The questioner challenged us to think of people who had been canonized or maligned, and had influenced us or society. This person couldn’t be a well know celebrity. Rather this individual should be a second tier newsmaker. The whispered conversations of others started around the room. Each group was discussing who impacted them individually and was not an icon, good or bad. As with most discussions, the original topic gave way to peripheral subjects.
These conversations entered my consciousness in snippets:
“. . . direct deposit . . .”
“. . .electronically pay bills through the bank . . .”
“. . . and no checks. The Home Shopping Network . . .”
“You can have groceries delivered to . . .”
“. . . never leave your house . . .”
In my mind, I drifted back. I remembered, and as I floated through the clouds of my memory, I remembered, gorj link. As you read through link’s day, a day that changed his life and my thinking, perhaps you will consider who has been misunderstood or misrepresented. Some of us know gorj link, some may know gorj link. Maybe you have had an experience similar to gorj link, but we may all be guilty of treating others like gorj link.
* * *
T’was a fair day in Midport. The paperboy was delivering the paper, the milkman was making his rounds, and the postman was knocking twice at the doors where he dropped off the mail.
Just off Main Road in a little blue room, life was stirring beneath the sheets. gorj link, the
local ‘nobody’, awoke once again, as he had done for the past thirty-one years. After struggling to his feet, gorj link took the usual two steps from his bed to his front door, where once again the paper, milk and mail hadn’t been delivered.
“No mail for me,” mumbled gorj as he’d always said every morning. Except for on Sunday, as no mail would be delivered.
Taking two very precise steps out of his door onto the front porch, gorj saw the bus pull up to its stop exactly on time.
“10:07,” stated gorj, resetting his watch and taking two very precise steps back into his blue room.
gorj returned to his bed and turned on the small twelve in television set that sat on his wood chest beside his bed. The set snapped, crackled and popped to life as gorj reached to the night stand and poured a bowl of dried corn flakes. As he had done every morning for the past thirty-one years.
“Aaah, good as ever,” said gorj to on one in particular.
Into the blue came a sound. Someone was knocking at gorj’s door.
“Who could that be?” queried gorj to himself. Taking two very precise steps to the door, gorj opened it and saw Mr. Least, the town’s self-made ‘somebody’.
“Hello, mr. link. I hope I’m not disturbing you, but you see, you disturb us. Please, would you tell us why you live at all?” asked a visibly concerned Mr. Least.
“Please come in Mr. Least. Would you care for some water? Perhaps a bowl of cereal?” asked an equally concerned gorj.
“No. You must address yourself to the question at hand,” boomed Mr. Least, as he gently placed his claw on gorj’s left shoulder.
“What is the question? Surely you can come into my house and chat with me for a little while,” sheepishly asked gorj.
“I have no time to talk to you. We the people of Midport demand to know why you do the same thing day after day. Every day you wake up, see there is no milk, mail or paper, and then set your watch by the arrival of the bus. Meanwhile, we go to work every day except Sunday, as no one works on Sunday.”
“Well Mr. Least . . .” started a startled gorj.
“I have no time for this, my break is almost over. I have to get to work. I shall be back later mr. link, but now I must catch my bus. Good day.” Mr. Least removed his claw from gorj’s shoulder and walked down the road.
“Good day, Mr. Least. Stop back soon. I enjoyed our talk,” stated gorj as he shut the door and took two very precise steps back to his bed.
gorj decided, after a while to change the channel on his television set for the first time in thirty-one years. It had been that kind of day.
These conversations entered my consciousness in snippets:
“. . . direct deposit . . .”
“. . .electronically pay bills through the bank . . .”
“. . . and no checks. The Home Shopping Network . . .”
“You can have groceries delivered to . . .”
“. . . never leave your house . . .”
In my mind, I drifted back. I remembered, and as I floated through the clouds of my memory, I remembered, gorj link. As you read through link’s day, a day that changed his life and my thinking, perhaps you will consider who has been misunderstood or misrepresented. Some of us know gorj link, some may know gorj link. Maybe you have had an experience similar to gorj link, but we may all be guilty of treating others like gorj link.
* * *
T’was a fair day in Midport. The paperboy was delivering the paper, the milkman was making his rounds, and the postman was knocking twice at the doors where he dropped off the mail.
Just off Main Road in a little blue room, life was stirring beneath the sheets. gorj link, the
local ‘nobody’, awoke once again, as he had done for the past thirty-one years. After struggling to his feet, gorj link took the usual two steps from his bed to his front door, where once again the paper, milk and mail hadn’t been delivered.
“No mail for me,” mumbled gorj as he’d always said every morning. Except for on Sunday, as no mail would be delivered.
Taking two very precise steps out of his door onto the front porch, gorj saw the bus pull up to its stop exactly on time.
“10:07,” stated gorj, resetting his watch and taking two very precise steps back into his blue room.
gorj returned to his bed and turned on the small twelve in television set that sat on his wood chest beside his bed. The set snapped, crackled and popped to life as gorj reached to the night stand and poured a bowl of dried corn flakes. As he had done every morning for the past thirty-one years.
“Aaah, good as ever,” said gorj to on one in particular.
Into the blue came a sound. Someone was knocking at gorj’s door.
“Who could that be?” queried gorj to himself. Taking two very precise steps to the door, gorj opened it and saw Mr. Least, the town’s self-made ‘somebody’.
“Hello, mr. link. I hope I’m not disturbing you, but you see, you disturb us. Please, would you tell us why you live at all?” asked a visibly concerned Mr. Least.
“Please come in Mr. Least. Would you care for some water? Perhaps a bowl of cereal?” asked an equally concerned gorj.
“No. You must address yourself to the question at hand,” boomed Mr. Least, as he gently placed his claw on gorj’s left shoulder.
“What is the question? Surely you can come into my house and chat with me for a little while,” sheepishly asked gorj.
“I have no time to talk to you. We the people of Midport demand to know why you do the same thing day after day. Every day you wake up, see there is no milk, mail or paper, and then set your watch by the arrival of the bus. Meanwhile, we go to work every day except Sunday, as no one works on Sunday.”
“Well Mr. Least . . .” started a startled gorj.
“I have no time for this, my break is almost over. I have to get to work. I shall be back later mr. link, but now I must catch my bus. Good day.” Mr. Least removed his claw from gorj’s shoulder and walked down the road.
“Good day, Mr. Least. Stop back soon. I enjoyed our talk,” stated gorj as he shut the door and took two very precise steps back to his bed.
gorj decided, after a while to change the channel on his television set for the first time in thirty-one years. It had been that kind of day.
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