Everybody’s talking at me
I don’t hear a word they’re saying
Only the echoes of my mind.
— the prophet nillson
“IT’S NOT YOUR TURN TO TALK!”
The woman is shouting at her phone as she walks in front of us on the big bird loop. It only takes a few minutes to pass her, but they’re very long minutes.
“HE’S READING MY TEXTS!!! HE’S HAD MY PHONE PASSWORD AND READS MESSAGES I SENT!!!”
I can remember the old days, when someone walking alone in the park screaming meant they were mentally ill and not just totally self-absorbed. Those were simpler times.
“STOP IT! DON’T TALK!”
I’m thinking this is not the sort of conversation one would want to have via speakerphone. But we are, after all, in Scottsdale, where life is just an audition for a reality show.
Our reality show comes tomorrow: Medical Roulette, where we find out what fate has in store.
“HE DIDN’T EVEN READ THE WHOLE TEXTS!!! HE ONLY SEES THE ‘I LOVE YOU’ PART AND IT’S TOTALLY OUT OF CONTEXT. I DON’T KNOW WHAT HIS PROBLEM IS!!!”
I think about how odd this is. She’s worrying about an annoying guy; we’re worrying about mortality. But I suppose it’s all relative. 250,081 Americans are dead from a virus that needn’t have been this horrible. I think about how lucky we are. She apparently does not.
“NO, STOP TALKING!!! IT’S NOT YOUR TURN TO TALK!!! I’M TALKING!!!”
I perform mental gymnastics attempting to decipher who she’s talking to. The guy’s friend? A relative? Dr. Phil? It makes no sense.
Mo suggests we change routes to get away from the drama, but then she’s gone, off to pick up strangers in an Old Town bar or look up instructions for rigging car bombs or whatever one does in such situations.
It’s a perfect day. Low 80s, sunny, posing herons and reclusive turtles. We finish 4 miles and sit on the picnic table, pretending we’re not scared out of our minds.
But still, we’re lucky. We have each other. I’m so happy to have this best friend, this supporter, this love of my life, this person I was so lucky to stumble across. What are the odds? I’m sure many challenges lie ahead. But shouting into phones isn’t one of them. We’ll live happily ever after. Just a matter of finding out how long ever after is.
I want to say something to Mo. But I can’t.
It’s not my turn to talk.
On to the next adventure …