Button Daffodils

I was taking a piss dreaming about the snow outside and when I yawned outward I whispered the words in pissing ecstasy moan "daffodils". Outside lay a billion white daffodil buttons all one top of each other, resting and caressing themselves till the evening dips below freezing. I hadn't imagined it waking up this morning, stumbling out to my car, stumbling out with my keys into the ignition as my hands were blunted by the burn of the cold. I went to work where I awkwardly folded cardboard slats magically into boxes. It was clearly the work of an occupied and distracted human, bent sides neglectfully hammered into one another, the lines of organization hemmed no better than a lightning bolt. I think to myself, "God, what would a person think if they saw my disarray? Do I look drunk or am I just sweating this way?" But the tense and angular affectations of my morning dissolve away. I make a mad delivery, dashing out to the carnival trash of rural Atlanta where a public school hides amongst weeds and Baptist Churches. I cursorily ring the doorbell (yes, schools now have doorbells and cameras and electronic gates) until an unknown Wizard of Oz politely unlocks the secure front door letting me inside. Quite self-consciously I can't decide to take the approach of absolute conspicuousness, or to covertly make my way towards the Front Office, unsure which one sets off the most potential child-predator alarms in the average American's paranoid mind. Luckily it's right at the entrance and an overweight assistant assails me before I get lost. Inside the office we spend a quality amount of time inspecting to her satisfaction (not mine) the contents and addresses of each sandwich bag, insuring the each little Charlie Brown or Peppermint patty has a delicious dill and one serving bag of chips. They do. As she scrambles to round up my eventual tip of three dollars, I pace around on the mosaic blue carpet, occasionally glancing at a flat-screen that I notice is broadcasting the approach of our imminent snow storm. A few nomadic students wade in and out through the hall, as starry-eyed as I am waiting for the first signs of winter dust. I wave to them, waving back, hoping to grasp longer that feeling, the intensity of waiting so precious to a child whose seconds are longer and days are forever.

Sitting up against the wall another overweight woman talks to herself when I decide to butt in with bullshit conversation about the snow storm. I catch every other word she says until I get bored, noticing that less and less her words have anything to do with snow and more and more to do with a friend she needs to call, done her wrong, something something. I still pace and just nod intermittently at her and shoot ignorant smiles repeating, "yeah, yeah" feigning with agreement and hoping but not praying that in the midst of her mumbling she isn't posing me a question. Finally she stops talking, coughs out a laugh of entertainment at whatever she had just said and stares at me waiting for my response or commentary, right when the other ball shaped women calls me over to the desk, hands me the cash, and I leave straight staring towards the door speechless at anyone who acknowledges my exit. I make it back to work, the story of each delivery always silent and my own little memory I tuck away in my back pocket. Who needs to know? Fran asks if I want to do side work. Not really. Okay. Can I go home, I have things to do(bullshit). Of course, see ya tomorrow.

I leave. I don't even bother to eat. I hardly do anymore, seems such a waste. Eating food is so evanescent, like plucking the petals off a rose. Of course you can always make more food, grow more roses, but that one you just took, you can't get it back, and with each new rose its intensity vanishes. I quiver. A few things happened between then and now, mostly parking lot dramas of reversing and stopping and inaudible expletives to me and God, but most importantly the keen observation of falling snow. It begins delicately, miming the innocence of Eden in tone. Earth works its way out in time, showing mud from the wear of feet and wheels. The contamination of time is inevitable and I love it too, but those evaporating moments of both snow and beauty seen by my eyes refresh a dignity and respect for the brevity of life I so often lose. I had dreams of the ocean last night, alone. Tonight I'll pray for the sea of snow to take me in.