Can You Hear That?

By Bill Yanger

They’re back. Here's another in a continuing series of imagined conversations over coffee at the Rod & Reel Pier. Any resemblance to persons or personalities, real or imagined, is entirely coincidental and mostly unintended.


Good morning.

Hey, mornin’. Mmmmm, can you feel that?

Feel what?

That…you know, that feeling.

Can I feel a feeling? Are you on that blood thinner again?

No, man. Come on, close your eyes.

Is this a joke?

Not a joke. Just close ‘em…good. Now what do you feel?

Stupid.

Get over it. No one’s looking except that waitress but anyway she thinks you’re twisted.

She thinks I’m sexy.

Shut up and keep ‘em closed.

Alright already, I’m feeling whatever there is to feel, you freak.

And?

And I still feel like an idiot.

Then let’s try this. Take a big deep breath through your nose…deeper, fill your lungs.

…there, satisfied?

Do it again.

What the…

Just do it you big baby, breath it in.

Okay, okay…there.

Smell that?

What?

Can’t you smell the difference?

You finally changed your shorts! Thank goodness.

Funny. No, October always feels and smells different around here doesn’t it? It’s not sticky. Doesn’t have that soggy scent to everything. No sweat blotches on the t-shirt from just watering the tomatoes. The bike seat doesn’t sauté your buns just sittin’ in the sun a few minutes. The grass doesn’t grow an inch a day, the impatiens don’t wilt by 10 o’clock. And the smells, they seem new, like I just washed the bed sheets.

Like that happens.

Just saying, dude. It smells and tastes so crisp and fresh and clean. Like now, that north wind bumping across Bean Point right at us on this porch at this table … you can taste the briny outgoing tide, the little ribbons of turtle grass, the Sargasso clumps …

I prefer these grits. Can I have that slice of bacon?

Really though. The smell, no, the scent of those white caps right there tumbling over each other across that green bar behind Passage Key. It’s our version of eucalyptus, my man. God’s Vapo-Rub. Cleansing and expansive.

I knew it. You are taking that blood thinner again.

Nope, just love it here this time of year. Love it.

You love it here all year.

Yeah, but these days are special. They’re ours.

You can say that again.

Okay, they’re ours.

Hilarious. You’re right though. I didn’t have to take a number at the Publix deli last night and I parked three spaces from Roser’s front door for services on Sunday. But let’s take your little game further…

Okay...

Can you hear that?

What?

That.

I’m trying…a sound? Easy, it’s your stomach.

Well there is that but no, not talking about my stomach.

A voice?

Not exactly. More like just the opposite.

A whisper? A mumble?

No and no. Okay, how about this. Ever been on the beach right after a thunderstorm? Right after one of those August thunder boomers that rattle your windows, the ones that punch you in the ribs and you keep your head down while the low growl rolls on across the island? You been out there right after that?

Yep. Nothing like it.

Why?

Because it’s silent and peaceful and calm.

Exactly. Can you hear how calm this city is now? After all our thunder this summer?… And I ain’t talkin’ weather, my man.

Sure, it’s calm now, but there’s more thunder on the horizon. You know that.

Maybe so, maybe so. But I’m not hearing any now and I am likin’ the sound of that, for as long as it does last.

There are rumbles close by, though. Those big money commissioners from the county, more sunshine law stuff over a fwah grah type dinner with a developer and a county administrator. Guess they didn’t hear all our sunshine law thunder this summer, or didn’t pay attention.

Or simply don't care. Fwah grah?

It's f-o-i-e g-r-a-s...goose liver. Big dollars. Foodie heaven. 

Eh, they were wining and dining or being wined and dined. So?

So someone thought they heard them talking about stuff they shouldn't be talking about. County stuff.

Ahhhh, that pesky sunshine law. Hmmm.

But geez, they’re both old island politicos. Shoot, one was a mayor next door here, the other a mayor at the other end of the island. You’d think three lawsuits, six months of pandering headlines and a recall election would have at least sent a message you know? And where’s that email guy, that “government watchdog” when you need him this time, huh?

Hah! Get real. That’s PAR’s watchdog, dude. Check out both the ex-mayors’ campaign contributions. Foie gras or no foie gras. Ain’t gonna happen.

So Mr. Watchdog’s zealous rant about shadow governments and the people’s right to know depends on his perspective, huh?

Or maybe the perspective of the guy tugging his leash.

Right. Truth and justice defined by mob vengeance and employed as a convenient development strategy.

Nail on the head, my friend. Hey, stop. Did you hear that?

What?

Wait…wait. That!

That’s your stomach.

Bingo. Split an order of pancakes?

Nah. Gotta gel-coat some dings in my transom. Red’s are slurping top-waters over in Terra Ceia and I got this spot off of Tidy Island where the snook want to marry me. It’s gonna be a glorious October.

See you tomorrow.

Yeah, tomorrow.



© 2010 – William L. Yanger