Saturday, June 29, 2013

On the Bench Again

If loneliness is the disease, the story is the cure.   
- Richard Ford


    There are lots of folks who sit on the bench in my neighborhood but the quietest one, and one I highly favor,  is the observer.  He generally straddles the end of the bench, chin in hand, eyes covered in RayBans.  His curly dark hair is always bunched under a hat, often a fedora but occasionally he sports the black and orange of the home team.  This dude just watches.  He's not above a chuckle and a high five when a passerby or someone else on the bench makes a remark but his primary goal in life appears to be contemplating the world.  He notices the details:  the cop waving to the little kid, the punk on the bike chomping his gum, the sexy lady singing to herself while walking downtown .  He hears that rat dog whining, the engine on that 1990 silver Toyota knocking, the blender in the kitchen across the street making margaritas.  It's all there.  Recorded for future reference.

     Yes, what isn't obvious from the bench is that the observer is also a recorder.  What he reckons is that everyone has a story.  Everyone.  Sometimes people know their story and sometimes they don't.  Not yet, anyway.  And maybe never.  He is curious about  their stories but he knows enough to realize that you can't force the telling of the story.  So he watches.  He lets people tell their own details, even if they can't hear their story.  He waits for the unfolding.  And records what he knows.  In the stillness of 4:00 in the morning,  the stories fall out of the observer and onto the keyboard.  And he feels connected.

     

16 comments:

  1. Having been a journalist at a very young age, I learned to be a keen observer and admittedly still fall into the habit very often. And I do file things away in my mind to keep for future use......

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    1. Observing often makes me ask questions. Sometimes I even make up the answers. :)

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  2. It's too bad we don't know how, yet, to preserve those memories.

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  3. Andrew:

    Some people think we never forget anything -- we just forget that we didn't forget it.

    This was very fun to read. I feel like I know the neighborhood.

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    1. I suspect there is some truth to that notion that we never forget anything. It's stored in there somewhere - like anything that has ever seen the light of cyberspace.
      I'm glad you got a kick out of the piece. I had fun writing it!

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  4. Briane: Yeah, I know that. Once made, memories are forever. Unless the brain is damaged. And until the person dies. Which is what I was talking about. People have such fascinating things locked in their heads that completely disappear when they die. It's unfortunate.

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    1. People's memories disappear when they die and, gradually then, all (or almost all) humans disappear b/c the memory of them fades. Bye bye :(

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  5. People watching can be the most entertaining thing.

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    1. One of my favorite things to do when I am out in the world.

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  6. People watching is one of my favorite past times. I love making up a story for everyone as they walk along.

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  7. I know this quiet bystander who hides beneath his fedora and behind his shades.
    He perches just beyond the rim, this onlooker. He sometimes dares to step inside, for just a taste, but quickly retreats to what he knows, this observer. Does he know he is being watched? Does he know that he has become a part of the story?
    I love this post, JT!

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    1. Thanks, Lynda! It was oddly fun to write. And then I just had to walk down to the bench and get the photo!

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  8. I love this line: "In the stillness of 4:00 in the morning, the stories fall out of the observer and onto the keyboard."

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    1. Thanks, Tara. Is it just a coincidence or do I do some of my best writing at 4:00 in the morning?

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  9. Loved this. Especially this part: "Sometimes people know their story and sometimes they don't." So true.

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