A Second Chance at Saying No...

Day 19, 971 of my life...

Today a man appeared inside my head.
I could tell you he looked like Gizmo from the cartoon, The Flintstones, but that would be wishful thinking, and a lie.

He was taller… much taller, and not in the least green.
Quite a stern expression, and when my grey cells got closer to him, he smelled of decayed wood. That’s not a bad thing, really, as it was decayed maple wood—a rancid kind of sap scent mixed with mould.

He said his name was Frank.
He told me he was a former teacher.
He also told me he was dead.
I kind of figured as much due to the decay. Most people inside my head, who are alive, smell fresh.
I casually asked, “What grade?” And he said, “Grades 5 and 6.”
Hm… Nice grades. Old enough to talk with but young enough to dream big.

I looked at him with that expression you throw out when you’re waiting… wondering, what the hey?

“Oh, I’m here to give you a second go-‘round for all your yearnings.”

“Yearnings? Like, you mean, cravings? Like muffins and cake?”

“No.” His flashed expression, that of a learned man wondering why in the hell he was stuck helping a moron. He added, “All the things you keep wanting to relive. All those desires to return to places, to live again with people. I’m here to take you back. I’ve been told you’re a good candidate for assistance, so here I am. Get ready. Let’s go.”

I sat there and sipped my coffee as he sat there inside my mind waiting for me to finish sipping my coffee. I really had nothing to say. The thought, the idea, that I could abandon Now for Then… and with my current intelligence, experience, return and re-do, re-see, re-live… and re-love?

After suffering long enough in my vacuous mind, I said, “No. It’s okay. Thanks for the second chance, all the same, but I think I’ll pass.”

“Then why all this constant bluster? Why the fantasizing, the bemoaning, the dreaming?”

“I don’t know. I’m Irish and I’m Pisces. I think it’s what we do.”

The man crossed his legs and lit a cigarette.
My frontal lobe smelled of burning tobacco.
I could tell he wasn’t going anywhere.
He was settling in for a long wait. Just in case I changed my mind.


Sites where B.J. Thompson writes...Click Title to View!

B J's Bookshelf...

A Tree Grows in Brooklyn
The Hobbit
The Joy Luck Club
All the King's Men
Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
Mansfield Park
Faust: First Part
The Catcher in the Rye
Islands in the Stream
And the Sea Will Tell
Animal Farm
Charlotte's Web
Sophie's Choice
Angela's Ashes
Memoirs of a Geisha
Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood
The Secret Man: The Story of Watergate's Deep Throat
One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest
The Hunt for Red October

B. J. Thomspon's favorite books »

B J's Literary Heros ~ Ernest Hemingway ~ F. Scott Fitzgerald ~ James A. Michener ~ Herman Wouk ~ James Jones ~ Vincent Bugliosi

I saw you peeking...