Wednesday - A Conversation With Jim
Mar. 28th, 2007 05:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ninanevermoreLast night I paid a visit to The Carney to discuss a few things. Sometimes, you just have to confront death face to face. It's not so bad, because once you get to know him he's actually kind of a nice guy. He's kind of evasive, but very personable.
"Baby cancer," I said to him, "What the hell is the point of babies getting cancer? Don't you have anything better to do?"
The Carney took a drag on his cigarette and looked at me sideways. He tipped his head back and blew a smoke ring. This was a diversionary tactic on his part; he knows I'm always impressed by smoke rings. And he was right. I am mesmerized by them. If a person has to smoke in my presence, I can forgive them if they amuse me with this little trick.
"I think we've had this conversation before," he said as the ring dissipated in the air above him, "Or one like it."
"Maybe one like it. I don't think we've talked specifically about baby cancer."
"This about your nephew?"
He knew damned well that it was, but I decided to play coy.
"Maybe, maybe not. He's not the first baby I've ever heard of to get cancer. I've always wondered about little kids who get sick like that. It's…" I stopped. This was a conversation we had definitely had before.
"Not fair," he finished for me, "Why are people so obsessed with that? Is anything fair? Name one thing. Go ahead, baby girl, because I can't. Let's face it, some people are rich, some people are poor. Some people look good, some people are so butt ugly they hurt your eyes. Some people grow old, some die as babies. It's always been this way, and chances are it's not changing any time soon. It's not fair, but it's just in it's own way. It all balances out in the wash."
I stared at the Ferris Wheel as I thought this over. The Carney pulled on the lever and stopped the Wheel to unload a car. A handful of people stepped off, looked around, and walked toward the gate, which The Carney held open. They appeared young, ranging from their teens to their early 30's, but that didn't mean they died young. When people step off of the ride, they tend to look the way the see themselves or would like for others to see them, or so The Carney told me. I suspect that when I step off, anyone watching will see a little girl with big eyes who doesn't speak much because she lives in her head. I'll be very cute on that day.
"Ride's over," he said to them, smiling congenially, "Watch your step."
They came though the gate, but once they stepped across the threshold they were gone. I'd seen this before, so it didn't freak me out. He won't tell me where they go. He says he's not allowed to. He won't tell me who or Who doesn't allow him, either. He is a force of nature; his reality is a fact (even if his personification is a figment of my imagination). He doesn't confirm or deny the existence of any deity or deities; that falls outside of his job description. I've tried to get him to make an exception for me, and he won't budge.
"Kids have always gotten sick," he said, pretty patiently for a man who keeps having to repeat himself, "Odds are, your nephew's gonna survive. A kid with the same disease would have almost definitely have died a few decades ago. Just like you and your diabetes. A kid with diabetes a hundred years before you before would have died. A kid with diabetes 50 years before you probably wouldn't have had kids or might have died if she tried. And here you are: a grown up lady with a son. Things are more fair now than they've ever been."
"I don't care. They're still not fair enough."
"Y'all take this stuff so personal. Death isn't a punishment; baby girl, it's just something that happens."
"I live in Texas," I reminded him, "We punish people with death here. We're kind of notorious for it."
"That's man-made death. I've got nothing to do with it when you people want to take my job into your own hands by murdering and executing each other, or by going to war. You people have always done that shit, since you lived in caves and bashed each other's heads in with rocks. I'm talking about me as a force of nature, not y'all exploiting me for your own purposes.
"Look, baby girl, everyone dies. Everyone. It's the only thing in your whole world that really is kind of fair."
"But not everyone gets to live as much before they die," I said, "If I had designed the universe, no one would have to worry about dying until they were at least, I don't know, 25 or so. And babies would never get cancer."
"You think 25 is a good cut off point? Why not 30?"
"I'm trying to be reasonable. Most people get the stupid out of their system by 25. If it takes them all the way to 30 to figure out that you shouldn't weave in and out of traffic while talking on a cell phone, then maybe they deserve to die."
The Carney lit a new cigarette and grinned. "You're still thinking of death as a punishment. So who deserves cancer? Did your mama?"
I thought for a moment. "I guess she died because they say the good die young. So death is the punishment for being too good. Maybe that's why some children get cancer, too."
"It's not a punishment," The Carney said softly, "for being either bad or good. It just is. I just am. And since you didn't design the universe, that's the way it's gonna stay."
"There's so much I don't understand. The more I try to make sense of things, the less sense anything makes."
"You're trying too hard. The rhyme and the reason kind of fall into place when you stop expecting things to make sense."
"That's not how the human mind works, Jim."
The Carney chuckled. "Ain't that the truth?" he said, his cigarette dangling from his mouth, "In all the years I've been at this, y'all haven't changed a bit."
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * # * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
"Baby cancer," I said to him, "What the hell is the point of babies getting cancer? Don't you have anything better to do?"
The Carney took a drag on his cigarette and looked at me sideways. He tipped his head back and blew a smoke ring. This was a diversionary tactic on his part; he knows I'm always impressed by smoke rings. And he was right. I am mesmerized by them. If a person has to smoke in my presence, I can forgive them if they amuse me with this little trick.
"I think we've had this conversation before," he said as the ring dissipated in the air above him, "Or one like it."
"Maybe one like it. I don't think we've talked specifically about baby cancer."
"This about your nephew?"
He knew damned well that it was, but I decided to play coy.
"Maybe, maybe not. He's not the first baby I've ever heard of to get cancer. I've always wondered about little kids who get sick like that. It's…" I stopped. This was a conversation we had definitely had before.
"Not fair," he finished for me, "Why are people so obsessed with that? Is anything fair? Name one thing. Go ahead, baby girl, because I can't. Let's face it, some people are rich, some people are poor. Some people look good, some people are so butt ugly they hurt your eyes. Some people grow old, some die as babies. It's always been this way, and chances are it's not changing any time soon. It's not fair, but it's just in it's own way. It all balances out in the wash."
I stared at the Ferris Wheel as I thought this over. The Carney pulled on the lever and stopped the Wheel to unload a car. A handful of people stepped off, looked around, and walked toward the gate, which The Carney held open. They appeared young, ranging from their teens to their early 30's, but that didn't mean they died young. When people step off of the ride, they tend to look the way the see themselves or would like for others to see them, or so The Carney told me. I suspect that when I step off, anyone watching will see a little girl with big eyes who doesn't speak much because she lives in her head. I'll be very cute on that day.
"Ride's over," he said to them, smiling congenially, "Watch your step."
They came though the gate, but once they stepped across the threshold they were gone. I'd seen this before, so it didn't freak me out. He won't tell me where they go. He says he's not allowed to. He won't tell me who or Who doesn't allow him, either. He is a force of nature; his reality is a fact (even if his personification is a figment of my imagination). He doesn't confirm or deny the existence of any deity or deities; that falls outside of his job description. I've tried to get him to make an exception for me, and he won't budge.
"Kids have always gotten sick," he said, pretty patiently for a man who keeps having to repeat himself, "Odds are, your nephew's gonna survive. A kid with the same disease would have almost definitely have died a few decades ago. Just like you and your diabetes. A kid with diabetes a hundred years before you before would have died. A kid with diabetes 50 years before you probably wouldn't have had kids or might have died if she tried. And here you are: a grown up lady with a son. Things are more fair now than they've ever been."
"I don't care. They're still not fair enough."
"Y'all take this stuff so personal. Death isn't a punishment; baby girl, it's just something that happens."
"I live in Texas," I reminded him, "We punish people with death here. We're kind of notorious for it."
"That's man-made death. I've got nothing to do with it when you people want to take my job into your own hands by murdering and executing each other, or by going to war. You people have always done that shit, since you lived in caves and bashed each other's heads in with rocks. I'm talking about me as a force of nature, not y'all exploiting me for your own purposes.
"Look, baby girl, everyone dies. Everyone. It's the only thing in your whole world that really is kind of fair."
"But not everyone gets to live as much before they die," I said, "If I had designed the universe, no one would have to worry about dying until they were at least, I don't know, 25 or so. And babies would never get cancer."
"You think 25 is a good cut off point? Why not 30?"
"I'm trying to be reasonable. Most people get the stupid out of their system by 25. If it takes them all the way to 30 to figure out that you shouldn't weave in and out of traffic while talking on a cell phone, then maybe they deserve to die."
The Carney lit a new cigarette and grinned. "You're still thinking of death as a punishment. So who deserves cancer? Did your mama?"
I thought for a moment. "I guess she died because they say the good die young. So death is the punishment for being too good. Maybe that's why some children get cancer, too."
"It's not a punishment," The Carney said softly, "for being either bad or good. It just is. I just am. And since you didn't design the universe, that's the way it's gonna stay."
"There's so much I don't understand. The more I try to make sense of things, the less sense anything makes."
"You're trying too hard. The rhyme and the reason kind of fall into place when you stop expecting things to make sense."
"That's not how the human mind works, Jim."
The Carney chuckled. "Ain't that the truth?" he said, his cigarette dangling from his mouth, "In all the years I've been at this, y'all haven't changed a bit."
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no subject
Date: 2007-04-03 03:32 pm (UTC)deep.
"You're trying too hard. The rhyme and the reason kind of fall into place when you stop expecting things to make sense."
sadly, in some instances i see this as being true, but its extremely difficult to live your life in a place where you are okay with things not making sense...it just... doesnt make sense...
this one definitely makes me think....
no subject
Date: 2007-04-03 09:11 pm (UTC)Paul McCartney said "Let it be," and the 12-step programs tell you to pray for "the serenity to accept the things you cannot change, the courage to change the things you can, and the wisdom to know the difference."
It's a tall order, though.
no subject
Date: 2007-04-04 12:08 pm (UTC)It's a tall order, though.
i have that phrase on a key chain so i can be reminded daily about that... im one that has a tendency to worry about EVERYTHING! my family (mom and brother mainly) continue to scold me about it cause its leading to other health issues... besides, stress is what got dad, in my opinion, but...
a tall order indeed