Couldn't Bare To Be Special

Well, I did it. I pruned the hibiscus tree in preparation for winter. I’ve never pruned a hibiscus tree before. Hell, I’ve never owned a hibiscus tree before. I stood on a chair on the deck with a massive hedge clipper, a cigarette hanging from my lips and a big cup of coffee on the table, and I just started hacking away at the damn thing.

The neighbor, Kathleen, gave me morning greetings and reminds me that while she’s slow on the draw she’d like to replace our hedges with a fence. I’m all for the fence. When I see her I seek her advice on gardening. “I’m just hacking away at this thing, does that seem like the right thing to do?” She pauses and looks bewildered. “I suppose,” she replies with a decidedly skeptical tone in her voice.

The dog looks up at me from her safe haven beneath the table with a worried look as hibiscus stems fall from heaven. The sky is falling – or at least the tree.

I swept up the dried pale lavender lacy petals of the potato vine and cut the straw-like stalks of agapanthus from their leafy beds. I cut back the roses in hopes of one more fall bloom – refusing to embrace the end of the season. I attended to some of the mire I’ve been living in – neatening stacks of paper in hopes of discovering what’s inside and rearranging this and that in closets and the what-not. Putting things in order sometimes makes everything feel a bit more optimistic.

After dinner I took Secret to the ballpark to play fetch. Two men parked a pickup truck across the street and wandered onto a bench in the darkness not even twenty yards from me. They sat in the cool night air and got stoned while Secret mauled a purple Frisbee. They invited me to join them, which I declined graciously – opting for the clear night air, a clear head and watching the joy of her running and catching and happily bringing things back. As she chased a ball into the darkness I looked up to see a shooting star streak across the night sky and fizzle into a sparkling display of death. They say it’s good luck to see a shooting star, but I’ve never figured our who they are.

So we had an omen of good luck, but it didn’t help me out much at the bank when I went to see if I won between $10 and $10,000. Everyone wins $10. That’s what I got too. I was part of everyone. I just wanted to be the special one. But it wasn’t me. Not this time. Maybe it will be me tomorrow. I wonder what I’ll do to find out.