Good Judgment
Bill Vernon
Watching me, still in her nightgown and sprawled on a stuffed chair in front of a duct blowing out cool air, Suzie finally said, “Frank, it’s too hot to go outside, let alone jog.”
Her attitude made me snap, “Yeah, I know it’s too hot for you.”
I was reluctantly putting on my shoes because deep down I didn’t want to follow my schedule, and, hey, physically I could afford a day off. But being constant was important. Avoiding a challenge was weak. I was committed.
Suzie never worked out yet thought she knew more about running and weather than I did. I ran every day. I’d run a marathon. I mean I finished it. I didn’t quit, but I did walk maybe five miles of twenty-six. Nothing wrong with that. A person has to know his own limits, to paraphrase my favorite actor, Clint Eastwood.
I continued lacing up while sweat formed on my arms like proof she was right. When she shook her head as if I were stupid, I said, “You’re like Eve. Having eaten half the apple, you offer me a bite.”
Only her lips moved, and not into a smile. “You don’t show good judgment sometimes. You’re old enough to know better.”
Jogging was hard enough without fighting her about it. The one who loved me, supposedly. I stood and turned to her. “Suzie, encourage me, support me, or shut up.”
She pouted. “You could hurt yourself.”
No kidding. What a brain. I went over and stared down at her. “To be specific, I could die of heat exhaustion, heart attack, or stroke. I could get hit by a car or a flaming goddam meteor. A pit bull could rip my throat out. Goodbye.”
I kissed her cheek.
She slugged my stomach, but laughed.
I left shaking my head.
The front door slammed behind me, and I entered an oven: blue, cloudless sky, white blinding sun, heavy, humid air. The street glared at me. I forced my legs and feet to move, but the best they’d do was plod.
In four blocks, my shorts and socks were moist. Within a mile I was jogging from shade to shade. I took off my T-shirt and wiped my eyes clear until the cloth was so damp it blurred my vision. By three miles, my shoes were as wet as if I’d waded through a stream.
I imagined toppling over from a heart attack, the police finding my ID on the plastic tag attached to my shoelace, then calling my wife. She’d have to get up, dress and go out in the heat to identify the body. I could hear her saying to the coroner, gazing at the cadaver, “I told him not to do it.”
Who’d blame me if I didn’t run eight today? Six miles was far enough and respectable. It’d be an exertion.
ACs were humming like a chorus of insects. People had closed their windows and drawn their curtains. Good ideas.
I turned back toward home and lurched into a neighborhood with fewer trees, therefore more sun. A car made me stop and wait for him to pass although it was my right of way. The jerk! Adrenaline gave me a tiny but welcome jolt of energy.
Minutes later I was panting, having climbed a small hill that should have been easy, when a dog raced toward me barking and snarling. Lots of teeth and a mean disposition.
Startled, I jumped from sidewalk onto the street. Without checking traffic! How stupid! A car could’ve hit me if one had been coming.
I faced the dog.
It turned away from the curb toward a gray-haired woman who didn’t even glance my way, too busy watering gladioli to apologize. Indifferent, totally into herself. I cursed the state of humanity and forced my feet to jog again.
Two steps and the dog ran back at me, barking and growling.
I stopped again. Another shot of adrenaline made me raise a foot to kick the dog.
It ran back to the woman, who kept watering. Obliviously.
Again I started jogging, but the dog rushed at me yet again barking. I stopped and the woman did nothing. Again.
Nasty words filled my mouth like bullets in a revolver. Was I a dummy anyone could kick around?
I pictured Suzie on her chair at home. At least she’d said something and laughed at my sarcasm. A shot of inspiration occurred.
“Lady!” I said so the woman looked at me. “I’m sorry if I bothered your dog.”
This comment echoed in my mind and made me feel ashamed.
But the old lady smiled. “Oh, that’s all right.”
I almost laughed. I couldn’t even scowl at such blatant, well, lack of understanding? Lack of awareness?
The woman raised her hose so the water arced up and splashed down between us. “You look hot. Want some water?”
I hesitated, then nodded. “Thank you, Mrs. . . .”
“Ash,” she said. “Ida. Come here and sit down and rest. Snowball won’t hurt you.”
He or she did lick my shin while I drank from the fountain rising from her owner’s hand. Then she and I sat side by side on white wicker chairs in the shade of a red maple.
I went so far as to pat the mutt with its paws on my knees. We were silent until I finally said, “Ida, you have such a nice place here, I’m afraid I’m getting your chair dirty.”
“I’ll hose it off,” she said. “Now tell me, who are you, and why are you trying to run on the hottest day of the year?”
I really couldn’t explain so she’d understand.
I said, “I’m nobody, and you’re right. I’m done jogging. I’ll walk from here.”
Bill Vernon
Watching me, still in her nightgown and sprawled on a stuffed chair in front of a duct blowing out cool air, Suzie finally said, “Frank, it’s too hot to go outside, let alone jog.”
Her attitude made me snap, “Yeah, I know it’s too hot for you.”
I was reluctantly putting on my shoes because deep down I didn’t want to follow my schedule, and, hey, physically I could afford a day off. But being constant was important. Avoiding a challenge was weak. I was committed.
Suzie never worked out yet thought she knew more about running and weather than I did. I ran every day. I’d run a marathon. I mean I finished it. I didn’t quit, but I did walk maybe five miles of twenty-six. Nothing wrong with that. A person has to know his own limits, to paraphrase my favorite actor, Clint Eastwood.
I continued lacing up while sweat formed on my arms like proof she was right. When she shook her head as if I were stupid, I said, “You’re like Eve. Having eaten half the apple, you offer me a bite.”
Only her lips moved, and not into a smile. “You don’t show good judgment sometimes. You’re old enough to know better.”
Jogging was hard enough without fighting her about it. The one who loved me, supposedly. I stood and turned to her. “Suzie, encourage me, support me, or shut up.”
She pouted. “You could hurt yourself.”
No kidding. What a brain. I went over and stared down at her. “To be specific, I could die of heat exhaustion, heart attack, or stroke. I could get hit by a car or a flaming goddam meteor. A pit bull could rip my throat out. Goodbye.”
I kissed her cheek.
She slugged my stomach, but laughed.
I left shaking my head.
The front door slammed behind me, and I entered an oven: blue, cloudless sky, white blinding sun, heavy, humid air. The street glared at me. I forced my legs and feet to move, but the best they’d do was plod.
In four blocks, my shorts and socks were moist. Within a mile I was jogging from shade to shade. I took off my T-shirt and wiped my eyes clear until the cloth was so damp it blurred my vision. By three miles, my shoes were as wet as if I’d waded through a stream.
I imagined toppling over from a heart attack, the police finding my ID on the plastic tag attached to my shoelace, then calling my wife. She’d have to get up, dress and go out in the heat to identify the body. I could hear her saying to the coroner, gazing at the cadaver, “I told him not to do it.”
Who’d blame me if I didn’t run eight today? Six miles was far enough and respectable. It’d be an exertion.
ACs were humming like a chorus of insects. People had closed their windows and drawn their curtains. Good ideas.
I turned back toward home and lurched into a neighborhood with fewer trees, therefore more sun. A car made me stop and wait for him to pass although it was my right of way. The jerk! Adrenaline gave me a tiny but welcome jolt of energy.
Minutes later I was panting, having climbed a small hill that should have been easy, when a dog raced toward me barking and snarling. Lots of teeth and a mean disposition.
Startled, I jumped from sidewalk onto the street. Without checking traffic! How stupid! A car could’ve hit me if one had been coming.
I faced the dog.
It turned away from the curb toward a gray-haired woman who didn’t even glance my way, too busy watering gladioli to apologize. Indifferent, totally into herself. I cursed the state of humanity and forced my feet to jog again.
Two steps and the dog ran back at me, barking and growling.
I stopped again. Another shot of adrenaline made me raise a foot to kick the dog.
It ran back to the woman, who kept watering. Obliviously.
Again I started jogging, but the dog rushed at me yet again barking. I stopped and the woman did nothing. Again.
Nasty words filled my mouth like bullets in a revolver. Was I a dummy anyone could kick around?
I pictured Suzie on her chair at home. At least she’d said something and laughed at my sarcasm. A shot of inspiration occurred.
“Lady!” I said so the woman looked at me. “I’m sorry if I bothered your dog.”
This comment echoed in my mind and made me feel ashamed.
But the old lady smiled. “Oh, that’s all right.”
I almost laughed. I couldn’t even scowl at such blatant, well, lack of understanding? Lack of awareness?
The woman raised her hose so the water arced up and splashed down between us. “You look hot. Want some water?”
I hesitated, then nodded. “Thank you, Mrs. . . .”
“Ash,” she said. “Ida. Come here and sit down and rest. Snowball won’t hurt you.”
He or she did lick my shin while I drank from the fountain rising from her owner’s hand. Then she and I sat side by side on white wicker chairs in the shade of a red maple.
I went so far as to pat the mutt with its paws on my knees. We were silent until I finally said, “Ida, you have such a nice place here, I’m afraid I’m getting your chair dirty.”
“I’ll hose it off,” she said. “Now tell me, who are you, and why are you trying to run on the hottest day of the year?”
I really couldn’t explain so she’d understand.
I said, “I’m nobody, and you’re right. I’m done jogging. I’ll walk from here.”