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blueberries for you
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we were busy planting lirope, varigated
euonymus, and potentilla when the one-legged man came rolling methodically up to us in his wheel chair.
today his t-shirt read:
"how did i get this old?"
he asked me if i saw my father to give him the advice about using his leg or losing it.
"no," i said, and i felt as guilty as fuck. i don't see my dad enough and he loves me to death.
i asked him what he thought about the terrorist attack on america and he squinted in the afternoon sun.
"it made me mad at first," he said. and it seemed he had no need to talk about it. moving about in his world was enough to concern him.
later when i was talking to the complex's electrician who was splicing wires that fyn had sliced with the backhoe while removing a huge crabapple stump, he said he knew the one-legged man to be perpetually happy.
"you should see him at christmas," the electrician said, bending over, his ass unavoidably visible at the top of his droopy jeans. "if you are walking through the hallway, you can hear him in his apartment singing carols."
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