The G is Hard, Geffer

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The G is Hard, Geffer

So in a way these broken vessels reflect something equitable with my own life?

Yes.

Well it seems so simple that it makes me wonder how I never came to the same conclusion.

That's what they pay me for.

So what you're saying is that because they pay me to play in the dirt I find fossils and glorious artifacts that have been lost in time and were otherwise sure to have been forgotten? The reason I find these things is because they pay me?

Yes.

And for the same reason you're able to glean these sure-shot solutions from the babbling produced by inner debates?

He leaned forward in his black leather chair, causing it to creak something pretentious,

Not only that, Mr. Geffer -- it's my job. 

And he took his glasses off and clamped down on the end of them with this teeth to demonstrate just how potentially life-changing his last statement was.

Geffer strided against the ebb of important people moving toward their business lunches and breather breaks.  Just beside a falling sunbeam, he picked out one these suits aerobicising or jazzercising or perhaps practicing tae chi in a corner office.  He thought,

How can I...and break free...and find ...

While repeating the last few words from his psychologist,  

  Not only that-- it's my job.  NOT only that-- it's my job,

Increasingly more snidely, and thinking,

God I hate living in this city. 

Geffer's pacing brought him to an intersection and he stopped automatically, waiting for the signal to cross. 

Once more, melting with melodrama, and this time with Shakespearean gravity pulling on the phrase,

“IT'S MY JOB!”

“What's your job,” some inquisitive and utterly playful voice popped off from nowhere.

Eh? 

Suddenly the owner of the voice materialized as Geffer took note of his surroundings for perhaps the first time that day. It was a suit but the woman inside of it didn't quite seem to belong there.  There was sunshine on her face and with her grin, all teeth, and unabashed like a kid running naked through the sprinklers, she beamed back at the sun.  Tiny, and with a nose so pointed she could only have been some fairy-grandmother's niece. 

Somewhere Grimm is missing one of his characters.

Having watched a parade of expressions march across his face, she tried again: “You said that was your job--  sooo-- what is your job?”

My what?

Geffer's posture scrunched like it did when he made marshmallow and Gnutella sandwiches.  The signal changed.

“You are aware that there are things that people force themselves out of bed for at times of the day that are all kinds inconvenient in order to earn wage, right?” He still seemed to be just waking up, so she continued.  “Or are you some kind of vagrant?”

Geffer was walking behind her now, through the intersection and up onto the sidewalk, and slowly coming to grips with the situation.

Well it appears that I am at least at the moment practicing vagrantism- (Damn hippie)-

Because I have completely forgotten where I was going. 

Geffer looked around him, wondering why his feet had taken him to North Hollywood and Singleton. 

 “Geez mister can I get some of what you're on?”

It was just a deep thought. 

“Well don't have much time for that, I'm afraid.  ‘Stick to the reins,’ they say, ‘and you'll survive.’  That's why I'm going someplace new to eat today.  You must've been headed toward the ferry too.”

Instantly the plots of his feet were revealed.

Actually, you're right.  I was. 

“Well that must be the gypsy in me.  Show me your palm I could prolly read your fortune too. “

And she giggled.  “I am So Phie.”

“Well hello, Sophie.  Everyone calls me Geff.”

“Aww ,well then you should stand up to them, and tell them you hate that name.” And she giggled again, nervously this time.

Geffer picked up on it, and opened with an overstated laugh, “HA HA! Excellent advice! Maybe then I can keep my lunch money too!”

“No lunch money? You can cover your fare at least, can't you? You, hippie.” And she smiled as she turned to pay. Geffer's eyes rose to take in the small harbor and the huge ferry that seemed to have snuck up on him.

My fare?  Oho! My fare! 

She laughed like an old friend.  “Come eat with me Geff,” she said, and she was holding his hand with her eyes. 

-Lem Andrews