A Toaster Oven For Paul Merton
It was a cloudy day. The streets were crying out for heat, but none, not one ray of sunlight fought its way through the thick blanket of clouds.
I was sitting on a park bench holding on to my pockets. I didn’t realize it was going to be this cold when I set out to meet the shabby looking, clumsy character I called my friend. He, of course, was late as usual. He usually comes up with an excuse, something about traffic, or a last-minute chore that needed tending. So, while I waited, slowly freezing to death, I tried to guess what his excuse might be this time.
I imagined he would come running towards me, out of breath, saying rather loudly, “I did it man. I did it. I figured out how to fix that traffic problem you’re always on about.”
I should probably explain: Being stuck in traffic is a rather modern experience. It is one of the many modern things I find unpleasant – cell phones and smiles being some others. I often ask my friends, or strangers on a bus, what one could do to solve this particular problem. How can one make it so that one would never have to be stuck in traffic again?
So, here he comes running with the answer, an answer which, of course, was not a genuine attempt on his part to solve the problem, rather just a way for him to explain away his lateness. He would say something like, “We could add a second story to all the highways. Shouldn’t be that hard, just add columns, some concrete and a couple more lights, and there it is, problem solved.” And of course he would punctuate it all with a smile.
But I wouldn’t let him get away with it that easily; I’d say, “You’re not serious are you? You couldn’t possibly be late because you were trying to think of a way to solve the bloody traffic problem.”
But, naturally he’d retort, “No, I was stuck in traffic.”
Or, that might not be it. He might meander over in a sort of haze, covered in a gloomy shroud and sit next to me on the bench, all solemn and in thought. He might wait till I asked him, “What’s going on, why are you so late?”
At which point he would reply with, “Late? Was I late? Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. It’s just that…” he would wonder off into silence.
I would, of course, ask, “Just that what?”
He would then come up with something ridiculous like, “I ran into a friend of mine from school, Jerry, you don’t know him. Anyways, he told me his pet iguana died yesterday. Yeah, it swallowed the engagement ring he was going to use to propose to his girlfriend, Sally, you don’t know her. You know it really makes you think, don’t it?”
Well, of course, I know he’s lying but you can’t let on during these kinds of moments, so I say, “It really is sad, isn’t it? No one ever knows when their time is up.”
But then he would add in, “It’s not all bad news though.”
And I would ask, “Oh yeah, well what do you mean?”
To which he’d say, “After he had dug the ring out of the corpse, Sally said yes. They’ll be getting married sometime in the spring.” Once again putting on a smile as he finished uttering the word spring.
To which I’d say, “There’s that silver lining again.” and as he’s getting up he’d expel, “Can’t dwell on the bad stuff, let’s go grab a drink and celebrate.” his solemn demeanor having disappeared.
While I sat there daydreaming, imagining the lies my uncouth friend might tell to excuse his lateness a tiny little thought crept into the conscious part of my brain. It entered rather shyly, not wishing to disrupt all the other elaborate thoughts that were flying around in there. It managed to get my attention, as certainly all tiny, subtle things do, and finally manifested the following, “Today is a Thursday.”
And yes, it was a Thursday, but why did that matter? What possible significance could it hold that today, of all the days it could have been, it was a Thursday? And then, a second, larger, more demanding thought made itself known, and it carried the following message, “You’re meant to meet your friend on Friday.”
- Jakob Lint
