bruce

During my four-hour window of free time, I stared off across the water and pondered my dream from the night before. It wasn’t the first time that I had dreamed that my teeth were falling out.

I’ll call it the magnet of adventure…a pull into the unknown. I was debating whether I should use my last hour of free time to lounge peacefully with my dog, or go to visit an old friend that I hadn’t seen in almost a year. To say that Bruce is my friend probably isn’t quite right. He is a dicey, personable acquaintance from a completely different world than my own, and for that, I like him. I met Bruce one day with a friend when we ran out of gas. Along our walk, his house has the first place we came to, and he graciously helped us out. This was my third visit to his place since that first day, so as far as acquaintances go, we are like old friends.

His Sanford & Son-style yard is completely covered with old cars, rotting wood, furniture, rusting metal objects, bathroom fixtures, concrete, and plastic bags full of trash. As I pulled off the busy highway into his gravel driveway, I dodged obstacles of junk. Upon reaching the end of the line, before me was Bruce’s sagging shack house with a blue tarp over the roof, plastic duct-taped to windows, and a winding path through the yard’s crap led to his peeling laminate front door. Amid all this, his peacocks roamed.

“Bruce!” I yelled from my car. Bruce is a Vietnam vet and my intuition tells me it is best not to surprise him.

“Where the hell have you been?!” he called back.

“I’m Kirk, its been a year”

“I know who the fuck you are. How the hell have you been?! Wasn’t sure if I’d see you again. You and me, we’re different, and yet…” he paused.

“Cousins from different lands?” I offered.

“That’s right!”

His dirty white t-shirt was tucked into his under wear, which stuck out above his gray-blue jeans. His fly was down. When he stood, his mid-section jutted out, accentuating his beer belly, his gray hair unkempt.

We sat for awhile and watched his homing pigeons when a huge jumbo jet screamed not far over head. Everything shook! Bruce didn’t seem to notice. I suppose that when you live near an airport’s landing strip, you just ignore the hourly power-driven, earth-shaking blasts. The conversation didn’t miss a beat.

“Yeah, you know, dentistry has changed a lot recently. All my goddamn bottom teeth were rotted to shit. The doc thought they were gone, so he ground ‘em down to nuthin. Didn’t hurt a bit, and no drugs!”

“Can I see?”

He put his dirty fingers into his mouth and pried his lips back so I could get a good look. I stared in amazement. Pink, bumpy gums… not one tooth. I’m not sure I can explain the shock of seeing my dream come to life. I probably stared for too long than what was polite, but I knew Bruce didn’t indulge in many of society’s normal politics.

“Didn’t hurt?”

“Not a bit”

“Bruce, I gotta roll.”

“Well alright! but you come back! You are good people.”

As I was about to get into my car, I studied a portion of his 2-acre yard that was free of trash.

“That’s my grass track. Built it for my car. I hope you aren’t an environmentalist, because I pour motor oil there on the straightaway. For awhile it gits good and slick, but as the sun dries it out, it packs down and hardens.”

If I called myself an environmentalist, I’d be a hypocrite, but I am definitely environmentally minded and pouring oil out onto the soil seems like a dumb thing to do, but what’s done is done I suppose.

“My car rides low. Think my car can take it?”

“Oh hell yeah” he said in a soft, friendly way. “There’s some concrete around that turn over there behind the tall grass. You’ll want to watch out for that.”

I eased my blue Plymouth Colt onto the track and raced through the gears. As I went around the track for the third time, I rounded a turn a little too fast, my tires didn’t grab on the greasy grass and I skidded toward a pile of heavy junk. Locking my elbows, hands tight on the wheel, I was ready for the worst. Then I stopped. Immediately, I ripped it into reverse and got back on course and took another two, record breaking turns around the track, each time negotiating the turns with new respect. Upon completion, I pulled up to Bruce before pulling away to go home. Through the dust I had kicked up, he came to my window.

“GOD DAMN! GOD DAAAMMMN! I HAVEN’T HAD A CHANCE TO GET OUT ON THE TRACK THIS YEAR! HOW WAS IT?” Needless to say, he was very excited to share his race track creation.

“It was amazing! Thank you! I must go.”

As I pulled down his driveway, I floored it for a moment and kicked up a bunch of gravel, and he waved even more delighted that before.

As I rode home listening to some Pakistani music, I thought that in the end, time with Bruce helps me to find some perspective. For example, when I’m tripping over my kid’s toys and clothes on the floor, I am reminded that it is all relative. I am also reminded to floss.