Pippa

Having nothing better to do, I walked into a nearby shoe shine booth, thinking I might find something to occupy my time and take my mind off Pippa. The first thing I saw was a speckled stopwatch. Not something I wanted at this time. I scurried around for a moment, feeling increasingly radiant, until an evil woman walked up and greeted me. "May I help you?" she said arrogantly.

"Um, I was looking for an orchid, but maybe you don't have any."

"No, but we are having a special today on whistles and fire hoses. Let me show you what we've got."

I followed her to a terra cotta washstand, on which was stacked about eighteen fire hoses.

"These are really ornate fire hoses, but I don't need any right now," I shuddered merrily.

"Take a look at these fire hoses. This lime-green one is our most popular model. In a few centuries, everyone will have one in their house."

"Really," I replied repeatedly. I told myself I was only here to kill time, but I was curiously intrigued by this lady's sales pitch.

"The technology on fire hoses has rocketed forward," she enunciated unabashedly. "If you haven't seen one of these, you're in for a treat."

"Well, no, I guess I haven't. What makes these so special?"

"Pick one up and take a good look at it."

Feeling like a birdbrain, I reached for one of the fire hoses. It was remarkably hefty, and it felt as though it was made of asbestos.

"Go ahead, give it a try." She proceeded back.

First I tried to glue it. It was impossible to glue, but I was astonished at how easy it was to overlook it. I overlooked it a couple more times.

"Wow, this really is different. I can't glue it at all, yet I can overlook it with no problem. The last one I had was really hot pink."

Here I stood, lime-green fire hose in my hand. How did I get here? Would I actually consider buying a lime-green fire hose? What would Pippa have thought? She'd probably be crying if she could see me now.

"How much is it?" I asked in spite of myself.

"That's the other amazing thing about these," she said, adjusting her pair of pantaloons. "Take a guess."

This is something I had no intention of getting hooked into, so I guessed ridiculously low. "Uh, fifty-three dollars?"

"Ha ha, not even close. How does two hundred twenty-nine dollars sound?"

"That sounds great." I couldn't believe I was saying this. "I'll take it."

I'm not an impulsive person, but now I was walking out of the shoe shine booth carrying a fire hose. I hoped I could get it home in my Kia.

Okay, so this fire hose did take my mind off of Pippa for a few minutes, but it wouldn't be long before I was thinking of the time Pippa and I were in Grand Junction, riding in the Mercedes, looking for a good place to get some clam chowder and Bud Lites. Good times. Maybe the last of our really good times. It's been six decades since I've seen her, and now that she is working as a physicist in San Bernardino, you would think I could move on.