PLAYING PIN THE TAIL ON THE DONKEY IN THE MIDDLE OF A FIELD

We both sat quietly, sipping coffee and listening to Mahler. By day, I am a shipping and receiving clerk. At night, I am often drunk. My co-worker has 40 years on me, and has been through a shit of a time. He spent his first 40 years lost and alone, traveling from town to town in search of purpose and meaning: sleeping room to job to library to sleeping room, next town same as the last. He had balls.
I’ve been lost for who knows how long, afraid to jump, afraid of what lies ahead, waiting for a beacon that may never come.
His stories rival anyone else’s, although he tends to repeat them to no end. At night, he is drunk. Over 20 years ago he lowered his anchor, not because he was tired of wandering, but because he had found the place he wanted to be, and the woman he wanted to be there with. Oddly enough, the waitress he met and married had been from his hometown. Thousands of miles and days had elapsed since they first parted, and they once again found each other. They were happy.
Three years ago she died of cervical cancer. All those years of not settling, waiting for an undeniable truth, just to be fucking cheated out of everything at the last minute. To be shipped back to square one with nothing but memories of everything. She would have retired this year. They were to spend their golden years together.
Now he spends all of his time obsessively watching old films. Films about the war, naive films about young love, films that help him forget that he is old and alone. What is dark but want of light? What is love without hate?
At times, my empathy for him sucks me completely dry. I have to fight from going into the back room and weeping. Other times, he irritates me. I forget the reality of life, and want to tell him to snap out of it and get over it, like he lost a jacket or something.
The symphony ended, and I tried to start up a conversation about romantic pursuits in hopes to learn from his experiences. Greedily wanting him to help me go through what I am going through, knowing there is no way I could return the favor.
“Did you ever have much trouble with women before you met your wife?” I asked.
“What? No, I don’t think so. If you wanna know about women, the first thing you need to know is that you have to be animated. None of this bullshit beating around the bush. One time I dated this gal for three years or so. She worked at this bar at night or something, but I couldn’t put up with her. Always walking around like she was everything. Always wanting to be told she was everything, like some damned statue or something. She was a Leo. The second thing you need to know about women is stay away from Leos. Period. They’re like the plague.”
We are both Taurus, and neither of us believes in astrology, but we couldn’t help laughing out loud. “I already knew that. In fact, I think that’s the only thing I know for sure.” It was true; it took two of them, but the lesson did sink in.
I started pleading my case to him, but he couldn’t listen. He just started talking about his wife. How they were complete opposites. How he liked classical music and she liked Sinatra, but she would sometimes have him play her special song for her. It was something by Rachmaninoff. She was outgoing, and he was a blue-collared introvert. Everyone loved her, and I would have, too.
The boss walked in, late as usual, and asked why we weren’t working. My co-worker looked at me and said we were talking about astrology. We both laughed, not canned laughter, but honest laughter. It felt good. We drew up the next order, and continued to quietly work.