Friday, February 03, 2012

Awkward

An odd word: Odd sounding, odd looking, odd spelling.

Looking just at "wkw", it reminds me of a bird with outstretched wings: a chicken running noisily around, squawking about the lack of bird feed, or an on-coming fox. The word even sounds like something a bird would say.

Thursday morning I was reminded of that strange word. We had a special project to do, and I'd been asked to bring a wall-sized map of the world in. I found the map, hidden in the closet, but saw that it was only a map of these United States. Still, I thought it might be usable, so I took it in.

That was also the day I'd decided to return my 19 inch, flat panel monitor. I'd received permission to exchange my monitor for one that didn't have a dead pixel mid-screen. I'd decided to return in that day because I would be driving home via Tooele in a car, rather than on the train and bus.

So there I was, ready to embark with my backpack, a four-foot long map rolled up in one hand and a monitor in the other, the bus stop a little over a half-mile away. I'd wrestled with the monitor for 10 minutes, trying to get it into my backpack. No go. And, as a result of the wrestling match, no time for breakfast, either.

So it goes.

Not wanting to take my butter oil/fermented cod liver blend capsule on an empty stomach, I grabbed a banana with my free hand and left our apartment. I made sure the banana was completely swallowed before I locked the door behind me. I've taken quick-eating lessons from my grandson: chew a little, grimace, and swallow as much as fast as you can.

My grips were firm on the map and monitor, and as I approached the first stop light, it began to snow.

Wonderful.

By the time I arrived at the bus stop, I'd cut a good sweat. More than I normally do on a regular, non-arms-loaded-with-stuff, half-mile walk to the bus stop. I carefully placed my monitor on the bench, removed my backpack and pulled out the large plastic bag I keep in it for rainy days. Then I wrestled the monitor into the bag for a little protection from the crystalline water.

The barber, a semi-regular bus rider, talked to me as I tried to keep my map off the wet sidewalk while I was putting a 19 inch monitor into a plastic bag. It was then I recognized how I was feeling.

I was fifteen again.

An awkward, clumsy, bumbling boy, with little more than a little enthusiasm and a willing heart, trying to figure out how to kiss my girlfriend on my birthday: in her garage, with the light on, her Labrador Retriever between us, my brother in the car outside the big garage door windows, waiting to drive me home.

The awkward feelings intensified as the bus approached and I realized that I would have to have a plastic-wrapped monitor safely in hand, backpack stowed, map in the other hand, and show the bus driver the pass in my wallet.

That morning I didn't even remove my backpack when I sat down on the bus. Later, waiting for the train, I rested my arms again and stood with my bundles on the bench, foregoing my normal half-mile walks back and forth on the platform. The wait reminded me of another reason I like to walk while I wait for the train: the activity keeps me warm.

On the train, I stood at the front of the car, in front of everybody, monitor at my feet, wrapped in moist plastic, four-foot-long map resting on my foot, other hand clutching a hand-hold, doing my best to remain upright as the car swayed from side to side on its way north.

At work, finally, only a quarter-mile walk from the end of my second train trip, my boss told me he wouldn't need the map after all. Thanks for bringing it.

Still, I needed that trip back in time. I needed to remember that I'm no longer an awkward fifteen year old. Now I'm happy to be a Goofy-Gus grandpa, surrounded by folks: co-workers, friends, family and a wife, who don't seem to mind my odd moments. Mostly.

It's okay to be awkward.

I smiled all the way to work that day.

My kisses have improved a bit since that first one...

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