There are benefits to waking up early. Wait. Check that. There are benefits to getting out of bed early. What I love most about it is the feeling of being ahead of the world. The quiet unfolds. The light slowly cat stretches across lawns and curbs. At any random point in the week, if asked, I would probably complain that I feel like I am behind in something. Except between the sheer hours of 5 and 7, ante meridiem. In that 2 hour span streets are empty, the gym is spacious, my coffee never completely cools, and my mind is suspended lightly between now and then. My phone chirps. It’s 6:45 AM. Text says my order is ready, so I check in. I tap Spot #4, blue car. A dude wanders along the curb on my left. He wears work gloves and an orange reflective vest. His garbage bucket sways and heaves paper cups and pizza boxes onto the asphalt. Prodding a stray piece of plastic repeatedly with industrial pincers results in failure. He looks around with a shade of shame then resorts to picking it up with his hand. I smile. I vacuum like that. When repeated passes over stubborn strays of lint fail, an earnest shove with a toe assures that the fuzzy bugger ends up in the vacuum’s maw. On my right, Attah appears suddenly. She is out of breath. ‘Sorry, sorry.’ She offers. I check my watch. It's 6:55 AM. Staff usually don't start until 7. 'Last night was a late night with my family.' The remaining 5 minutes of me-time evaporates. She starts then stops, then considers her stack of packed boxes. Shaking her head, she opens a crate. 'I am moving a little slow today.' My watch vibes, it's 7:00. I want to tell her, 'S'ok' or 'No problem'. Instead I say, 'I get it.' And in doing so I merge with a single lane road that leads to the off-ramp from my morning speedway.
Cliff called me Cliff
‘Are you Cliff?’
Startled, my phone stumbled beneath my thumbs. The voice burst from my blindside.
I forgot that I had changed my usual pick up spot. A delivery could come from any direction.
In the jolt, a text got sent mid stride. Someone at home thinks that ‘I will b ho_’
His name tag said Hi my name is Cliff.
In moments like this, it’s hard to think of the universe as anything other than a poetic post-it note tucked into my daily lunch bag.
A mirror full of reminders, metaphor, simile, assonance, alliteration and definitely a dash of cheeky humour.
What is it called when a moment, threads across time and space, echoes over and over, so much so
that it simply and quietly shifts from coincidence to pattern to recurrence?
Cliff?
Nope, not my name.
Did he just introduce himself or address me?
But those are my groceries. So I stay quiet then get lost in my own fractional back story.
For years now, new acquaintances, at some point call me Cliff. Other prodigal peeps only know me as Cliff. Some I have corrected, others I have let slide for so long that I figure- Why bother?
It’s not my name by birth, but I gotta admit it appears often enough that I gotta vibe with the fact that some higher power beholds me in this way.
Cliff Cluff.
All of this wonderment crowded out my immediate task. I should be watching the dude unload my groceries.
I must have nodded when he asked my name because when I return to my senses he is closing the hatch on my car. Nice touch, I think to myself.
15 minutes later, I’m chilling on the couch, my kids are unpacking the haul.
5 minutes more, one of my kids is asking why half of our order is missing.
5 minutes after that I get a call from Walmart. They are apologizing for the error. It was Cliff’s first day. I smile and think about his and my connection.
The manager asks if I would like the missing items to be delivered.
‘Nah’ I say because I have already requested a refund on the app. ‘Thanks though’.
Mika noticed
The first one sounds like an old timey doorbell.
The second is more of a ‘tink’.
Then the device actually rings. A tone warbles- a pulse, laser, then a metallic clang all in succession.
It is vexatious and designed to draw attention.
‘Sorry, sorry.’ Each apology frames a stop and then restart of work.
The ringing continues even after she tries to tap tap it away.
Head down, she mutters, then sighs. ‘Some people use the app. Some call it in.’
Just over her shoulder, two different people are nestled in their cars, on their phones.
One of them stares at us.
‘S’ok’ I offer. ‘I bet you wish you could just turn off those notifications!’
Her look up is sudden and stark.
I know this look.
It’s like that moment of glancing up and seeing someone staring at you.
Or staring out your car window and gaze locking with a passing driver.
Being observed by a stranger has a nervous effervescence to it.
The woman in the blue car is still eyeballing us.
How long have they been watching?
What did they notice?
What did I just do?
It blows open the landscape between fight, flight, and freeze.
Time slows then speeds as your consciousness handshakes with reality again.
Mika dead-eyes me. ‘We are not allowed to mess with the scanners.’
The device chirps as if in agreement.
‘I didn’t mean…’ I blurt.
With a dismissive wave she turns and takes the call.
something to write about
This is why as fingers meet keyboard cravings release all that's stored in feelings about things and what's more, I'm listening and searching for one more reason to walk through that door [and] one more way to hit the floor. So like a leap in this ballet like an act in this play like another rule to disobey; [I'm] Obsessed [with] thinking about every rhyme counting every beat and line [and I won't stop] measuring every word not mine. With courage that's drained from pens fear that tries to cleanse compulsion that wants to end [making it] Impossible to creep up upon without scaring to leave unturned stones despairing to notice life without caring [that] Things never get better without the fight rarely become clearer without some light [and] often once found take flight.
a favoured over-estimation
Calmness leads to claws
flexing, with eyes
closed or keenly
narrowed and fixed on
the sleightness of
disturbed air between
my incoming finger tip
and his whiskers or
incisors.
An assumed cute boop
results in bloodshed
or rough abrading licks,
my hand or his meal
depends on whose needs
prevail.
A strange noticing
paralyzes my next
action, any reaction
either way, staying in
or leaving his clutch
will be painful and
forgotten and
forgiven before
dinner time.
Regardless, I assume
ownership of him,
his care, and any
injury that results
from loving him as
I do.
Aidan’s ethical dilemma
‘Nobody likes grape!’ I leaned out from behind my car, a whirlwind approached. ‘Doesn’t matter!’ Another voice answered from somewhere across the lot. ‘If it’s not in stock, then it’s not in stock!’ The rain had picked up. ‘…not my point. Not disagreeing but... not my problem to tell customers about inventory issues.' My person paused beside my driver side door then added- ‘It's Mike’s job to make sure people know.’ He checked his device. It blurped quizzically. ‘You Chris Cluff?’ I nodded and tried to find my opinion about grape flavouring. A fading voice continued- ‘NOT worth it. Why d’you have a beef with Mike over this? It’s not worth it.’ He looked at me for a second then got to unpacking the goods. Items moved quickly into the back of my vehicle. He was deciding something, then offered- ‘Mike is our manager.’ His tablet pinged again. 'He ordered too much grape.' The device's pleas were muffled. Distant. 'He doesn't want the head manager to know.' Aidan had set it inside a red crate, while he was emptying a green crate. 'So we are supposed to sub grape for lime and tell the customer that we are out of stock.' Now a blue crate sat on top of the red. There was momentary panic, I pointed to the bottom box. Relief, then- ‘You got one of the last lime Bubly.’ He pronounced it Bublé and smiled to himself. ‘The next client that orders lime will get a sub of grape instead.’ Non issue for me. 'Even though we got stock.' I waited for more, then filled the silence- 'Dude I am good with grape or lime. It's all the same to me.' It definitely wasn't the same for him. He was dismayed. With a sigh he advised- 'It ain't right.' And left.
words keep wolves at bay 