January 24, 2011

Lamentations of a Future Truck Driver

When old friends fly in from the country up north, from the farthest direction possible, sharing with them unfettered, friendly time is the only course possible.

I knew him years before when I was his teacher, hired to help him struggle through books he likely never read. Biology too. He passed unimpressively, but my recommendation to a small college convinced them he could survive. He didn't, leaving after a year. Instead, he found a bride on 2,200 miles away, and took work in a factory which fired him. It was probably his fault. It usually is. 

He sought an ear, and this I offered, and coffee. We met a Caribou Coffee a chain coffeehouse and drank for hours. Finjal, Ethiopian, organic. A not quite medium roast, unremarkable, but expensive. It offered nothing the non-organic did, It was mid-day, and people came and went, but we remained. There was much to say.

He lamented, yet hoped truck driver would be the answer. So we talked about truck driving.We might have talked about the books he never reads, but the truth stepped in the way, as it always does.

It is a hard life to live, but perseverance and hope define him more than failures. 


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