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Everything is timing

2010-05-14 - 4:46 p.m.

We�re in the process of moving. I can see why moving is up there with life�s more notable stressors. It just is, although the new place is maybe only two miles away. I am happy about it for several reasons; one is for practicality�s sake - the new place has a fenced & terraced yard for our dogs, so they can be outside all day without mommy having to watch them go potty and hurry them up. The other part of it is that although things have been pretty quiet on the old block, I was really happy to be able to escape the silent agony of seeing my least favorite person in a wheelchair, who still hasn�t spoken or even waved to me since our little tiff a few months ago.

Today, being about 65% moved out, I was able to go back to the old place and clean and pack some more. I brought the dogs with me so that I could take them for a walk at the river, and then when they finally became exhausted, they could sleep while I cleaned. Things went along perfectly well and exactly as planned, and I even made a new friend, who came over to pick up some more bags of things from our place. I met him last week when I was packing books; he was a cute little older man with clothing that was simply way too big on him and it hung off his meager frame. Not even a belt.

He pulled up outside our place that day and was going through the recyclable bins on our street, and I just so happened to have more glass bottles and offered them to him if he was interested. We spoke for a little while, and I was happy to release about 20 bags of extra stuff that we didn�t need, and he told me he was going to send them to his family in the Philippines. It was great timing to meet him while we were moving, and he lit up like he had won a house. His name is Lino and his accent is very strong so you can only catch every few words. Today, as a cute thank you for the clothing, he brought me a gift bag with three Filipino beers in it, which had peculiarly faded looking labels on them, almost as if they�d been laying out in the sun all week. The gift tag said �Thank you to the Angel sent, from Lino�.

When he pulled up today, I came outside and he was standing next to his little car in the street, with his little hands on his little hips. His fisherman�s cap almost completely covered his head, which was also very little, of course. I let my dogs run out so they could get to know him.

� I don�t thinks those doggie like me and I don�t like to get bite! So I will stay here ok?�

We chatted for a few minutes and then we loaded up his car. I noticed he was using a black Metallica t-shirt as a seat cover.

�You helped so much � for my grandchildren in the Phillipines. Do you know that is what is Christianity? I am Christianity. So you know what�s about that?�

He tilted his head to the side and looked at me.

�Well I know about it, but I don�t follow it.�

�What do you do about God for?�

�Well? I pray but I don�t get into what God is, or anything. I�m not religious.�

�Well�I would like to meet you husband. I would like you to have some children. Do you know God say, only man go through me. He say��

��- the Father in me doeth the works?�

�Ahh, you know dem!�

�Yes, I read a lot, plus I went to Catholic school, and a lot of church. And my mother taught religion at one point. We were Catholic, but I�m really pretty well over it.�

�That�s good, you know dem. And you give me all this bags � you�re so sure?�

�I�m sure. We don�t need all this stuff, and I�m sure it�s one of God�s universal laws or something; you can�t keep things if you�re not using them. Use it or lose it.�

We said our goodbyes and I promised we�d have he and his wife over for a barbeque, (once I prep my husband to the ways of the Filipino Christian, which I�m sure he won�t appreciate at all).

I felt like I had accomplished a lot today. The dogs were ready to go home, so I put them in the (kind of hot) car, placed a few bags in my trunk, looked to my left, and saw my least favorite friend parked � way down the block, then hastily threw the remaining bags in the trunk, shut it and ran to the driver�s seat. An oddly familiar and unpleasant feeling swept over me. He was most definitely coming toward us.

I actually prayed about it to myself: Hey, God! Let him roll by me. Please just let me move out in peace, I�m almost there! I send him love. I�m over the thing. I don�t need a life lesson, but thanks. The dogs are hot. I�m not angry at him anymore. I don�t want to talk to him. I�ll apologize to you later tonight before I go to sleep. Come on. Seriously! God!

I waved to him politely and opened my door, a last ditch attempt at avoidance. But it was too hot to shut the door without turning on the car, and it was too rude to turn on the car with him just sitting there. Waving hello didn�t seem to do the trick, but it made him nod to me, put his chair in gear, and roll it up directly next to me. I turned around to see my dogs panting in the back, as expected.

�Hey Zak, I know you�re hot, Zak. Just sit. Be good, Stella. It is hot, we�ll get water. Sit.�

I sat in the car and hung on the open door, cursing myself for being a wussy. My next-door neighbor, the therapist, started down her driveway, and gave me a pity wave. I motioned for her to come talk. She motioned to her watch, and shrugged. Alone again.

He didn�t have the laminate spelling board that he usually had with him, where he types on it with his pointer finger. He had gotten a kind of tricked out speak-n-spell machine which looked like it was attached to the chair where a steering wheel might be. He switched it on and started to type, still pretty slowly using the one finger but at least it was an improvement. I thought of what he might possibly want. To bitch me out? To apologize? That�s fine, I�ll just apologize first. I�m not even mad anymore, it�s like�it�s like it�s not even a big deal! I�ll say I�m sorry before he even finishes the first word. Or I�ll leave. What, I�m going to risk my dogs getting heatstroke so he can type out an F you? I cannot BELIEVE my timing. Maybe he wants to finish typing the rest of the sentence he tried to type last time when I interrupted and told him I was running late and had to go. He had gotten as far as �I have�� a few times and then I just couldn�t wait anymore and told him I had to go. Which put our good neighborly thing on the outs.

He finished typing the sentence, pressed what must have been the �send� button, and sat back in his chair. I winced at the longest 4 seconds of precursory silence ever, and heard a robot voice announce

�Hello. I�m Matthew. Who may you be?�

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