Sometimes you just have to be quiet and listen...
I was walking with Mook A, the other day, when we ran into two of my favourite people in the world: Ginger's mistress and the local barber who also has a big male mutt I play with from time to time. These two know my name, and are crazy about me and—sorry, I can't help it!—I always end up dancing when I hear one or the other sing out, "Léo!" 'cause I know hugs, kisses and cuddles will follow.
Anyway, on this particular occasion here were these three people—A, Barber and Gingerlady—smoking and talking and hanging out on the street corner like they were juvie teens in some 1950s comic book about the perils of cigarettes and pool halls. I mean, that's what it looked like if you just looked. If you listened, however, it was a whole 'nuther ball game.
They're triplets of wreckage. In fact from now on I think I'll call the barber Ruin 1 and Gingerlady Ruin 2 (Mook A will always be Mook A though he definitely qualifies for Ruin status). Each had a story, all are examples of physical devastation and all have been through the grinder of the medical system and government bureaucracy. But here they were standing about outside the barbershop, talking about the most hideous things like they were banal and quotidian because, I guess, for them it is banal and quotidian.
They all know each other's secrets: that they are all "that way" (if you know what I mean and I think you do); that Ruin 1 is a widower and has just had prostate cancer surgery and that Ruin 2 walks so weird because she has an artificial leg from a motorcycle accident and that A has the infamous appliance. In the talk they shared stories of hospital stays with room-mates from hell, of medication they were all taking and which was taking its toll on their pocketbooks, their psyches and even their sense of self (they all seemed to have stories of disorientation and disconnection). All of them told of how fucking awful the medical system seemed to treat them but—paradoxically—they were all three insanely happy that they lived in this country rather than in the United States where they would be merely sad statistics.
The conversation went on for quite a while, fueled by details which would make your hair stand on end and cigarettes (go figure). It was so strange that Ginger and I just sat there listening instead of pestering each other. At one point Ginger murmured, "Do you believe this fucking shit! Makes you glad we have a short life-span, doesn't it?" I know what she meant...it seemed better to die then to turn into walking junk-piles.
Ruin 1 has his own business so he has no safety net except his savings. He was supposed to take six weeks off, at least, after his surgery but because of the realities of his new life as a post-op he had to get back to work as quickly as possible because the cost of his drugs and diapers came out of his own pocket. Meanwhile, Ruin 2 is in so much pain that she has to take gallons of morphine and even if she had a great job, she couldn't afford it; so she had to get onto social assistance merely to survive. A himself is pretty much in the same boat: with the cost of appliances, drugs and medical supplies for his nurses visits if he wasn't on assistance he would be putting all of this on a credit card and so dealing with his bowl-of-crap life and debt-stress at the same time. The Ruins talked about how to save money on food, clothing, outings...life. Again Ginger whispered, "It's a miracle they have money to feed us." "Yeah, well," I said, "if they didn't feed me, I'd be long gone." And Ginger, who pretends to be so loyal she's never on a leash said, "For me it's not just if I'm fed, but what I'm fed. The second she penny-pinches on my meals I'll be out the door so fast she wouldn't have time to strap on her leg."
What is amazing is that the Ruins kept a sense of humour during their confab. It wasn't funny ha-ha but I guess it passes for a giggle in their dark little worlds. Witness:
A: So many times it hasn't been if, just how.
Ruin 2: I hear you.
A: Too late to die young and leave a beautiful corpse—
Ruin 1: —no kidding—
A: —but I keep wondering if I want to leave things tidy or a mess.
Then—yikes!—everyone laughed.
Ginger said, "I wonder if we wouldn't be doing them a favour by dragging them into traffic." I thought about that for a second and said, "We're both white dogs—brains are hard to get out of your fur." Ginger snerfed a laugh.
Like I said...not funny ha-ha.
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