B U G M A N

After practice the five of us sat and had beer in the parking lot. The crickets hummed and the frogs croaked. The night had a summer wetness to it, a life-giving freshness that stank in an earthly way. We were drenched in the sweat of a humid night, cold beers in hand. Earl spoke up.

"You hear about that jaywalker who got hit downtown?"

I had heard of the jaywalker. Based on the grunts, others had as well. Jim replied.

"Damn shame. He worked for the corner gas station, nice guy. Lets me come in when I forget a mask."

More grunts were followed by soft chittering laughter. Pete spoke with a hushed tone of voice.

"Kinda ironic, don't ya think?"

Some of the men smiled sardonically. I was puzzled, "What do you mean?"

Pete hushed his voice further, leaning in as if our team weren't the only people in the parking lot, "I heard from Cheryl—no, not Cheryl Coots. The other Cheryl—er, Bond. Anyways, her and Suzy r' close. Cheryl works at memorial central, she said that guy died."

Smacked teeth followed shaken heads. I felt foolish for asking, but couldn't help it, "So? That's not ironic, that's just sad."

A tightness crossed Pete's face. "Walking to a gas station, to work there, and bein' hit by a car. Fella lived with his momma—only reason he worked was to buy a car."

The big picture was a dose of situational irony after all. I defaulted to my original position, "Doesn't make it less sad, though."

Kurt lit a cigarette—a dramatic action in this dark and quiet place. He drew in while my words hung limply in the air. We all knew what a slow draw meant. "I think it does. The irony makes it kinda funny, and if it's kinda funny it's a little less sad. Nothin' ironic about my paw's heart attack or my maw's legs. Nothin' ironic about my dead dogs neither. At least the jaywalker's death wasn't mundane. Nobody talked about my parents. This damn jaywalker's been the talk a' the town."

We all sipped in silence, thinking through the layers in Kurt's words.

Earl was first to reply, "I can see that. It ain't actually funny—just enough to where it isn't as sad."

Kurt exhaled, "Exactly."

Parker cut in, "Ironic or not—can't we agree it's just plain stupid? There's a cross walk a few blocks down, he coulda used that and been fine."

Pete stopped at this gas station on the way to work every morning. He weighed in, "Yeah, but he's gotta walk past the gas station to get to the crosswalk. Way he walks from is outta town a mile 'er so. It's hot, he probably doesn't wanna go out of the way."

Parker took a heavy swig of his light beer. "Nobody wants to go out of their way. The whole phrase is founded on the fact it's not something that somebody wants to do. Ya know what I mean?"

I knew what he meant.

Jim got a word in, "Yeah. But man, seems kinda harsh to say he coulda avoided it."

Parker did not hesitate. "It ain't harsh, it's the truth."

I spoke up, "Well sure--a truth. But people have been hit fatally in crosswalks."

Parker countered this easily. "And that was the driver's fault. This is still the driver's fault--but the man who ran into the road should share the blame."

Jim's turn, "Maybe. But that driver didn't die, and I think they're more to blame than the walker. Sounds like you think the walker was foolish?"

Parker did not back down. "It was foolish! He just up n' thought someone would stop for him. It's a road—you don't get to walk in it whenever you want. That's what sidewalks are for. Crosswalks and lights, too."

I was trying to put my finger on what I disagreed with, but the conversation was moving too quickly.

Pete had the first rebuttal. "Yeah but people take shortcuts all the time. Don't act like you've never jaywalked."

Parker smiled. "I was smarter about it."

Sardonic laughter filled the empty parking lot.

The glow of Kurt's cigarette illuminated his face when he pulled. "You was luckier, Park. Ain't nobody 'smart' if they jaywalk. Don't you take credit for smarts when you're talkin' about playing in the street."

Earl had finished his first can, rummaging in the cooler for more as a quiet fell. The bumping and crushing of cooler ice took the place of words. Jim lit up his own cigarette, shaking his head at Kurt for tempting him. Earl spoke to punctuate the crack of a fresh can, "I think that damn road's the problem."

The grunts and hisses told me nobody could make sense of this.

Jim replied, clearing his throat first. "Well a road's a solution to a problem--in fact, to a coupl'a problems."

Earl stood firm, "Well sure, Jim, roads are good. But good things can have problems too. Think of all the people who died on roads during this conversation alone?"

Sighs and dismissive puffs.

Parker addressed Earl's statement to the parking lot. "Yeah? What's the point? We all sell our cars and walk everywhere? Fat chance. If every driver in the US did that the whole damn system would collapse. Millions of jobs gone in an instant, no more use for roads! And the worse part is, people will still use them to get everywhere, they'll just do it so damn slowly. Like that jaywalker."

Nods and grunts. Parker was making roads sound pretty good. A harsh but necessary reality, one we existed in already. Earl was quiet for a moment. More ice. Another beer can cracked open. Kurt lit another cigarette, speaking while it was still in the corner of his mouth. "But if everyone used roads to walk, speed wouldn't matter anymore. Can't blame the jaywalker for living in the previous century. Walking comes naturally, after all."

Parker smiled. "It don't on a highway."

I finally found my point, "But that's irrelevant. A man was struck and killed in an accident. It is sad, and I think it's the driver's fault. How do we know this won't happen again?"

Kurt spoke wrly. "A sign. I bet they're gonna put up a sign."

Pete snorted. "Unless that sign lowers the speed limit, that's gonna do a whole lotta nothin'. Plus folks commute in from the woods, they like to go fast and a sign won't stop 'em."

"I know," said Kurt, drawing on a crooked cigarette. Jim followed, "They could move the crosswalk?"

Parker replied, "Just for him?"

I continued Jim's thought. "Hell, they could put in a light."

The conversation quieted sharply.

Kurt looked at me like I was crazy, "A light? Brother that's gonna have the whole highway backed up outta the county. There's already a light six blocks from the gas station!"

Jim came to my rescue, "They could disable the courthouse light and use the gas station light instead. I see accidents at that gas station all of the time. Fools who don't know the road just make bad turns."

Pete, who stopped at that gas station every day for breakfast, nodded. "Damn that's not a bad idea. The courthouse isn't even as busy as the gas station. Don't know why the light's there now that I think about it."

Parker took Kurt's side,"Move the light--put a new one up--so stoplights grow on trees? They just crop up at every intersection and then control traffic when you water them? C'mon man! Easier said than done."

Jim pursed his lips, discarding his cigarette butt with a flourish. "Well yeah, but we're a town. We have a commissioner and a mayor and contractors—no shit it's easier said than done, Sherlock. What isn't?"

Kurt held a particular disdain for public works, "Yeah right. The county's gotta issue a bid for that work. Yeah that road's in the city but the city don't have the money for stoplights. County project, easy. That's gonna bid for a month, maybe more, and by the time that bid gets opened, every contractor in the county's gonna have the same number, and no matter what that number is--it's gonna be too damn high. Scrap it--not enough money for the project--rebid, repeat. Plus, you're assuming this is the first project on their list. Well, considering what I just said happens to every other project, you'll be lucky if your grandkids can cross that street safely."

Parker seized the momentum. "Mhm. Plus, they'll have to agree on what to do with the decommissioned light. And, if they even want it decommissioned to begin with. Those sick fucks might want a fifth stoplight in town."

Kurt grinned, suppressing a cough as he exhaled, "And that doesn't even touch on the time it would take to actually do. Three decades of red tape later, they're going to have one lane opened for three years while they run the wires, foundation, and then actually build the damn thing."

I couldn't help myself. It was a small point but worth making, "Ya' know that's it, right? Stoplight's just three big lamps. They could have the wires routed along the power lines and the foundation poured in a week. After that, they just get the thing shipped from the stoplight factory. If they grew on trees, I guess it would be the stoplight orchard--but ya' know, it's not like they're building Rome in a day. It'd make that gas station safer to get in and out of."

Parker cracked open another beer, handing me one as he dug through the cooler. "I can't hardly get anything shipped these days--even from the southeast it's taking a while. I got a nephew who works in shipping--he says most of our transport networks have been hijacked for food distribution."

Jim was puzzled, "Bullshit, we got trains for that."

Pete worked as county oversight for the railroad. "Naw Jim, food goes on trucks. It's mostly coal and ore and minerals that we send on trains. Somethin' about the fuel efficiency and weight."

There were quiet nods as we pondered this. I had some disagreements but Pete would get into them with me, and we were already into something else.

Jim shook his head. "So if metals go on trains and food goes on trucks, what about our packages? What about stoplights? Don't be silly, they could get it here."

Kurt laughed grimly. "If you think the county's gonna outbid General Mills or Kellogg or any of those cereal barons for shipping space--well, you're crazier than that jaywalker."

Jim came to my defense. "And if you don't think we can afford a stoplight, well, you must spend every day as sad as that jaywalker's mother."

Parker retorted, "And if I were that jaywalker's mother, I'd be wondering where I went wrong."

Two beers and we'd descended into senselessness. I couldn't bear it. "Don't be unsympathetic, it was a horrible accident. I think a stoplight would make a lot of people feel better."

Kurt's turn. "I don't care if they feel better. They're not gonna waste my taxes for something I don't want. Hell, I'll show up to their budget meeting and vote it down myself if I have to. So will everyone else. Think of the wasted time an extra light accumulates. We shouldn't have to pay for other people's mistakes. That's unamerican."

Small hoots and chuckles followed this. Jim smiled, lighting another cigarette. "We're not really paying. I also think safety trumps convenience--except with cars, and in that case, well--we should do what we can. If that's another light? Fine by me."

Parker and Kurt huffed, plagued by visions of inconvenience.

Kurt defended his point. "I think it's all messed up--that's sorta the nature of misfortune. But this was a one-off, it's not like someone dies everyday or even annually, and so why not just put some flowers out and call it a day? We can't overhaul society because of jaywalkers."

Parker punctuated this, "Yeah. I don't wanna trade liberty for security."

Kurt discarded a second cigarette. Jim drained the last of his beer. "It's a stoplight, Park."

Parker crushed his can on the asphalt. "For now, Jim. Ya' know in London you gotta pay to use your car downtown? They're punishing folks for providing jobs and using infrastructure."

Jim shook his head, "They'll put in a fifth stoplight before that happens."

Everyone but Parker laughed. By the third round of light beer, the Jaywalker had been all but forgotten.


/end