Theoretica

To live in the world, you have to develop protective barriers against it. Without them, you simply don’t survive. There are those who would have you believe that walking through this world without armor is beautifully revolutionary. These people also believe in elves and unicorns and should never be left alone with children.

The need for these barriers becomes more urgent if you happen to commute to a part of the world where Hunting News outsells People Magazine and where monster trucks are the biggest stars in the black, black sky. Existential dilemmas are not welcome here and urban sophisticates are the sport of choice.

All this to say that I’ve developed a sizeable, imaginary airbag between my botanically moisturized face and the Santa Rosa freakwall.

I’m not scared, mind you — I’m too self-preserving for that. I just make sure that I tie my gloves on tightly and that I slip a rubberform sheath over my flesh-tearing teeth before jumping into the ring. I brace myself at every turn and I never, ever, ever hope. Hope is drooling in her wheelchair at the convalescent home on the corner — little Jimmy whacked her with a crowbar when she wouldn’t cough-up a buck-fifty for cigarettes and propane. I stand sideways and ready myself for a hoe-down with death in these here woods.

Which is exactly why I cherish the moments in which my defenses crumble under the weight of a feather.

I was driving in the fast lane this morning when I was suddenly cut off by a middle-aged woman in a Nissan Pathfinder. She didn’t see me because, well, she didn’t look. Luckily for her, I was eye-level and spitting-distance from her rear bumper — which enabled me to see that around her license plate was a personalized frame on which were inscribed the following words: This Grangran is loved by Tessalyn.

The woman behind the ill-managed wheel of California Vehicle License Plate #4UON309 is Grangran and she is loved by a little girl named Tessalyn who doesn’t know — and probably doesn’t care — that her grandmother is senile and shouldn’t be on the road. And you know what? It’s not my job to set either one of them straight.

My good side freaks me out.