- York Wilson
- William Faulkners medicine cabinet at Rowan Oak in Oxford, Miss., 1994
Feeling a little groggy, I absentmindedly forwent the blinker on my turn off of Hillsborough Road onto Ninth Street.
"Beeeeeeep, beep, beep!" the car in the adjacent straight lane rang in old-jalopy onomatopoeia, doubly grating for my tired head. I turned, expecting to wave and mouth "I'm sorry" to the traveler I had offended. No such luck.
Before I could move my hand from the wheel, I was greeted by the sight of a 40-plus fellow, leaning from his perch in the driver's seat across the passenger seat and through the passenger window (really, I swear), screaming in this busted, bold, wholly appropriate drawl: "Four more years!" Amazingly, while driving through a busy intersection and looking out of his window, he had also somehow managed to maneuver four fingers my way.
As my brain reeled, it took a microsecond to figure out what was happening. Then I knew: Those stickers. Since September, three separate imprecations of W have graced my back bumper and I've been too stubborn, proud and/or lazy to remove them. Two are endorsements of the failed Kerry/Edwards campaign, while another is one of those Move-On "Defend America/Defeat Bush" deals.
When I realized the source of the bespectacled fellow's ire--he of the busted-ass, mid-'80s sedan with a paint job just a bit younger than myself--I could only offer my favorite expression, the kind you would give your friend if, suddenly, out of the deep-blue nowhere, he admitted that he'd been fornicating with a special goat for about a year.
At that moment, I decided that those stickers will never leave my bumper. As long as I roll around Raleigh in a black F-150, those stickers are mine. I'll wear them like racing stripes, battle scratches, war scars. (Ironically, those are three things our current president--this guy's champion--never earned.)
My next stop was a BP station. I guess I felt the need to support our troops, to gas up. Or maybe I just needed to get back home and take a nap.
Yeah, the terrorists hate our freedom. And we're all with stupid, aren't we?
P.S. Mr. Honker Man: I'm sorry about calling your car an old jalopy. But for that reason, you may want to reconsider your political choices. Just fair warning, dude.
- To create paragraphs in your comment, type <p> at the start of a paragraph and </p> at the end of each paragraph.
- To create bold text, type <b>bolded text</b> (please note the closing tag, </b>).
- To create italicized text, type <i>italicized text</i> (please note the closing tag, </i>).
- Proper web addresses will automatically become links.
Latest in Front Porch
-
Clear for departure
My father is 83 now, and his health is declining. In mid-April, my brother called: "You need to get up here now."
- May 22, 2013
-
Being the community
In Raleigh's Moore Square and around Main Street in Durham, we ignore people who we assume don't have housing. Rocky and those like him go to Love Wins or the Maurin House to find eye contact, to hear a "good morning," to be a part of their cities.
- May 15, 2013
-
High places
Quietly, by the guidance of our flashlights, we climbed a very long, tight spiral staircase up to the top of the Duke Chapel tower. And not just the bell-tower top, but beyond that.
- May 8, 2013
- More »
More by Grayson Currin
-
The week in music: April 10-17, 2013
10&2: a dozen gigs for your consideration
- Apr 10, 2013
-
The Kingsbury Manx's Bronze Age
The sophisticated and subtle Manx hide their involved machinations behind elegant and elementary pop music. But if you tune in closely, bring a notebook: These songs open to reveal volumes of ideas.
- Feb 27, 2013
- More »
