Growing Grass

     Watching the grass grow is an under-rated activity. It clears the mind and relaxes the soul. It allows you to center your being to such an extent that you begin to believe that there may really be something to that transcendental meditation hoo-hah. Everyone should spend time watching the grass grow. Watching paint dry works as well, but it’s impractical to go looking for wet paint every time you need to relax. Grass watching is much more energy efficient, the furthest I have to travel is my front porch.

     It was the perfect day for grass-watching. Spring was exiting stage left as the leaves on the trees darkened into their summer greens. The thermometer climbed a little higher every day. It was hot enough outside to make a body lazy, but not quite hot enough to seal the house and turn on the AC. No traffic, the birds were singing, the sun was shining and I didn’t have anyplace I needed to be. Far be it from me to waste the day; I sat outside on the porch steps while my dogs drowsed around me and commenced observing the lawn. It might have been ten minutes or an hour; you lose your sense of time when you watch the grass grow, but the peace was broken by a steadily increasing racket coming from the west.

     The car crawled down the road, if one could call it a car, it had four wheels and what might have once been an engine but it was of no brand or model I recognized. Old certainly, its only visible color was rust and while the windows were not tinted by conventional methods they were so cracked and filthy I couldn’t even see shadows inside. I’d heard it coming for the last mile, clicking, clacking, loud banging sounds and the occasional explosion, as if various parts had broken loose and were waging a violent war against each other under the hood. The car sputtered to a halt in front of my mailbox; there was a loud backfire, a cloud of black smoke and then all was silent.

     The curbside door opened and a cloud of smoke reeking of stale cigars came billowing out followed by a pair of beat-to-hell turquoise cowboy boots. After a few moments, I imagine he was waiting for the smoke to clear, the owner of the boots stood up, promptly banged his head on the roof of the rapidly crumbling vehicle and sat right back down again.

     “Ehem…” I cleared my throat. “I beg your pardon, are you lost?
     “Lost?” The stranger stood up again, slowly and carefully, one hand rubbing what was swelling into an alarmingly large knot on his head the other casually laid on top of the car door. “No, no my dear I assure you I am most definitely not lost. This isn’t exactly where I expected it would be but no matter, she’s never wrong.”

      Picture a weeping willow. Now imagine all the leaves turned grey, dressed it in badly-fitting brown trousers, a tie-dye t-shirt, a tweed jacket and turquoise cowboy boots. Shrink it down to about 6’6”. Now add bright green eyes, a longish nose, a lump on the forehead and a general air of “now where did I put my…” and you’ll see almost exactly what I was confronted with. Better yet if you’ve read your Tolkien, imagine Treebeard, only shorter and greyer, with clothes on.

     Expected what to be? Who’s never wrong? I couldn’t bring myself to ask the questions out loud and could only hope that the answer wouldn’t involve either the ideal situation of my backyard with regard to catching fairies or a lecture on how my property was the best location to contact space aliens while awaiting the imminent return of Elvis. I so very wasn’t up for having those arguments again.

     So I just looked at him. “…er…hmmm… I’m sorry, do you live here?” As he spoke he stepped towards me, right hand extended as if to shake my hand. The very second he took his left hand off the car door… well… the car collapsed.

     Remember the goofy cartoons with the cute little animated cars? They’d go too fast and then they’d stop, exhausted and all four tires would splay outward and the car would collapse to the ground in exhaustion? It was like that, only without eyes and a little pink tongue but with a very loud bang, a cloud of dust and smoke.

     I evaded his hand, no telling where it had been. “Ok, um…yes I live here. No to anything you may want to ask regarding fairies, aliens or Elvis. I’ve got my cell phone right here, would you like me to call a tow truck?”