Confounded by his systemA Chapter by TLK
Previous Version This is a previous version of Confounded by his system. He is a teacher of
the virtue of waiting. He has the philosophical understanding of time
attained by those rewarded every day for patience. If not now, then;
and that is enough. His understanding leads him to shop
carefully, for he enjoys the anticipation of a useful purchase. It is
not a problem that he shops carefully: he is very understanding,
letting others flow around him. He knows that his careful weighing of
each bag of carrots is annoying to others. He does it secretly, body
covering his actions, each hand making its judgement in moments. While
he longs to taste each fresh roll with his fingertips he does not want
to leave the streaks of his presence on other peoples' food. So he
hovers above each one, tasting the molecules given off as they harden.
This is not a problem. People will see him doing this and, confident, grab all of their purchases and march to the counter. If he is behind you, there is no problem. Here is the problem.
When paying, he is confounded by his system. This system is to make notes in an illegible script on rectangles of paper, which bunch up and dirty like feathers at the ruffle of his fingers. He keeps them in his wallet, in all possible compartments, and each one looks worn enough to be money. So he takes them out, each one in turn, and his hand pushes forward as if to pay with it. In the middle of this motion he realises that it is just dirty white paper, and he starts again. Behind him people start to sway like reeds which each encounter a different rhythm of the wind. They are agitated because he tends to confound expectations: sometimes only trying to pass off one of these poor forgeries before being successful, sometimes not finding any paper money at all -- searching through his pockets for the tinkling of change and taking out his keys instead. The reeds sway with rage, expecting him to take minutes when today he takes moments. Or they bend further and further with disbelief when he takes minutes where yesterday he took moments. But they say nothing. There is nothing to say. I am three deep behind him. I wonder if I even want whatever it is that is in my hands. I wonder whether I should just write myself a note instead, reminding myself to get it later. I wonder whether I would, myself, starting paying with this note in future. A communicable forgetfulness. Still, we all wait. I can taste some good in this.
To have a moment to realise that -- frozen in line like this, stripped
of the sureness of movement -- we find ourselves to be slightly unsure
of what we were doing and why.
I walk past him, outside the shop. The rain is
streaking his glasses. He has another note, and he has a stubby pencil
stolen from a betting shop. I do not know what it is writing, but for a
moment I fancy that it is simply: "Keep notes and money separate". I
wonder how confused he will be when, tomorrow, he will try to pay with
it. When he realises that he has forgotten to read and act on his note
yet again.
© 2012 TLKFeatured Review
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Added on September 2, 2012Last Updated on September 9, 2012 Tags: waiting, patience, virtue, notes, communicable, forgetfulness AuthorTLKBirmingham, West Midlands, United KingdomAboutSigned up to the Pledge to Civil Conduct in Discourse on Writer's Cafe: please challenge me if you think I am breaking either the letter or the spirit of the rules. I try to review well myself (see.. more..Writing
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