Minimalist Jones stared at the mirror,
nude, in all his glory.
How and why, where and when?
And could he stomach such a story?
My drunk neighbor Jeff showed up this morning sometime before six. I know this because I’m an early riser. My mom told me once that when I was little, something like four or five, it didn’t matter how early she climbed out of bed, I would have already beaten her to the punch. I’d be sitting in the dark living room, staring at nothing, or maybe have the television on, staring at the test pattern. I’m not sure kids get up early these days, and they certainly don’t know anything about test patterns. Some might say that I’m one of the last of a dying breed. Kids are restless these days, sure, I’ll agree to that, but it seems to be in a different way. Restlessness has adapted somehow, changing with the times.
Anyway, I was trying to tell you that Jeff showed up, drunk as usual, but not so much that he didn’t turn away when he saw me, standing out in my back yard in my underwear, peeing into the early morning light.
I’m mostly a civilized man, but by God, I have a weakness for peeing outside. I’ll admit it. No aiming, no flushing, no paying attention, really nothing much to do at all except pee and maybe pay attention to whether or not you have any drunk neighbors making their way down your road, through your gate, and into your back yard, which apparently this morning, I had forgotten to do.
“Mornin’,” came a voice behind me. Jeff.
I suppose if I lived in town I’d be more jumpy. I might be more nervous if I was standing outside in my underwear peeing into the sunrise when a voice said ‘morning’ behind me. Hell, if I lived in town I might not even go outside in my underwear and pee into the sunrise, which is probably true because I don’t remember doing it during the last couple of years in the apartment, except for that once, and that was just for old time’s sake which doesn’t really count.
You kind of lose your jumpiness, living in the country. Especially if you live down the road from a friendly drunk. You get used to things. Dare I say, you start to expect things? I looked over my shoulder at Jeff, who as I said, had his head turned, looking the other way.
“Morning, Jeff.”
“Thought I’d come by for some coffee.”
“I’ll start some,” I said. “Let me grab a shirt.”
“Yea, right,” he said, and followed me into the house.
Minimalist Jones kept a list of friends
Beneath a magnet on his fridge,
And once a year, but never more,
He’d invite them to play bridge.
I dressed while Jeff made coffee. Cupboard doors slammed and I could hear the muffled sound of the grinder starting up. Three failed marriages, I thought, and now a drunk in the kitchen, making my coffee. Life is full of surprises. I pulled on a t-shirt and hurried down the hall before Jeff could grab my favorite mug. Life may be full of surprises, but every man has his limits.
Jeff had set out the mugs, and as I poured the coffee I could see him through the kitchen window, staring into the sun just like I’d been doing. Except for the peeing part, that is. Jeff’s a drunk, but as far as I can tell, a well-mannered drunk. A well-mannered drunk who just happens to make good coffee.
I carried out the coffee, ready for the story of how Jeff’s wife was going to kill him. He tells the story like he doesn’t have a care in the world. The same way, it occurred to me, that I pee into the sunrise, watching the steam drift off into the sky.