08-09-2016, 01:42 PM
I used to watch from tall trees at night as people passed on there way to wherever.
Up there in the dark and swaying in the wind, I would hear secrets and came to
understand that when folk thought they were alone, they would speak to themselves
in ways they'd never dare in public.
........................
I used to run among the sand dunes during our annual holiday to the seaside and
imagine what it would be like when the sun went down. Would the wonder abate...?
Would the magic of the ionized air and sounds of wheeling seagulls make way for
someone dark, someone who needed the night?
........................
I used to sit in the woods in the wee-small hours and ponder whether I was the
'Boogie-Man' my Mother warned me about.
I knew that some day, I would have to change and become what the sleeping folk
in the twinkling town before me would call 'normal'
So I did.
........................
I used to clean terribly antiquated toilets in a place full of brusque men who -when
you're forearm-deep in the bowl and on your hands and knees, would slam the
cubicle door shut and throw rolled-up balls of burning newspaper over the toilet
walls.
Sometimes, they would empty the fire-bucket full of sand in there to offer variety.
It was fun they'd tell me and then I'd have to clean it up.
........................
I used to have to slither worm-like along a thirteen feet-long crawl-space that ran
under the building where I worked -from the Boiler Room and after shuffling in the
pitch-blackness for five minutes, arrive at an inspection plate for the main waste
-pipe from the Ladies toilet.
Personally, I would make sure that the small bucket, the flat-headed screwdriver
and the metal rod that I would have to use to unblock the waste-pipe, would always
be infront of me with one of my arms, but I'd heard my elderly Boss once cleared the
blockage with his teeth.
If you panic and could not return in reverse down the crawl-space, then you can turn
directly right and squirm twenty seven-feet and arrive at a manhole in the busy street.
It was nice to be down there, alone and pondering how you'd deal with a rat coming
the other way.
........................
I used to work all the hours God sent because it's what you're supposed to do when
you're normal. Night or day and then night and day, I fetched, carried and cleaned.
I was well-liked and was seen as an average Joe who was willing to help his fellow
workers.
Later, my job changed and I worked with computers. Once more, I worked alone in
a large office and at night. Being perceived as well-grounded, the management
believed the solitude would not bother me and they were right... in a way, they were
right.
When Friday nights came around and everyone was hooting it up in the many nearby
bars and taverns, I would watch from my little window and wonder if I'd really changed.
As the evening wore on, I would be a red-faced witness to alcohol-fuelled romantic
tomfoolery in the alleyway across from my secret-like viewpoint and in the pursuit of
being normal, I would look away.
........................
I'm retired now and the things I used to do seem very strange to me when I recall them.
My family has grown into adulthood and I spend my time pottering in the garden or
chancing my luck at writing.
When the summer comes around and the thermals carry seagulls inland, their shrieking
calls sometimes seem to stop me from my digging or painting and leave me with a puzzled
frown on my well-lined face.
What is it...? What was it I used to do?
But when the night comes and the high winds shake the trees.... I used to....
Up there in the dark and swaying in the wind, I would hear secrets and came to
understand that when folk thought they were alone, they would speak to themselves
in ways they'd never dare in public.
........................
I used to run among the sand dunes during our annual holiday to the seaside and
imagine what it would be like when the sun went down. Would the wonder abate...?
Would the magic of the ionized air and sounds of wheeling seagulls make way for
someone dark, someone who needed the night?
........................
I used to sit in the woods in the wee-small hours and ponder whether I was the
'Boogie-Man' my Mother warned me about.
I knew that some day, I would have to change and become what the sleeping folk
in the twinkling town before me would call 'normal'
So I did.
........................
I used to clean terribly antiquated toilets in a place full of brusque men who -when
you're forearm-deep in the bowl and on your hands and knees, would slam the
cubicle door shut and throw rolled-up balls of burning newspaper over the toilet
walls.
Sometimes, they would empty the fire-bucket full of sand in there to offer variety.
It was fun they'd tell me and then I'd have to clean it up.
........................
I used to have to slither worm-like along a thirteen feet-long crawl-space that ran
under the building where I worked -from the Boiler Room and after shuffling in the
pitch-blackness for five minutes, arrive at an inspection plate for the main waste
-pipe from the Ladies toilet.
Personally, I would make sure that the small bucket, the flat-headed screwdriver
and the metal rod that I would have to use to unblock the waste-pipe, would always
be infront of me with one of my arms, but I'd heard my elderly Boss once cleared the
blockage with his teeth.
If you panic and could not return in reverse down the crawl-space, then you can turn
directly right and squirm twenty seven-feet and arrive at a manhole in the busy street.
It was nice to be down there, alone and pondering how you'd deal with a rat coming
the other way.
........................
I used to work all the hours God sent because it's what you're supposed to do when
you're normal. Night or day and then night and day, I fetched, carried and cleaned.
I was well-liked and was seen as an average Joe who was willing to help his fellow
workers.
Later, my job changed and I worked with computers. Once more, I worked alone in
a large office and at night. Being perceived as well-grounded, the management
believed the solitude would not bother me and they were right... in a way, they were
right.
When Friday nights came around and everyone was hooting it up in the many nearby
bars and taverns, I would watch from my little window and wonder if I'd really changed.
As the evening wore on, I would be a red-faced witness to alcohol-fuelled romantic
tomfoolery in the alleyway across from my secret-like viewpoint and in the pursuit of
being normal, I would look away.
........................
I'm retired now and the things I used to do seem very strange to me when I recall them.
My family has grown into adulthood and I spend my time pottering in the garden or
chancing my luck at writing.
When the summer comes around and the thermals carry seagulls inland, their shrieking
calls sometimes seem to stop me from my digging or painting and leave me with a puzzled
frown on my well-lined face.
What is it...? What was it I used to do?
But when the night comes and the high winds shake the trees.... I used to....
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.