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The Whole Argument For Fighting A War In Iraq
Daniel Gallik
Bill, the painter says to me, “Been doing this for umpteen yrs. and I am not tired of it. At all. I like the aroma. Kind of buzzes me. And I like making things pretty.” I whisper, “That last phrase bothers me. I don’t see painting as pretty.” Bill laughs right out loud into my face like I am some kind of dolt, “Is Picasso pretty? Van Gogh? How about Da Vinci?” I gain some composure, although part of me wants to punch this guy in his fat belly, and answer, “Shit, man, those are fucking painters. What hell are you?” Now, I know I fucked up. This guy is painting the inside of our house. Delicate work. Work my wife contracted without getting another estimates just because she knew someone at work who knew someone who said this guy is good. Real good. Part of me, the brain part, is off in the hinterlands thinking I have now lost my wife, that she is going to divorce me and that her lawyer is going to figure out a way to take all my money. Not just half. But every penny. And that I am going to end up in Hough in Cleveland, OH begging for a job as a pusher to make ends meet in my new, blue-collar life.
Then, Bill pushes me back into reality, “Got a cup of coffee? Nearby?” Sad possibilities erased, I say, “Hell yes, Bill. Here you go. By the way, glad you’re happy using your art to help with this old house. It needs a good going over. The trim too. My wife picked some good colors. Man, the older I get the more I am color blind.” Bill giggles, “Me too.” Of course, again, I am afraid. I am thinking in my odd head, our painter is fucking color blind.
Nancy calls on the cell, says, “Hon, is our painter there?” I say yes, and that everything is fine. She sounds assured and hangs up. Little does she know about truths. I think, isn’t that the way of all women with the men they pick to live with for the rest of their lives. Yes this is a declarative statement. And it is beyond truth, lingering in the essence that is holiness.
Neighbor comes over. She just got divorced. Wants to know if we have a good decorator. I say yes. And here is his card. And thanks for coming over but I’m busy, you know, with the dishes, and moving furniture, and putting down old bed sheets, and answering the phone and wrestling with dumb stories about dumb things that happen in a man’s life that don’t mean a damn thing to the world or why we are still at war way over in the Middle East.
