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rip up the road a little
Jul. 14th, 2012 08:00 amA clear morning. Time to hit the road with Will and Macbeth as well as Bo. Despite the fact that it is mid-July, the rains have made this a very fresh morning, like a golden April morning.
We are walking down the street, and Bo asks, “Why are you picking at your teeth?”
“I’m hoping it’s just that steak I had for lunch yesterday. I feel a bad pressure on the teeth of my lower-right jaw. It’s not terribly unusual for me to suffer something like this after a steak. Usually, whatever is stuck under there shrinks to a small enough size and washes out eventually. Even so, it always scares me. I always think, ‘Maybe this is it. Maybe this is what leads to my suicide’, even though Pop has said clearly that he will take me to a dentist when and if I should need it.”
Bo shakes his head, “Have you ever heard of flossing?”
“Oh, you are a fine one to talk! You couldn’t even stand having your teeth brushed, even though I used that cute little green finger-brush.”
We stop and I read some more Macbeth, and then I tell Bo, “Go ahead and run up ahead a little, buddy! I’m ready for my first little jag and I’m going to rip up the road a little.”
Bo says, “Is this really necessary? I’m sure I can keep up.”
I reach into my book bag and take out a tennis ball. “But don’t you want this?” And I toss it down the sidewalk.”
Bo starts running, “My ball! My ball!”
I start my little jog, but something is wrong. Oh, lord, what’s this? I know it has been about a week since I last did my morning thing, but this is ridiculous.
Bo is lying down on a lawn with the tennis ball, and he is laughing, going from side to side. “You’re like an old man again with that hobbling little stride!”
“I know. After only a week off, it feels like I am back at square one. If I were younger, I wouldn’t be worried, but now I wonder how much rebound my body has. I expect it still has some, but there probably isn’t much left. Well, so long as I can work up a sweat, I’m fine. Fortunately, it doesn’t take a lot to do that.”
We are walking down the street, and Bo asks, “Why are you picking at your teeth?”
“I’m hoping it’s just that steak I had for lunch yesterday. I feel a bad pressure on the teeth of my lower-right jaw. It’s not terribly unusual for me to suffer something like this after a steak. Usually, whatever is stuck under there shrinks to a small enough size and washes out eventually. Even so, it always scares me. I always think, ‘Maybe this is it. Maybe this is what leads to my suicide’, even though Pop has said clearly that he will take me to a dentist when and if I should need it.”
Bo shakes his head, “Have you ever heard of flossing?”
“Oh, you are a fine one to talk! You couldn’t even stand having your teeth brushed, even though I used that cute little green finger-brush.”
We stop and I read some more Macbeth, and then I tell Bo, “Go ahead and run up ahead a little, buddy! I’m ready for my first little jag and I’m going to rip up the road a little.”
Bo says, “Is this really necessary? I’m sure I can keep up.”
I reach into my book bag and take out a tennis ball. “But don’t you want this?” And I toss it down the sidewalk.”
Bo starts running, “My ball! My ball!”
I start my little jog, but something is wrong. Oh, lord, what’s this? I know it has been about a week since I last did my morning thing, but this is ridiculous.
Bo is lying down on a lawn with the tennis ball, and he is laughing, going from side to side. “You’re like an old man again with that hobbling little stride!”
“I know. After only a week off, it feels like I am back at square one. If I were younger, I wouldn’t be worried, but now I wonder how much rebound my body has. I expect it still has some, but there probably isn’t much left. Well, so long as I can work up a sweat, I’m fine. Fortunately, it doesn’t take a lot to do that.”
