I Listen to Music

Sitting in the coffee shop, I listen to music. 

    

“Don’t worry about a thing

‘Cause every little thing is gonna be alright.”

     

     Bob Marley & his wailers can't help me now. 
     I’m worried about producing a television show for a class project.

     I’ve lost sleep over a scene by scene creative writing assignment 

     I still worry. About some things.

     They tell me power lines are up in progress at Japan nuclear plant while they sell me a 2011 “Silverado All-Star Edition.”

     They tell me there is no fuel for cremations so Japan buries those found dead out of the 23,000 dead or missing, while I learn that can still lease a Ford “Cruze LS” for $159/month. 

     They tell me the United States halts food imports from Japan nuclear zone for fear of contamination, while I trust the sandwich I was served an hour ago was free of salmonella, bacteria or radiation. 

     Sitting in the coffee shop, I listen to music. 

“Won’t you look down upon me, Jesus

You’ve got to help me make a stand

You’ve just got to see me through another day.”

     

     James Taylor can’t help them now. 

     Jesus, help them now. 

One Free Dinner

     Edward sat alone. He was eating a free dinner, on a grease-stained bench, in the lobby of the Plaza Single Resident Occupancy hotel, under a sign that reads, “No eating, No drinking.” I wanted to talk to him. I walked over, introduced myself and, wearing a smile that, regretfully, has become all too rehearsed, asked him, “How’s dinner?”

     “Oh it was very enjoyable. I’m about to eat my second serving.” He took time between his words and continued, “You know, the second serving can taste different than the first?” He said, speaking with care and slowly alternating his gaze between me and his food. 

     I answered, doing my best to seem like I understood, “Huh... I didn’t realize that. That’s interesting. Does this serving taste different?” I asked, as I watched him move his fork around his food. 

     Edward, holding his plate, closed his round, blue eyes, revealing only their red, slimy outlines, surrounded by deep wrinkles, starting at the corners of his eyes, crawling up, into his forehead. After a long moment, he opened his eyes and finally took a bite. I repeated my question, a little confused. He answered, “Yes.” Trying to probe deeper, I ask, “So how’s your week been going?”

     “I’m eating.” he curtly answered. Feeling like I’d done something wrong, I quickly spurted out a few confused apologies. Edward allayed my concern and told me, speaking in an uncomfortably slow voice, “I really appreciate food because food comes from nature and nature comes from God.” 

     Edward continued to explain for about five minutes, progressively inching closer to my face. I looked at him and listened as he repeatedly touched my shoulder with a strong hand, intensifying his words. And after listening to why Edward didn’t feel right talking to me while he was eating, it was he who thanked me.