Languid….that is the only word for this afternoon…evening.  The first crickets decided to chirp…and not singularly, no, they waited until they all gathered like the choir arriving dressed in black.  They took their places on the tiered platform and waited for the curtain to part.  Only then did they sing.  I am glad I had tickets.

I rode my bike along the river as the sun sank and the Great Horned owl and her three babies stared accusingly as me.  I rode slow, not trying to tighten ass or work off lunch….languid.

Eddie called at some point.  I did not answer.  One does not answer phones during languid moments.  But, I stopped at a bench and listened to him.

“Hi Beth,” he said slowly, his life full of languid moments. 

“I just wanted to tell you I appreciate you looking out for me.  I enjoyed the meeting this morning. You did a good job.  Now remember I still want to get the high speed internet.  So don’t forget.  I still want to get the high speed internet.  Alright?  Bye-bye.”

The meeting was languid.  Picking up Ed is a process one cannot rush.  I had called him as I drove to his apartment.  It took him nine rings to answer.  He was clearly out of breath.

It is legal to talk on the phone in my state while driving.  States with fewer car accidents do not allow such folly.  “Are you ready?” I asked in a multi-tasking huff.

“What time is it?” he asked.

I laughed, “So you’re not.”

“What time is it?” he asked again, silently noting that it was ten minutes earlier than I said I would be.

I didn’t answer him, “Try and be outside when I get there.

He wasn’t.  He was sitting at his table.  Bare foot, which didn’t seem like a big deal until he asked me to help him get his socks on.  These socks help his circulation like the socks of the aged.  I noted they look like old ladies socks.  He laughed.  They were so tight that when I pulled them apart with all my might they barely got over two of his sausage toes.  An aid walked in, Katelyn, and slid them on expertly.

There is a process for getting Ed into my car.  Open the passenger door.  Pop the trunk and turn on the ignition and roll down the passenger window while Ed positions his chair at the perfect angle to the passenger seat door.  Ed puts the brake on one side of his chair, I put on the other.  He finds a hand-hold on the open window of the door.  He stands, turns his body, tucks his head and falls in slow motion into the seat.  I unlock the brakes. While he pulls his legs into the car and gets settled I begin dismantling his chair.  Pins are removed from the seat back.  Levers are pushed while I lift the seatback from the chair.  The seatback goes into the back seat of my car.  The seat cushion, perfectly formed to Ed’s ass, is ripped from its velcroed hold, and also placed into the back seat.  The platform for that cushion is a mollusk that clings to the frame for its life.  We struggle.  It wins the first three tries, and then with one pull, I prevail.  It is thrown unceremoniously into the back seat.  The chair is wheeled to the back of the car.  It is folded like an ironing board.  I hoist it to the truck whose dimensions are a tight fit for the beast that carries my brother’s body from place to place.  It struggles.  I speak kindly to it, like a horse being trailered.  Finally, the trunk is closed, Ed is belted in, and off we go.

Languid…maybe not…but never rushed, for that always ends in some body part pinched or another ding in my dinged-up car.

The meeting was perfect, three enthusiastic women and Ed talking over sweetened hot drinks about Ed and his business. Creative ideas chirped from our unrushed minds.  Ed smiled and did his dramatic thinking very aware of the effort being given him and his business.  He doubled-dog-dared us to actually make some changes in his business, in his ability to make some money, in his desire to be part of our community by saying, “I bet none of this happens.”  He said it with a sly smile, which is not an easy task for Ed’s less-than-subtle face.

And then he called to thank me during my languid moment…and to remind me of the internet!

 

 

 

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