It is 8:30 in the morning, it is still rather cool out and the day looks like it may just turn into a decent one. It is supposed to hit 83 degrees today for the high according to AOL. I get up, make a pot of coffee and head to the shower. That’s when I first hear something coming from the living room, I strain to listen over the sounds of gushing water as it beats against my skin, I turn off both faucets and step out of the shower and dry myself off, now it becomes clear, someone is knocking on the front door. I hurry to get dressed and make my way to the front of the apartment.
I swing the door open and poke my head out, my hair still dripping wet from the shower. The walkway is completely empty, so I step to the railing and look over the edge at the apartments downstairs. Nobody there. What the hell? I know I heard a knock, I shrug my shoulders and walk back inside glancing once again back down the walkway as I re-enter the apartment. That’s when I see the little guy with the clip board and shoulder bag climbing the stairs, crap, he spotted me and is now making a bee line to my front door.
I realize that there is no escape for me now so I lean up against the door jam to patiently await my fate, whatever it turns out to be. A strange feeling of déjà vu strikes me as he gets closer. “Henry Morrison” I say to myself, apparently louder than I intended to.
“What?” he asks leaning forward curiously.
“Ummm.. Nothing, just thinking out loud. What can I do for you?”
His shoulders suddenly square up and his posture straitens, and he becomes strangely indignant.
He straightens his glasses and begins to fumble with the papers on the clip board. Mumbling out loud as he goes. Its only 8:30 in the morning and I am already of the distinct impression that he is having a very bad day. His head is still pointed down, his face seems a bit reddened.
“Are you a registered voter in Carson County?” He asks.
“Yep.”
“I am here to secure your vote for the republican party in the Nevada State Primaries.”
Not his exact words, but my eyes glaze over whenever I hear the word; ‘Republican’ so I couldn’t really tell you what his exact words were.
I look him up and down wondering if he will ever raise his head to see exactly who it is that he’s talking to.
“Don’t you think it would be helpful to your cause to ask if I am a card carrying Republican before you try to secure my vote?” It seemed like a rational response.
He stops digging and looks up in surprise.
“Well.. Are you? A Republican?”
I slowly shake my head no.
“Nope.”
“Oh.. A Democrat then.”
“Nope.. Independent actually.”
He squares his shoulders and once again readjusts his posture as he goes storming towards the stairs mumbling under his breath every step of the way. I remember a kid named Henry Morrison, I used to know him in the seventh grade. He was always a little pest as I recall, always had his head down, always just a tad impatient with everyone, a very assuming kid. Always went out of his way to make people feel as though they owed him their undivided attention whenever he opened his mouth. Suddenly as I watch the angry, inpatient looking little man storming down the stairs with his head down. The immediate comparison becomes obvious. Funny, I hadn’t thought of Henry Morrison in many years and then he just popped into my head.
It serves as a reminder to me, and I think about it as I walk into the kitchen to pour my first cup of morning coffee. No matter how bad I think my day may end up being, any day, every day. The sun is going to come up, and it may rain or it may snow, or it may not. And no matter how many times I trip, I stumble and fall, no matter how many times I have to pick myself back up off of the pavement. I only have to pause and think about all of the Henry Morrison’s of the world, the ones that think everyone owes them something, all of the ones that have those kinds of days, everyday, for a whole lifetime. I can pick myself up, dust myself off and aim for tomorrow, at least we all have that. There’s always tomorrow.
~Scratch A.B.T copyright © 2010~
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