Robert Lopez - Good People

I HAVE TO TALK TO CHRISTINE about Grace, but I won’t talk to Grace about Christine. I have talked to Christine about Grace before and it has always been a good experience, I’ve always learned something. Talking to Christine about Grace is easy. I would even say it comes naturally, though I don’t think talking comes naturally to either one of us. I’m talking now about me and Christine, not me and Grace or Grace and Christine. Grace is a natural talker, but you can’t talk to her about Christine. If you know anything about Grace, then this is what you should know about her. Christine is a different story unless it comes from Grace, which it shouldn’t. You shouldn’t talk to Grace about Christine and the reasons are obvious. I won’t even spell out the reasons they are that obvious. But Christine isn’t a natural talker and sometimes she’s barely one at all. I have been around Christine for hours at a time without hearing word one from her. Sometimes you have to ask Christine a specific question to get her talking, but then you can’t shut her up is the problem. I remember once I asked Christine for the time and she performed a monologue about the plight of honeybees instead. She went on and on about the honeybees, how they were dying off in record numbers and how the bees were flying away and not coming back, that keepers would find boxes empty of adult bees except for a live queen. She said this was unacceptable because bees play a crucial role as pollinators and we rely on honeybees to keep commercial agriculture productive. She said about a third of our foods comes from these honeybees, including apples and nuts and summer fruits like blueberries and strawberries, and even alfalfa, and guar bean. I tried to ask her about alfalfa and guar bean and if berries were considered fruits, but once Christine is in the middle like this, you can’t ask her anything. She went on to say that bees contribute billions of dollars to our crop production and that the losses are unprecedented and fast. This is what Christine told me when I asked for the time and I believed her. That’s one of the reasons you want to talk to Christine because she knows what she’s talking about. I’m not sure Grace knows anything about honeybees, which proves something, I’m sure. Now please don’t get me wrong on this, Grace is a lovely woman and she is not inconsiderable, but I’m not sure talking to her about anything is a good experience, particularly when it comes to Christine. But that’s not the real reason you shouldn’t talk to Grace about Christine and everyone know this. I don’t have to spell it out and this is a good thing. I’m not sure I like talking to either of them, as I’m not much of a talker myself. But later today I do have to talk to Christine about Grace. There’s no avoiding it. All of us are worried about Grace and we have to do something while there’s still time, because Grace is worth the effort. Just yesterday I was reminded of this. I saw Grace at the supermarket buying groceries and she was giving a dollar to one of the local kids for their annual bake sale fund-raiser. You won’t ever see me or Christine giving a dollar to the local kids for their fund-raiser and that’s the difference between Grace and the rest of us. This trumps everything, as far as I’m concerned, including the plight of honeybees and whom you can talk about and with whom. Grace is better than all of us put together, which is why we love Grace and want to do everything we can to save her.

THE WOMAN IS BIG but she is not beautiful. I am somebody that likes beautiful women, regardless of size, in fact, for a long time I thought the bigger the better, but not like this. She is big like the sun is big, like the sky is big, like the mountains out in Colorado are big. I am facedown and naked on the table except for a towel draped across my middle, afraid of how big she is and disappointed that she is not beautiful.

I should probably make a few things clear before we go any further, but I have no idea what. Perhaps it is enough to say that I am a good person, that I hold the door open for total strangers. Also, I don’t think anyone is afraid of meeting me in a dark alley.

Beyond that, I’ll say there comes a time in every man’s life.

The woman is over me. I have my eyes closed and my head nestled into that headspace at the head of the table. I can hear that she’s rubbing her hands together. Sometimes they ask if you want oil, but sometimes they don’t. I suppose some are considerate that way, thinking maybe you don’t want to walk around smelling like you have recently visited the rub and tug, or worse, go home that way to the wife or what have you. I don’t have a wife or what have you, so maybe the big woman has guessed this about me, maybe it’s a judgment call. She has an accent, though she tries to bury it. I think maybe she comes from Australia or New Zealand or someplace like that. I only know this because I have a neighbor who comes from that part of the world and tries to bury the accent, so I recognize it. I’ve asked my neighbor why she tries to bury the accent and she says it’s out of shame. I’ve asked her what’s shameful about it and she says it’s too shameful to talk about.

I think maybe everything is too shameful to talk about.

I have never been there, to Australia or New Zealand, have never been anywhere, not even Colorado. I know about the mountains because I went to school and I watch television like everyone else. Human beings have no business being up in the air, which is why I haven’t been places. Another reason I haven’t been anywhere is I haven’t been invited. The rest of the world seems fine with me staying put, holding down the fort. Perhaps they don’t think I’d make for a good guest, but they’re probably mistaken about this. I’d probably stay for only a night or two because I get restless. People love you when they know you’re leaving soon. I heard that in a song once and the singer sounded like he’d been a few places, had worn out a welcome or two.

This is why I make only half-hour appointments, even though the full hour is a better deal.

Maybe if someone invited me along someplace, I’d join them, but all of it depends on any number of variables, X factors. Everything depends upon red wheelbarrows and incomprehensible shit like that. Until I can figure this out, people know where they can find me. Until then, I remain grounded.

That’s what my neighbor said to me once, after I asked if she’d like to get a drink sometime. She said, It depends, and I said, On what? And she said, So much depends upon a red wheelbarrow. I disagreed with her, said I can understand things depending on weather or health or how much sleep you didn’t get the night before, but not farm implements. She said I was funny and that she was busy, that she had family in town visiting and then she was going out of town herself for a few weekends but maybe when she got back and things settled down.

I told her I’d ask again if I could remember, said I was only talking about a drink, not painting a house together.

I wanted to make it seem as if I hadn’t given this much thought. The truth is I hadn’t given it much thought, so it was important that I make this clear.

The advertisement said the masseuse was beautiful, said she was stunning and strong. Most claim to be in their late thirties, but you overlook the lie because you don’t want to visit a younger girl. There’s so much they don’t know about the business and you cannot teach them, it’s not what you pay for. Also, they haven’t filled out yet, haven’t let themselves go. So I am always on the lookout for the ones claiming to be in their late thirties, big and beautiful. I have seen these kinds of women, the big beautiful ones, have been inside their apartments, have forked over fifty dollars for a half hour’s worth of time and effort and have been happy to do so. Pretty works on anyone and I am fine with this. My neighbor is pretty but not at all big. In fact, if you lined up these two women side by side, you’d have a hard time believing they were the same species. What I’m saying is, I harbor no prejudices when it comes to pretty, but I do like it when they’re pretty, whether they be neighbors I might have a drink with, perhaps leading to house painting, or a massive woman who should be able to provide a little relief and comfort in this time of perpetual need.