Brave Heart

Existentialism comes to Trona, California



BRAVE HEART

Written By

P.L. Ellars

December, 2008


I was sitting alone at an outdoor table at my favorite little bistro just off boulevard Papillon de Guerre here in beautiful, downtown Trona, California, the other day, enjoying a cup of Typhoo, when these two, how shall I describe them, fellow “Boulavardiers” sat down at the table next to me. The shorter one, the one doing most of the talking, was going on and on to his friend about pain.

“My old man was right, for once in his miserable life. He told me a long time ago, ‘You want to live longer, you marry a redhead.’”
“A redhead?’ I says. ‘And how’s that going to make you live longer?’ and he says, ‘Well, you don’t really… it just seems longer.’ and then he started laughing this… this, well, the only way I can describe it is, it sounded like a Browning Automatic Rifle. Huh, huh, huh, huh, huh, huh, huh, huh, huh, on and on like he thought he was funnier than, well, I don’t know who, but somebody.”
When he finally stops laughing at his own joke, he tells his friend, “You’re my dentist. You know all about pain. You deal with it every day! Hell, you probably deal with it every hour! I mean, what if you got a patient that starts twitchin’ and floppin’ around like some kind of dying fish in your chair, screamin’ bloody murder, getting’ everybody in the waitin’ room all worked up, you just gas ‘em or stick a needle in ‘em, right? Calms ‘em right down, right?”
“Yes,” his friend answered, “I am able to anesthetize those whose threshold for pain is low. If we could only do that in our day-to-day dealings in this world, when the pain gets to be unbearable, we would not suffer so.”
“And that’s probably why there are so many boozers around. And dopers. Boozers and dopers, self-anesthetizing themselves. Well, I don’t need any of that stuff.” the short one continued. “I got a really high threshold for pain. You know that. Remember when I had that wobbly wisdom tooth and you had to pull it out? I didn’t need no painkillers, did I? No sir! It was halfway out anyway. In fact, speakin’ of pain and how it don’t affect me, did you ever hear the story about the time when I tied a bowling ball to a fifty foot rope and had my friend, Rickles, drop it from a third story building to let it swing down and smash me in the nuts? Me and Rickles was talkin’ about pain and life and whatnot, just like you and me’s doin’ now, and I told him pain didn’t ever bother me none and he dared me that I wouldn’t let a bowling ball swing into my nuts. He’s got this friend, Scrotty, that was workin’ the crane over at that construction site on Mirkin Street, so we go over there at lunch time, we tie this bowling ball…”
“But where did you get a bowling ball?” his friend interrupted.
“In Trona? Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me? So anyway, we tie the bowling ball to this 50 foot rope, the other end to the hook on the crane, Scrotty raises the ball up to Rickles, who was up on the third floor of the building they was makin’…”
“I didn’t know they were building a high-rise in Trona.” his friend interjected.
“Yeah? Well, they are. So anyway, Rickles reaches out, grabs the bowling ball, Scrotty backs the crane up so the ball can get a good swing, I go and stand under the end of the crane arm and then gives the signal to Rickles to let her rip! He lines up his shot and lets go of the ball.”
“Well,” his friend said, “you’re sitting here and not permanently bent over double and talking in falsetto, so I take it your friend Rickles missed!”
“Missed!” shorty said, “Hell yes he missed! You need at least a four-story building to get a swing on a fifty foot rope. So Rickles lines up his shot, drops the ball and it swings down and goes thud into the ground twenny feet in front of me. Didn’t come nowhere near my jools. I knew it wouldn’t! Whaddya think I am, nuts? I’m brave, but not stupid! So anyway, the point is, that I did it, or at least I attempted it. I got no fear of pain. Pain is nuthin’ to me. Raised my stature wid’ the guys, I can tell you. They’re still talkin’ about it.”
The waiter, in the meantime, had brought out their coffees. I was sure they would both settle down now and quietly enjoy their coffee until I heard…
“GODDAM IT!” the short one exploded. “GODFUCKINDAMMIT! I burned my fuckin’ mouth! Damn, that shit is hot! Ah fuck, that hurts! Jeezis Christ on a cracker!”
The short one had pushed himself away from the table and was half standing, yelling.
“Dammit, I can feel a blister the size of a football on my tongue! By God, I’m gonna sue this place and…”
By this time I had finished my cup of Typhoo, which was delicious, and got up to go, leaving my money for the bill on the table. It was a beautiful day and I still had most of it ahead of me. I looked up to see patches of blue sky teasing me through the Trona haze. I closed my eyes and savored the warm embrace of the sun on my face. I opened my eyes just in time to see a small bird fly into a large storefront window in the building across the street from the bistro, knocking itself out and fall to the sidewalk to lie unconscious at the feet of a startled young mother and her two little girls that had been shopping.
Yes, into each life a little pain falls; it must be so. I continued my stroll down the boulevard.