by Hank Brockett
9/17/01
The dull scratches dominated the ride into town, providing gawkers with ample ammunition to snicker and point fingers. That’s happened before in my minivan. I don’t mind, especially this time.
I pay no mind to the bumper’s current condition, because I’m desperately searching for distraction. Everyone is.
Turn to the sports page, and the baseball standings remain scarily the same. Try and remember the last time you saw a commercial. Even when passing those silly little business signs, the “End of summer sale!” signs have turned into simple reminders of national pride overnight.
“Land of the free, home of the brave.”
“God bless America.”
“Try our chicken sandwiches.”
I guess some have tried to move on, but my guess is that the television doesn’t have the same effect on them. Watch CNN for half an hour and feel time stop. Look up and three hours have passed. Those hours haven’t been too kind to morale.
And so the search continues, once the energy to change the channel somehow appears, for distraction. Positive, negative, just something.
Something that treads lightly, though. Laugh too loudly and someone will notice. You will notice. And the last garish laugh will be followed by guilt. Is it right to laugh in such muted times? There’s no ultimate authority on such matters, other than the little voice inside all of us. Even that voice whispers now.
The events that made us drool last week now are cancelled, postponed or have lost their luster. They say the British swarmed the cinemas when faced with World War II. I try the same.
“So what if you’re the only person in the free world looking forward to ‘The Glass House,’” I mumble to myself as I drive and the bumper scratches. “Get away, get distracted.”
Was it successful? For slight moments, life returned to normal. That a-little-too-weird infatuation with Leelee Sobieski was back in full force. I got mad about stupid things again, like
how Sobieski smoked a cigarette in one scene. If only that was the worst thing that could lower your spirits.
I drive back, and the signs remind again that something more important is going on. I head to the CD racks, bypassing the television and forgetting about the sagging minivan. There have to be songs that fit the mood, there just have to be. Before I can hear the perfect notes, I fall asleep to the sounds of a too-quiet Friday night and too-loud thoughts in my head.
I awake and know I’m not alone. There must be thousands around here, millions the nation over looking for the same distractions I couldn’t get a hold of. No one knows just what to do, or if someone does, they aren’t sharing.
In a few days time, baseball will start again and the standings will change. Commercials will start appearing again, offering products that we can most certainly live without. CNN will have other stories to report, but not for awhile. The story isn’t over just yet, prolonging our need for distraction.
But between newspaper scans and everyday conversation, I finally come up with something. In the search for profound words and profound thoughts, a near-cliche rings true. It’s not original, and I’ve seen plenty of movies that say the same. It just took a little long to finally register.
“For your sake, live for today.”
The foibles and hang-ups really seem so passe now. Now, only the would’ves, should’ves and could’ves really bother me. In uncertainty, everyone needs a goal, an ideal to hold up. I hope that others find theirs, because I’ve found mine.
I start by ripping off that pesky piece of plastic.
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