Pat Tompkins
- When The Time Comes-
(Pat Tompkins' previous work, 'Italian Strawberries', appeared in the previous Unholy Biscuit.)
A time may come when the highlight of your day is the mail delivery. Not because of anything you receive, such as a large check or acceptance letter or invitation. No, because the arrival of the mail gives you something to look forward to--you never know what might show up, although you have a good idea: phone bill, mail order catalogs, restaurant flyers, supermarket ads, offers to renew subscriptions, charity solicitations, a brochure about European bicycling vacations even though you don't own a bike and can't afford a trip out of town. But look again at that photo of the Amalfi coast in spring.
A time may come when weekends are a welcome relief. Not because you need the rest or free time. No, because on weekends you don't have to feel bad about not having a job. The weekend respite will counteract the absence of mail on Sunday. It's fine on Saturdays to linger at the café reading the newspaper, cook meals from scratch to save money, visit stores for free samples of cheeses or chocolates that cost more per pound than you used to make an hour, or browse at the thrift shop even though you can't imagine wearing some stranger's cast-off clothing. But walk into a bakery and take a deep breath.
A time may come when you wonder why you didn't take your parents' advice and study something practical. Not because you now wish you were a dentist or an accountant. No, because the skills you have are not the type that will always be in demand. You'll get good at spotting "Clearance" signs. You'll wish you had a higher tolerance for long commutes and longer meetings. You'll get in the habit of watching the sidewalk, hoping to spy dropped coins. You'll no longer buy magazines, go to the movies, or inhale fancy coffee drinks as you dash from one place to another. But pause to pet the labrador sprawled on the sidewalk outside the florist's shop.
A time may come when you look in your closet and wonder how you could have bought that jacket and sweater, those shoes. Not because they're ugly or out of style or don't fit. No, because you could really use that money now to pay bills and the utility company doesn't barter goods. And the landlord adds a penalty charge if you're late with the rent. And your doctor isn't going to renew your prescription unless you get a lab test that you can't afford. And you'd like to replace the tires on your car before they blow out and keep up your insurance payments in case of an accident or worse even though the cost of healthcare is making you sick. But eat a handful of salted peanuts, one at a time.
When that time comes, you'll need to go to a large park and walk until your feet hurt. Not because the fresh air will do you good, although it will. No, because you'll pass fragrant plants blooming or preparing to bud. You'll hear birds coo, caw, and warble and the scrabble of squirrels chasing each other around trees. You might see a snail smashed on the path or a mouse drowned in the pond or a bronze statue of a long-dead explorer painted with pigeon droppings. You might get rained on.
But you may also recall from that class long ago the words "carpe diem" and hear their message as though it were news.
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Pat Tompkins is an editor in the San Francisco Bay Area. Her essays, reviews, and stories have appeared in the San Francisco Chronicle, the Paumanok Review, E2K, the Copperfield Review, and the Writer. Her published Civil War stories include "Hearts of Ash," "Dr. Talbot's Cider," and "Living in the Necropolis