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Unread January 14th, 2006, 06:28 PM
James Brody James Brody is offline
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Join Date: Jun 2004
Location: Philadelphia area
Posts: 1,143
Default Genomic Conflict: Late Old Fool

Nature puppeteers many things...

I was late getting out of the office but a girl needed directions to the dealership where she earlier left one car and borrowed another. I gave instructions that an average mole could follow at noon but this particular mole was still confused.

Thought #1: "She's trouble."

Statement: "Follow me."

Reply: "Are you sure?"

Thought #2: "Ditz."

Action: I followed the directions I had given her but slowed several times to let more aggressive traffic move from between us. "K'mawn! Give it some gas!" She followed and when we reached her dealership, I tapped my brake twice and drove away. (Primal seed that came from nowhere real: could she read the Phi Beta Kappa sticker on my rear window? Would she have any clue about its meaning? Surely, she already knew that I'm a geek.

Fourteen days later, same time, same reception room:

I passed a face and bearing that I once admired in Florentine art galleries: long dark hair, large gray eyes, full lips, symmetrical face on top of a slender but strong frame, and a white alabaster complexion.

"Are you the guy who helped me find my car?"

"You must be Miss Subaru!"

She thanked me, returned my eye contact, and admired both my car and my driving from two weeks earlier.

"I inherited my father's chivalry, thank him for passing me those genes." (Yes, I really said that. Confirm geek.)

She next admired the motorcycle that now carried me. The kid moved with grace and kindness even if she couldn't follow traffic directions.

"If we pass in the real world out there some where some time, please wave big and yell 'Hi!'" I guessed that she was Italian and we traded names, she knew how to shake hands with a guy, and I forgot that I'm 63.

My mother often referred to "old fool" and glared at my father when she noticed white hair escorting a twenty-something. Her nature inside of me now complains to my father's nature but I interrupt her bitching and his guilt: I'm a mere Darwinian who only remembers that he's old when he looks in a mirror. (And I avoid them after 8 am.)

I'm very "late" but my eyes are young and sure and Adriana* glows, a beacon for the right lens and light. I'm still elated when I think of her and if we should pass, I'll invite her to sit on a pedestal. Otherwise, I will do my duty and but march in time with my own fundamental rhythms of sex and death.

There are too many ways to be late...

* "Adriana Ivancich, the young Italian countess who was the subject of Hemingway's infatuation and reportedly the model for the heroine in 'Over the River and Into the Trees.'" See :

Copyright, James Brody, 2006, all rights reserved.
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