I like to wake up before the sun rises and sit on the curb when the moon is still out. In the summer, the sun doesn’t rise until I leave the coffee shop in the morning. But now after the clock has turned back an hour, I get out of bed when the sun is already out. It’s too late to light candles in the bathroom when outside is already bright. The sun sets before I get off work and take a walk through downtown. I don’t mind that. Sure, the sun comes out early, but it leaves early too, while in the summer, the sun comes out late and doesn’t leave until eight o’clock at night. It’s safe to say the sun doesn’t appeal to me all that much, especially in the summer when it barks down at me. I appreciate the cold much more than the heat. At least in the cold, I can wear my heavy black North Face jacket to keep warm. My parents bought me that jacket one Christmas. I like it except for its hood. I would’ve rather preferred it without one. But anyway in the dead of summer, nothing can shield me from the furnace outside. I sweat everywhere, even without jogging, something I don’t miss.
Thanksgiving will be here in a few weeks, and jury duty will start around then. I don’t know if I’ll have to report as a juror. If I’m lucky, the judge will dismiss me. The only light shining is that I’ll be excused from work.
They dismissed me three years ago at the municipal court downtown. After driving there for four days and waiting all day in the courthouse, all I could do was sit in the hall and keep waiting until they called my group. When we sat in the courtroom, the judge asked us personal questions to see who was fit to be a juror and who wasn’t. For some reason, I didn’t pass the audition. Maybe because I said yes when they asked me if I ever knew someone who committed a crime. They let me go on a Thursday. I believe they’ll dismiss me this time as well.
My cousin invited me to Thanksgiving up north yesterday, but I told her that I might have to sit in court that week. She also invited me to Christmas. Our family gets together once a year to celebrate the holidays. It’s usually alright. The family tradition used to be a gift exchange. After Thanksgiving dinner, every family member would pull a name out of a hat and have to buy that person a Christmas gift on a fifty-dollar budget. Now I’m older, and I don’t care as much about gifts anymore. Just give me cash. Fifty dollars will suffice. I don’t prefer gift cards, which I usually get. The family knows I like Starbucks, so every other year, an aunt, a cousin, or an uncle would buy me a fifty-dollar gift card there. But it never excited me. Although I drink at Starbucks every day, it’s never thrilling to have a gift card. What’s the purpose of a gift card anyway? It’s just free cash to spend somewhere specific. I would rather feel free to spend the money anywhere. I guess Amazon is the only gift card I can see being useful. But even then, cash is still cash. If someone gives me fifty dollars, I’ll spend it wherever I like. But again, I don’t care. Don’t buy me anything.
Winter is coming. The animals are beginning to hibernate. A roadrunner crossed me on the sidewalk yesterday when I went for a walk. But the crows have flown somewhere supposedly warmer. But where would that be? Not that I’m counting, but I haven’t seen a crow for weeks. I’m never thrilled to see a crow, but a roadrunner is different. Birds that can’t fly fascinate me, like penguins. Picture a penguin with its fat belly or a roadrunner with its long tail flying through the air. What a funny sight, like a penguin wearing sunglasses. My friend once wrote a children’s book about a penguin that flew a plane. His friend, an artist, illustrated each page and published it so long ago that I forgot its title. He moved away back east, and I used to see him maybe once every ten years.
All my past friends have moved somewhere far from California, and I have nothing but memories. Last night, I thought about the time when my friend came to my apartment to go barhopping and noticed a supplement on top of my dishwasher called X-plode. He began exploding in laughter at me because of its name, X-plode, meaning I would shred so much that my muscles would erupt.
When we saw our other friend upstairs, on the third floor, my friend Ray said, “Brandon, Ben is taking steroids.”
Brandon looked at me disapprovingly. “Is that true, Ben?”
“It’s not steroids,” I said. “It’s a supplement.”
“Yeah, right,” Brandon said.
I was all into weight training in my late thirties, so I asked Ray, “Hey, Ray? Are you looking for peak performance?”
He started laughing again, and so did Brandon.
I asked, “Ray? Do you want to achieve mass or endurance? Are you ready to give 110%?”
The laughter continued.
I quit taking X-plode before the container was empty because my heart was ready to explode out of my chest. It tasted like pink lemonade if pink lemonade tasted any differently from yellow lemonade. I wouldn’t be able to discern the two if ever there was a taste test. All I knew was that X-plode really worked.