An_Hour_A_Day

8/9/2019 An_Hour_A_Day

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An Hour A Day

“Are you even listening to me?” I asked. He didn’t answer. Merely stared blankly

ahead at the wall, no movement except for the thin line of drool making its way from his

bottom lip to wherever its destination was. I shook my head. I guessed that I wouldn’t get

much conversation, let alone movement from him.

Just when I had given up on him, one of the formally fixated eyes rotated towards

me. Then his entire head turned my direction. I was not at all prepared for him to speak,

“What’re ya in fer?” He had a drawl that I would usually find to be extremely annoying,

but I was desperate for conversation. I leaned my back against the opposite wall. It was

cold and hard, and the faded lime color made feel a little nauseous.

“Well, it’s quite a lengthy story,” I told him. “Ah Hell,” my neighbor retorted,

“We’ve got time.” I found myself shaking my head again.

“ Well, I guess it began when I was about 7 or 8. That’s when I remember the

most about my life. I had a really close family. Mom, my older brother Thad, me and my

Pop-Pop. We lived together in a small house. Now ever since I can recall, our little

family has sat around and completed puzzles every day. At least an hour’s worth. My

Pop-Pop used to tell me and Thad stories, he was the best storyteller, but he was a little

eccentric. Don’t get me wrong, I loved the guy, but sometimes he worried me. Pop-Pop

had these enormous eyebrows, all salt-n-pepper, and whenever he would speak they

would bounce all around.”

The man interrupted, “ You say your brother’s name is Tad? I had a pal growing

up that we called Tad, short for tadpole, cuz he was a runt and a pussy.” He made a sound



in his throat that I assumed was a laugh, although it could have been a hiccup or maybe a

burp. I continued.

“Thad and I grew up without knowing our father, so we looked to Pop-Pop as our

male role model, I guess. Instead of going outside to play with our buddies, a lot of the

time Thad and I could be found laying at Pop-Pop’s feet as he regaled us with a tale of

his life as a private in World War II, or others about his life and people he knew. A

favorite of ours was one about a girl he knew when he was little that swallowed a lemon

wedge, seeds and all, and grew a lemon tree out of her stomach. After hearing that one,

Thad and I stayed away from anything with seeds well into our teen years for fear of

growing our own citrus.

My mom, had a great sense of humor too, but she thought that some of the tales

Pop-Pop told were too graphic for growing boys to hear. She’d scold Pop-Pop and then

pull out a book of word searches for us boys to complete. Pop-Pop always had a few

puzzle books he carried around with him everywhere, and Mom never left the house

without some in her purse.”

“What is the deal with all these freaking puzzles?”, my neighbor asked me. “I’m

sorry, I didn’t explain that yet,” I told him.

“Pop-Pop once told us a story of his cousin Robert who was taken to the looney

bin after he went crazy and killed an old lady. Apparently he had this theory that a person

should do an hour of puzzles each day to keep sane. Nimbles up the brain. And one day

he didn’t do his puzzles and went nuts. This incident happened when Robert and Pop-Pop

were teenagers, and I guess it stuck with him ever since, because every Sunday he’d



spend most of the morning doing the New York Times crossword. And the rest of our

family would do criptoquips or logic problems. An hour of puzzles a day. Every day.

As we got older, Thad became the one with all of the book smarts, he had

aspirations to really become an astronaut. And he would try to contradict Pop-Pop’s

stories with logic and scientific facts. Thad got a full ride to college; he deserved it too.

He studied more than anyone I ever met.” I paused and rubbed my forehead. “ He died in

a car accident on his way home to visit for Christmas Break”. Pause Again. “What a great

guy he could have been. Soon after the funeral, I started my downward spiral. Dropped

out of high school, hung out with a bad crowd. I moved out of the house and into an

apartment with a couple of guys, got some menial jobs to pay rent. I saved enough

eventually to buy a decent used car. But I still did an hour of puzzles each day. The guys

I lived with would laugh at me, but I still did it. They also made fun of my favorite song.”

The man asked me what song it was. I told him, “ I really like ‘Your Love’ by

The Outfield.” I tried to sing a few bars for him, but he laughed and I stopped singing.

“Go on with your story kid, it’s starting to get interesting,” he told me, so I did.

“A year or two passed and all of the guys I roomed with moved out and away. I

didn’t keep in contact with any of them. I didn’t talk to Mom or Pop-Pop much either. I

became sort of a homebody. In the morning I delivered papers and I worked at an animal

shelter most of the day. I didn’t go out to movies or the library. I didn’t hang out with my

coworkers. I didn’t leave my apartment except to work or get food. And I definitely don’t

cook. So my diet contained mostly canned cuisine and ramen noodles. Ya know, the easy

stuff. My life consisted of work, sleep, eat, puzzles in the evening. That was how I spent

my time.



One early afternoon I was at the local grocery store and I was loading up on

canned ravioli, which is my favorite. I guess I had attempted to hold one too many of the

cans, and I dropped a few. A girl who was shopping down the aisle rushed over to help

me out. I thanked her when she tried to load the fallen cans into my arms, but didn’t get a

good look at her until I put the cans into my basket.”

My neighbor interrupted me again. “Was she real purty?” He asked. I told him

that I thought she was the closest thing to an angel I would ever experience in this

lifetime. “Well, describe her!” He demanded. The poor guy probably hadn’t seen an

attractive woman in a while, and I felt bad for a moment, but I told him what she looked

like.

“She had really long jet-black hair, and a little was hanging in her face. And she

had the clearest blue eyes I had ever seen. She was tall and slender and she had a

backpack on. So I asked her if she was a student and she told me that she was attending

the nearby college. Wanted to be a veterinarian. I told her about my job at the animal

shelter, and we stood in the aisle and talked shop for a little while. She told me that her

name was Josie, like in my favorite song, and I was hooked after that. We conversed for

what seemed like hours and eventually made our way to the front of the store. We each

paid for our items and I offered her a ride. She told me that she would love a little dinner.

We drove to a café down the street and had pizza and beer. I was fascinated by

her. We talked back and forth until it became very late in the evening and the café was

closing. I drove her to her apartment and we sat in the car and chatted. She invited me up

for coffee, I didn’t say no, and one thing led to another.”

“Care to spare any details?” the man asked. A sharp “no!” shut him up.



“The next morning I remember seeing her laying there, and she looked so

beautiful in the sunlight. But it all gets very black after that. The cops told me that I did a

number on her with a kitchen knife, blood everywhere. They said that I didn’t stop with

Josie, I went down the street and got an old man walking his dog and a mailman too. This

is all blank, I don’t remember anything. The cops said they found me in an alley passed

out. Put me in a patrol car, off to jail.

I guess they must have brought in a psychologist or something because I was

declared mentally incapacitated and sent here. I guess there would have been a trial or

something but I don’t remember one. I just remember waking here in this room with you,

may be two days ago.”

“Yeah, you been here a while, kid. Sitting over in that corner babbling nonsense. I

thought you were about as crazy as a shithouse rat.” The man’s comment struck me

funny. I had heard that term used before. But by whom? I asked the man his name as I

tried to look over his craggy old face. “It’s Robert, kid.” He said, and then an odd look

came over his face. “You know you should’ve listened to your Pop-Pop, he was my

cousin, and he was telling you the truth. I thought I knew better. I’ve been here a while,

kid, in case you didn’t figure that out. All because of those damn puzzles.”

Finally, something made sense in my head, but I feared it wouldn’t be enough to

rid myself of life in this awful institution. I leaned back against the wall. “Yes”, I agreed,

“It’s those damn puzzles.”

An_Hour_A_Day

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