life comes to a close.

March 15th, 2020

It’s all over the news. There’s a virus spreading around like modern plague. The country is now on lockdown. People are afraid. Fuck, I’m afraid. I’m young enough but let’s face it, ciggies and beer are not superfoods and I don’t know if I’d survive this shit. I stick to the tv all day. I call my friends. I call my mom. I scroll Facebook again and again. There is no escape. No alternate reality. This is not a movie. We’re confined. People are dying. The day passes. In the evening, I turn on the porch lights and step out, to breathe some air, to get away from walls that already seem to press on me. The street is empty except for a few neighbors standing on their own porches. I know none of their names and they don’t know mine. I wave. They wave back. Nobody moves closer to anybody. I smoke, go down the stairs, crush the butt on the pavement and turn around to go back in my house. That’s when I notice the pile of cold dog poop on the lawn.

-Ah, fuck me!

I stomp inside, cursing, grab a bag, collect the gift, and dump it in the trash. I go to bed and lay there, amidst thoughts of the plague and of Klein letting his beast crap my lawn every morning. Late in the night, I finally fall asleep.

April 12th, 2020

Adaptation is the key to survival, they say.

It might be true but there is one thing they don’t tell you. The process sucks balls.

I’ve been inside for a month now. I have a permanent Zoom headache from too many online meetings and have taken the habit of scrubbing and disinfecting everything delivery people leave at my door. I move from my computer, where my whole career is now centered, to the window, looking for UPS trucks the way a sailor stranded on a deserted island must seek boats and planes.

I reach for my cigarettes with a jittery hand -mr coffee works overtime these days-, light up and look outside. Brown is my new favorite color and I smile as I see the van pull by the curb. Dave walks out and carries a package. I wave at him. He waves back, drops the package on the doorstep and leaves. His face looked drawn and a tad worried. I get the package and open it. A book falls out.

You can choose peace.

The book shows a picture of a thin, smiling man with a shaved head and an orange robe. He holds a lotus flower. I read the title again, feel my face flush and put the book, face down, on a shelf.

-That’s it. I’m going nuts.

Well, that’s how it feels, anyway. I’ve never been religious or spiritual or anything, really, I just do things like work, eat, screw the occasional lover. You know. Normal joe grinding his days. Then the plague came, and I’ve been here for over a month, alone, with mr coffee and-

-Yeah. I’m going nuts.

At this moment, Mr. Klein walks by, his dog assumes the position on his favorite spot, and I snap. I grab an ashtray, a heavy one, all glass and step outside.

-Get your dog off my lawn you old coot!

Mr. Klein looks up. His face is a strange mixture of shame and anger. I throw the ashtray and miss by a mile (dad was right, I should have played ball). The ashtray explodes in the street. Mr. Klein drags his now-barking dog off my lawn and runs off. I stand there, tense, and then walk back in. I close the door and walk to the shelf. I pick-up the book. The tiny man still grins at me and this time, it’s his voice I imagine.

-You are going nuts.

I plop in the couch, light a cigarette, and start reading…

May 10th, 2020

Going out with friends now seems a distant memory.

Same with having sex.

Yet it all seems… less important.

Every morning, I sit and meditate. I focus on the fact that my emotions, my drama, my life, really, are all temporary phenomenon. They are to be experienced and enjoyed, of course, but there is no real reason to get so cross about things. Not when you can choose to go at things with a peaceful heart.

The soft bell of my timer sounds, and I get off my mat. Mr. Coffee is done dribbling. I grab a cup of coffee then walk to the window. Children in the neighborhood have drawn rainbows and stuck the drawing on windows, to share some light with the outside world. I smile and sip. Time passes and Mr. Klein never comes by. I feel lonely and worry about him a little.

May 17th, 2020

I found poop on my lawn every morning again, this week. Now I’m at the window and I wait. Mr Klein comes by with his mutt and I frown. The mutt squats and poops and I make a fist with my free hand then raise it to the glass and-

There is no real reason to get so cross about things.

I stop mid-gesture. Mr. Klein and his dog leave and I’m still there. Another thought pops in.

You threw an ashtray at an old man. You could have hurt him badly.

I finish my coffee, clean the mug, clean mr coffee and go sit on my couch.

I have some thinking to do.

May 24th, 2020

I stand at the window, coffee-cup in hand. Mr Klein comes by with his dog and as usual, the mutt takes his stance. I put down the coffee mug and step outside. Mr Klein is startled and looks up at me, a scared expression on his face. I remember the ashtray and I feel shame. Shame that I scared an old man for something as trivial as dog poop. I raise a hand in a peace gesture.

-It’s ok, Mister Klein I… I wanted to apologize about scaring you so bad that time.

Mr. Klein looks away, reddens then looks at me.

-My dog is old, and he won’t poop anywhere else. I’ve tried, you know. I tried waiting, I tried skipping our walk. He holds it in and won’t do his business anywhere else and I… my back is bad, and I can’t pick up after he’s done.

Mr. Klein is crying now, and I feel even worst. Then I breathe in and let go. I take a bag out of my pockets, walk down the stairs, and collect the poop. The dog wags at me. I pet him.

-No worries, Mr. Klein. No worries at all.

Mr. Klein looks relieved and goes on his way. I walk back in and throw the poop in the trash.

I choose peace.