Sue’s News

Filtered Through

March 13th, 2008

We were having cable issues in our new place… It’s nice having art imitate life.

–Sue

Filtered Through

He was just doing his job… He came to clean up someone else’s sloppy work. I could tell he’d fix it when I opened the door to greet him.

Augustine had served in the army, and by the way he held his tool box, it was easy to see his competence.

He must have used his scanner ten times to figure it out… through the wall jack, through the box — it was a mystery… so we headed up to the roof.

The wires were tangled, and the edges of the box were rusted. Brown leaves filled the bottom of the box, and multicolored tags dangled loosely — he shoved his hands right in…not a moment of hesitation.

“Welcome to my days,” he said. They were obviously long days, but he did what he needed to do.

“So you were the geek who used to fix radios, right? That’s how you got into working with cable?”

“Yeah, and I did this stuff in the army too…I went to pay for college.” He studied the wires. “When I got out, it just made sense.”

His hands traced the lines nimbly, delicately.

“Is this what you want to do?”

He looked up at me.

“I was actually an artist.”

“I could tell.”

“Yeah?”

“The way your hands move.”

“I wanted to do graphic design… You know, like decals for trucks and stuff.”

“So why didn’t you?”

He stared at the wires and found it, the root of it all. It looked like a long, black magic wand.

“Is that it?”

“I think that’s it.”

“What is it?”

“Honestly, I don’t know.”

He called one of his buddies on his 2-way radio. It was a filter to block out the cable. With a few snips it was gone.

“This thing is from like twenty years ago! I don’t even know if they make these anymore. I’m gonna take this back… show the guys.”

“Show and tell?”

“So we can laugh at the guy who left this here.”

He put a cap on the ends of the wire and got his tools together. We headed back to the apartment.

On the stairs I asked him again, “So why didn’t you?”

“I have a family to support…”

He ran the scanner again.

“Don’t you wanna get your stuff out there?”

I handed him a children’s story I had written about a bear who loves to dance and sing, and starts a party wherever he goes by sharing his gifts with the animals in the forest.

He read each word thoughtfully, carefully. He looked up and smiled.

“You can keep it.”

“I think my little girl would love this.”

“I hope you read it to her often.”

“I’ll read it to her tonight!”

The TV suddenly beamed brightly, and so did he. My cable was working.

As he packed his things to go, he nodded and smiled to himself.

“Thank you, for everything,” he said. “I’ll read it to her tonight.”

“Let me know if she likes it!”

“I will!” He tapped his chest pocket. He had folded it and placed it to rest there.

I knew my story had filtered through.

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