Please bear with me as a go on an introspective journey (hard hats are not required, but are recommended, as are kneepads, elbow guards, and a dependable flashlight).
Today I did one of the toughest tasks I’ve had to do all vacation. It was something more difficult than smiling while downing less than tasty (but home-cooked) meals or helping my cousin with his Sponge Bob video game (doing the hard stuff as he tells me to hurry up).
I had to turn in a cell phone.
Doesn’t sound too bad? Let me tell you two brief backstories.
One, I loathe phones. For the longest time, I’ve had a hate-hate relationship with Bell’s cursed creation. The widespread use the cordless, and later, cellular phone has eased my discomfort somewhat, but if I had the choice, I’d go without it.
I realize that is impractical, unrealistic, and all but impossible. If I think of a phone as merely a glorified walkie-talkie I can handle it better, but I’d much rather talk to people in person or online than over a phone.
I personally think the phones in my house have it in for me, but that’s more paranoid thinking that I only take seriously when I’m running a high fever or have been spending a lot of times around paint fumes (one time when I was sick I had the suspicion my doorknob was plotting my death, but it never followed through).
Second, and more important, the cell phone I had belonged to my ex-girlfriend’s mother.
See, now my troubles are making more sense.
They got a new plan at the end of summer. She got some new phones for her family while I got her old phone. I would send a $17 check to cover the month and have my personal cellular phone (for the record, I’m the first one in my immediate family to have a cellular phone [my dad loathes phones more than I do, but that’s more due to the people who are able to bother him more thanks to that menace machine]).
We broke up about a month ago, but I had yet to return the phone. Part of the reason was the fact I wasn’t on the car insurance and couldn't go far. Part of it was laziness. Most of it was planned procrastination.
I figured that I’d put it off long enough and I was going to take care of it today (well, yesterday, but you know what I mean).
I proceeded to stall until 2:00 PM in the afternoon.
Finally, I gathered up the phone, charger, instruction manual (which I’d never consulted, but I had managed to spill Hi-C on), and a check for December’s bill and started the drive to Megan’s house.
I know that road better than I know the back of my hand (because, honestly speaking, I really don’t pay that much attention to it. Other than a scar from my first pocketknife [I sliced my finger across the knuckle 5 minutes within receiving it, but never told my parents because I thought they’d take my knife away] I couldn’t tell you much). I driven there countless times for dates, and over the summer, I covered them doing my job for the Conservation Department. As I drove, a lot of memories came up.
I won’t go into all of them. There was the turnout for the scenic view we sometimes hit. There was the corner where a deer once nearly ran us off the road (well, it put into motion actions that nearly resulted in that effect). There was the house I’d mistaken for Megan’s house the first time I went there (two log cabins in a quarter mile radius! Who knew the odds?).
I took the final curve and the turn onto her road the slowest. The relationship is over, but it still hurt a bit. It’s like when you break a vase. Even after your initial guilt, you still feel bad as you’re left to pick up the pieces (or scrambling to find the super glue and put it back together before your parents come home; whatever works).
Leaving the motor running, I put the Wal-Mart sack I used to keep everything together on the handle of the door. The only one disturbed by my presence was Demon, Megan’s Siberian Husky. I waved at the dog for the last time, got in the car, and pulled away.
On the way back, I rolled down the windows, cranked the music, and headed for home.
I stopped at Wal-Mart to buy the DVD of "Signs" (to help perk up my day and because I was a big fan of the movie in the first place). In the movie aisle, I caught up with a friend and had a good catch-up talk. I rounded out the trip by stopping by the gas station and grabbing a Post-Dispatch.
The day was overall good, even if I waited until the wee hours of the next day (not that I’m sure why I’m calling them “wee”) to write about it. I just had one rough responsibility to follow through.
Megan called briefly in the afternoon to ask why I’d returned the phone and I simply replied it was what needed to be done. Life is filled with many tasks to be performed; especially your life is a circus like mine.
Some tasks are avoided, some are accepted happily, and a few are even pursued. Nevertheless, at some point, we all need to work through them all.
Taking in the good, the bad, and the worse we hope to get to a better situation overall and pray we might even be smarter for the experience.
At least that’s what I tell myself.
Track me down in a couple years and I’ll tell you if it’s true.
Just be sure not to call me on the phone.
Note from 2005: It's true. Still don't call me on the phone, unless you have a good reason.
