ISawArkansas

Sunday was too hot to sit under the hackberry, so we settled in his garage with the fan blowing like it had to put trick birthday candles out. Conversation wasn’t clippy since his wife just died, but we grew it as fast as we could even though we were hot and vague.

It seemed like a good idea to talk about masks.

We left them in our back pockets but sat a decent distance apart so as not to exchange invisible dribbles. Our chairs were out of the sun and faced west. We wondered how much tighter the dried-up land could stretch before it brittled apart.

We pulled the tab on our skinny cans of Michelob Ultra Infusions with Lime and Prickly Pear, contributed by a woman who doesn’t drink but liked the delivery guy, so she bought a 12-pack.

Then we took that first trusting pull and both of us belched, but not facing each other. Surely belches are in the same no-no column as sneezes and coughs for spreading something we could, but might not, have.  

“You know…” He didn’t go further. We let “You know” hover as though the breeze would drift it to Boone County.

“Yes. I know. Well, sometimes. Some things.”

He blew air out of his cheeks the way a trucker with a flat tire does, almost a whistle. “It’s time for people to stand up and take care of themselves. We’ve relied on others, from wife to boss to sweet baby Jesus, to take care of us.”

He was new to widowerhood after being married for three-fourths of his life. He had given this thought but hadn’t shared it until this blistering Arkansas Sunday afternoon in a garage.

“I mean it. Citizens could take back our cities, schools, soil, food, government. The federal government has claimed us, but also ignored us, deceived us, and paid us off. That’s the height of manipulation.”

We sipped. He spent a career in community service, making sure people had insulated homes and enough to eat and help with their propane bill. He’s an Army vet. Both of those jobs qualified him for a steady government paycheck.

“Centralized government isn’t taking care of this health emergency. The primary job, the only job, really, for politicians to do is see to it that we thrive as a society. Not happening. It’s like we’re waiting for someone to save us, but all we can imagine is voting. For another politician!”

“So we shouldn’t vote?”

“We should vote. From intelligence, not emotion. For intelligence, with emotion. We’re strong when we’re a national family. We’re in the way when we’re idle or fearful or angry.”

Sip.

“Yep, I agree. Only we can prevent our own dog from barking. Only we can choose to see the fine in everything – age, skin, surroundings. It feels right to get into John Lewis’s good trouble, like the protesters who used leaf blowers to swivel tear gas back on those who released it. Ingenious.”

He chuckled, looking at his can.

“It feels wrong to swallow prickly pear beer. Those’ll sting the tires right off your tractor.”

We toasted the donor anyway, knowing that untroubled minds can easily agree differently.