The Monologue

Awhile back I had a very good customer, a good friend really, stop by for some cables and parts. And as is typical between us, we had good conversation. But an unusual thing happened.

I probably should not even write about it, as I can never do it justice. Too, it strikes me that relating the entire conversation, a soliloquy, really, would be rather indecent. It was one of those moments, rare but deep and trusting, that likely are unrelatable and maybe ought to stay private. Still, it struck me as too profound to keep silent. 

About halfway through our talk he began to take it over, not in any mean spirited or selfish manner but in more reflective tones. He began relating about things which had happened to him, things he had done or failed to do, some bad by his own admittance but some laudable, even things he had done only because they were the right things to do, or finally accepted that they were the right things to do. He was looking away from me and out the door of the old barn, studying the distance as he spoke of whatever came up. It was sort of a stream of consciousness, yet with direction. Eventually it occurred to me that he was reviewing his life.

There was a wispy look in his eyes, and he vaguely teared up when going over a detail or two, sometimes in sadness, sometimes in sublime happiness, sometimes in simple reflection. He was a tough guy, not one you'd expect to be prone to just thinking about stuff, and it initially seemed out of character but grew away from that. I have to say I became transfixed by it all. I quit trying to join in. I think he needed to go on; I don't think I should have interrupted. I'm not sure I had the right. 

When it was over he just shrugged and said he needed to get moving. As he walked out the door I said, a bit sheepishly for whatever reason, "Uh, you signed your check, but you didn't fill it out."

With a dismissive wave and without turning back he answered, "Ah, you'll fill it out right, Marty. You're a good man."

I don't know about that. Oh, of course I made out the check right. But I remember thinking that he was the good man that day.

Guys don't talk

Got a call from an old friend, we used to be real close. So goes the old Billy Joel song. Happily the two friends I'm about to discuss, while both indeed being old friends (I feel I've accumulated a lot of those and that's a good thing), we're still close and see each other regularly. This is more about the phone calls.

They both called me over the weekend. They both called just to talk. So we talked, and both conversations were pleasant. But I want to stress that they had called respectively just to talk, just to pass time. What was odd about it was, well, guys as a rule don't call to talk.

Think about it. When a guy uses a phone it's almost always for information purposes. You busy, how about breakfast? What's our tee time this Saturday? Can I borrow your rake? Is your internet out? If they're still working they call other guys about work related stuff. Guys don't call to chat. They call to find things out. They may well talk quite pleasantly at breakfast or on the golf course. But they don't use the phone just to talk.

I do believe this shelter at home thing is affecting us guys profoundly.