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The Persistence of Versions
The handwritten sign in the bar window said, “Watch college sports here.” I was passing by, just, “shuffling through things,” as I said back then. That was back then. I said things like that all the time back then. I’d even mention pets back then. I’d lift a drink and say stuff like, “Here’s one for you, Mr. Kimper.” My wife didn’t like me referring to pets that’d passed on. She’d say, “Pets are not just things. Us? We’re not any better, being people.” Neither of us knew where any of it was going.
I looked at the sign in the bar window and it made me think. A lot of things didn’t make me think. But that sign sure did. I was preparing myself to have some mettle, to trust and spare, as they say. But just then I was snared by the thought of this sign, of the person who wrote it. Like, what was this person thinking? Why was it just college sports? And why so specific on one thing and not the other? Who wants to just watch all college sports? Like, college hockey or college lacrosse or cross country? Did they show professional sports too? I don’t know. I was good at stumping myself back then. My wife would say to me, “Why are you always asking questions that just end up leaving you more confused? Things are what they are. Get over it.” I couldn’t. Get over it, that is. I was always stuck in it.
Just shuffling through things, I kept at it. I was carrying two bags of sundries…
