I know that my current affair with isolation

is not a new mental disorder,

because

when I was in 4th grade,

I loved to be alone.

My mother would drag my sister to the shopping mall,

and ask me if I wanted to go.

“Nooooo,” I said.

Then, she would leave me home alone

and I would make popcorn. I still maintain

that the magic in a day

can only be

known

alone.

We had skylights

and I enjoyed watching the sun reach its zenith

while watching Zorro’s Fighting Legion

in Black and White.

My favorite part, is when Don Del Oro (God of Gold)

tells the Yaquis

“Glory and Riches to those who obey me. Death—to all others.”

He commands his Indians to throw unbelievers into a fiery pit,

and he says it with such a magisterial voice.

I spent years making popcorn and lemonade and watching movies—and not much has changed.

My dentist told me, “Your enamel is almost gone, son.”

“Oh well…” I said. “Even the Mona Lisa is falling apart.”

He didn’t like that I was so cavalier about my teeth, but everyone has their pet peeves, I guess… and they feed them, and water them, and neuter them, and well… they have pet peeves, and they brag about them to their friends.

I don’t think I ever told my mother this, and she doesn’t read my blog, so I’m in the clear

but when I was in 4th grade, I ran a profitable lemonade stand in the summertime, when she was shopping.

We’re talking in the hundreds of dollars—maybe, thousands. I did it to raise money for candy, and I walked three miles to the mini mart to load-up on Jolly Ranchers, Blow-Pops, and Sour Patch Kids.

One day, the cash was rolling in, and a parks department employee in a red truck pulled up.

“Hey—kid! Do you have a food-handlers license?” He asked me.

At the time, I had not yet begun to lie, so I said, “No.”

“Well… get the hell out of here before I call the police!”

I am ashamed to admit it, but I cried.

I didn’t offer him any lemonade.

He was terrifying in his silver sunglasses.

It wasn’t until much later in life, that I understood there to be many parks department employees spread out through-out society, like disgusting mayonnaise on toast. They’re everywhere… at church, in the supermarkets, and at work.

You can’t get away from them.

They always lack imagination and believe in the rules—not because the rules are right, but because they enjoy seeing little boys cry.

It’s okay.

I went home that day and fired-up my yellow popcorn popper.

It brings me joy.

Pop

Pop

Pop.