THE MEAL EXCHANGE

I'd like the beef barley soup to start...tuna on wheat toast...potato salad...with a fruit plate side. I'll need coffee...lots of coffee. Yes, when it comes to  dessert - I'll have chocolate cake, and milk with that, please. Probably finish with coffee… Thank you.

First off, let me thank you for sharing this food with me...for offering me this meal. I do willingly offer up my story, and I will share that with you for whatever it's worth, and hope you don’t  feel cheated or disappointed by the time the cake disappears. If you feel this grub is payment enough, then we have struck us a deal.  A deal is only good if you keep it.  Deal like this is blind, I respect you for that. You ever find that to be true in your life? Bad deals? It's been true in mine. More broken than not. More people happier to see me goin’ than comin'.

Before I get too far down that gloomy highway, I would like to speak my name and explain. My god given name was Errol Lloyd Boyd, but truth be known ‘god’ didn't give it to me. Two kids that got themselves into some trouble, they gave it to me, as I was their trouble. Her daddy, his daddy…Boyd. The kids started calling me ELBO, which is logical given the letters, but then their logic has become lost on me long ago. I simply can't recall who coined it originally because it's always been there for me. Like a shot to the ribs.

I never had a story that didn't involve a woman in some manner. I don't know why that is. Maybe it's a weakness, maybe a form of injury that I rely on a female to mend my wounds...help me mend my ways. Seldom turns out that way and sadness is usually their legacy, which is self-fulfilling and most would say I was full of it to begin with. My crutches break, my saviors desert me. I am left with a profound sense of abandonment.

Now that’s good soup. Just, wish they’d cut back on the salt, though…

"Back in my day" ...as they say, and I surely don’t lay claim to even liking the terminology...well…back in my day was a long

ways away. And if that was ‘my day’ then what does one call Today? Is this not my day too? I AM occupying this day, am I not? Are we not speaking…am I not eating, and yet…this is NOT my day! How is that? Hell, this is one of my GREAT days! Or is my day gone? I know I was plenty capable at some things. I could hit a baseball a country mile but failed to connect with that damn sphere often enough, and was easily fooled by trick pitches with spins from another orbit entirely, so my talent lay dormant…whatever talent I seemed to have…whatever talent that could arise within me often enough to meet the numbers…that talent dozed off from boredom, escape, or a total lack of commitment…so I can't blame no one but myself. But I will. I will blame the women as I will blame my own poor judgment. They lied. Each and every damn one of them.

I could talk a lick and sell just about anything until I began to hear myself talking and couldn't buy a word I said. People sense that hollow tone when you know you're talking to no one…you're all alone even though they might be two feet away, you lost ‘em. You don't ring true.

“I know I just kissed you, but I'd like to spend my life with you.”

 I said that to woman and I meant it sincerely, as stupid as that sounds, but not as stupid as I felt when she laughed in my face and left me. I was naive and trusting…so foolishly so, I didn't know and thought that's how it's done. Put your heart on a plate and hand it to someone. Some men know and some never learn. If I am rattlin' on you feel free to interrupt. Stop me from getting off course. Put me back on track as my mind does tend to wander. It would have been a great assist in life if I had myself such a flagman to guide me along.

Point the way, pull the switch should I be heading down the wrong path or some dead end. Never met that that flag man. Hoped a woman would be that but in all cases the relationship is what ended up derailed.

 I served time in an ugly time...fought in an ugly war. Senseless loss, and a role I cannot reconcile no matter how history spins. You do not drape the loss of lives in some sack cloth flag of glory and claim victory, when Loss is Loss. Get it? Don't believe the books...don't buy the politicians, They already been bought. You listen and you can hear that hollow sound coming from their mouths. Puppets. Ventriloquist dummies. Once you been raped by that gang your dignity is shot to hell and you blame yourself for buying their bullshit in the first place. Like some school girl who knows better but runs off  with that boy who buys her booze, even though she knows better ...she goes, she knows! but she goes....her virginity his and her's to lose. 'Toulouse Latrece' as the French would say in such matters of the heart.

What else? Had two children. See one on occasion. Less and less. No regrets. Kids turned out better than their old man so maybe the mother gets the credit…both of them.

Sure, I got screwed up. OH MAN did I get screwed up! I was institutionalized. Do you believe...? ..ya, sure you do...but I was and it was some gruesome institution I'll tell you that. Only the rich can afford the good ones, but in the end they too get screwed.

You begin to see the future and it ain't pretty. You DO wonder what this world is coming to and you know you have no control. The next generation…then the next…then who knows? Not me. Not even a bright guy like yourself...knows. So, yeah, a profound sense of abandonment. Why not? Is that not what happens? Is life ever fulfilled? I would hope so but doubt...and the doubt way outweighs the hope.

I was an attorney for awhile. Sounds good. Passed the bar. No jokes. Got bored and passed on. Other peoples lives had become a petty nuisance in mine, at least the clients I had earned or attracted.

I was too smart to stick around, yet so stupid to have left. You live with it.

I like my potato salad on the drier side, with chopped veggies and real chunky with a touch of mustard for tang  – like my Mom made - not this much mayo and mashed, but hey, it’s a free meal and I am obliged. Not complaining. I hope you’re getting some value here.

Mercy was probably my Mother-Mary. Ironic ain't it. I think I sought her out all my life. When I found her and I asked her, she said "I am Mercy..." they say romantic stuff like...the heart takes flight, but geezus christ if it didn't. But even saints ain't what they used to be. She sensed the desperation in me and fled. She did not want the burden I had become. Who can blame her. She righted me for awhile, before I wronged her. A profound sense of Loss.

Never felt entitled to anything. ...You? I always figured I got what was coming, earned my own fate, got what I was due. The hit and the misses. Inadequacy.

Right now I am seeking out a compassionate and capable Dr. Do you know of one? One that treats people like me? With my expense account? Which is nothin'...and my needs, which are plentiful.

Sorry….I mean, you're buying me this meal just to hear me whine?

There's no story here. 'Move on down the line…stop wasting my time'... that's what I would be sayin'. Buy someone else a lunch. Hear what they have to say. I appreciate your generosity but I doubt I've earned mine.

A profound sense of guilt.

I could make something up, but like I said before, I’m a bad bullshitter.

That was damn good cake. My compliments to the chef, Miss. Do I have any crumbs? No? Mustache? Good. Thank you, ma’m.

See here’s the sealer. On our deal…breakthrough for you because I do NOT discuss it without medication, so it’s your lucky day you got it for tuna salad on toast.

I killed a man. I killed him, sent his eldest daughter into an eight year comma. Critically injured his wife, who will have to live with long crippling injuries…and mentally scarred a young man I actually SAW entering the facility on the day I was exiting. Swear.

I was drunken under such influence it’s impossible to elucidate. Eluding the cops in a full-on pursuit. I was screwed. Red lights don’t matter when you got nothing to lose. …Janis…

Fucking airbag saved my life, not theirs. 8 months into state detox. 8 month’s…3 in solitary, 2 weeks strapped to an iron bed. I did the crime…did the time. Outa my mind. I mea culpa my weak ass to bed each night and wake up to a crash in my head about 4. You can do everything right in life until some asshole comes along and destroys it. It…them…everyone connected but the asshole that created the fucking mayhem. Sitting upright, eating fresh fruit…right from a can.

You don’t want to go there. Look at your face. Look at mine. My stark reality just nicked yours. Nicked! You safe-ass-mother-fuck…You have no idea about a full frontal attack. But, thank Jesus…(or in your case HAY-SUS…) I AM medicated, and tuna salad is like a climax on acid in my condition. It’s all glandular. Write that down. Or a crash at midnight. Sorry. Climax is a bitch no matter how you spell it.

        Sorry to see you go…any questions?

                                              Thought not.

                                                         You tip her well?!!

                       Atta Boy! You set your sights high, son !

Oh. Thank you, Dear. Yes, delightful….That was a very troubled young man…offering to buy me lunch if I heard him out. Simply to listen. Sad what we’ve become. Some people can’t face the truth within themselves…reaching out to strangers.

By the way, did my friend take care of you?

…or shall I?