Painfully Normal

Painfully Normal

I set my six pack down,

the belt moved,

my beer inched forward,

and I came

to stand

in front of her register.

“How’s the water?” she asked.

“Huh?”

She handed me my receipt

and smiled.

I walked home

had one or two of those beers

and couldn’t get any work done.

It hadn’t rained 

in months,

I was the only

customer in line,

and I had purchased beer.

What water?

An adage or a proverb,

it was a Google search that defined

the word aphorism,

but where was the thesaurus provided word 

for random acts of conversation?

Into the search bar

I typed, 

“HOW’S THE WATER?” 

At a graduation ceremony

David Foster Wallace 

had given a speech

that began with a story,

it was a simple one,

but like a tsunami 

it carried enough weight

and coincidentally water

to not only drown a city,

but sink a civilization:

Two young fish swimming along

pass by an older fish

who nods and asks,

“How’s the water?”

Continuing on their way

one young fish

says to the other,

“What the hell is water?”

We’ve all got people 

who’ve acted before us:

role models, ideals, heroes,

but our choice lies in 

the decision

to do

what needs to be done.

A week later

I returned to the store

got my beer 

walked to her aisle,

but she wasn’t there.

“‘Where’s the lady 

that works this register?”

A teenage face responded, 

“She didn’t come in.”

That subtle reference

was enough to occupy 

my mind tonight;

it was nice

to see the quiet

in someone else’s eyes.