
TIME
by
Michael J. Ewing
I am standing outside of the post office in Long Island City (after
filling out my address change form), contemplating which of my moving
activities requires highest priority: Boxes? Movers? Stealing items
of my roommate’s while she’s at work that she won’t
notice for several weeks? As I mull my options a guy in a long monk-like
robe-like garment emerges with his adorable four or five-year-old
daughter. She immediately says hi to me about a dozen times. I say
Hello to her and give the guy a ‘Hey, what’s up?’
smile. I turn to walk away when the gentleman says, "Hey, man,
you look familiar."
"Really?"
I reply.
"Yeah, you look so much like this guy I know." Then he adds,
looking me up and down, "But you’ve never done time, I’m
guessing."
"Well, uh, no," I say. "At least not for more than
a night," I laugh; he doesn’t.
Now we are
walking down the street together: me, the ex-con, and his daughter.
I notice he is missing most of his front teeth.
"Yeah, yeah, you really look like this guy I did time with."
"Really."
I’m
noncommittal at this point. I mean, I’m strolling down the street
with a real prisoner! God, I’ve lived a sheltered life.
We mosey along and he complains about credit card companies and explains
what he was doing at the post office. I begin to wonder how far he’s
going: I can’t help my complex feelings of guilt, concern, and
awe in our continued proximity.
Suddenly,
he shifts back to the primary theme. "Damn," he exclaims,
staring at me intently, "I can’t believe how much you look
like this guy. It’s just weird."
"Yeah, it is weird," is all I can manage.
Then they turn down a side street and, as they exit my world, the
guy snickers and offers this parting thought:
"You
know how they say everyone’s got a twin?" He hesitates
like a polished comedian, and then says, "Well, yours is doing
time upstate."
º º º

THE
REALLYSMALLTALK BRAND AND LABEL STANDS FIRMLY AGAINST: Tiny
samples of sandwiches being handed out to pedestrians by someone about
our age.
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