The Collector….

He had collected them, since being a kid—things which adhered to many surfaces, interested him. As a child he had mapped his doors with stickers. To enter into his young domain, was to see a visual tale of everywhere he had ever been. And even then, in the small neighborhood, he was well traveled. He knew each cat, each dog, each lamppost, each tree-all by name. Some of which, he himself had named. He perceived himself as a namer of things. But also a collector. But why he had gotten obsessed with stickers, was a mystery even to him. Was it the instantness of placement? That is that you can stick and sticker nearly anywhere, and have an instant sign or symbol. Or was it that they were so portable before they found their permanent home. Or was it that you can do so much with so little. Regardless, stickers and magnets had always fascinated him. Why things stick together-why marriages or families have that invisible, unspoken glue between them all. That’s what he figured at least, about why he had become a sticker collector. //AnotherHe nearly ran into the bar he always went to, declaring, “I’m surely going to hell!”The few friends he normally saw there daily, weren’t there this day. So people sort of shuffled their chairs away from him as he made his declaration. The bar was dark that afternoon, aside from the beer signs which the owner had collected for years. Some of them had moving horses and women crossing and re-crossing their legs over and over. That’s what he noticed first as he sat down to have a local beer. No one approached him. You have to give and man room, each of us thought to ourselves while looking back at our phones or books as if we didn’t notice. People in those sorts of existential crisis, surely need room, we all justified to ourselves. Then a very tall man came in wearing a cowboy hat and carrying what seemed to be his granddaughter, judging from their age differences and similar features. He put the little girl down and ordered a burger with onion rings, and a grill cheese. The little girl, wearing a barbie pink frilly dress, immediately went up to the other man, and asked boldly, “How is your day going sir?”“Not so good, little friend.”“Why?” The little girl inquisitively asked. “My dad died, and I wasn’t there.” He said while looking into thin air away from the girl. “I’m sorry for your loss sir.” She responded. “Why did you want to be there sir?”“I could’ve helped him cross over little friend.”:”Cross over what?” She genuinely asked. Just then the tall man came to the table and noticing the girl talking to the man, asked him—hey do you mind if I sit down, my little granddaughter here seems to have taking a liking to you.”With his hand, the man welcomed him to the small wooden pine table. Everyone in the bar, had a sigh of relief as one does, when a father returns home happy to be back with his children. //TO TOKE OR NOT TO TOKEHe had never liked the stuff, but it was one of those days.He and his wife had been fighting, and his kids were still at school. He had hours to kill, and wasn’t feeling so good about himself. “Sure, I’ll take a one hit” he said as his friends passed it around the table.“But you don’t smoke.” his best friends said.“No, I don’t come to think of it.”He handed it back into the circle, left the table, and went back home, wondering if he had missed something. //HIS SUITSHe kept his two suits ready on the back door hanger, just in case it happened again. Someone would surely die soon, he thought. It’s just a matter of time and days. Better be ready. That one I’ll use for the service, and that one for the wake. Always be ready. One day a young woman from next door came and knocked on his back door. She was the one who took care of her aging mother, and rarely spoke when gardening. He was surprised to see her, and also to have a knock at the back door, which no one but him ever used. He was thinking the worst. “Hello neighbor, I’m sorry to bother you, but my mother was wondering if you would like to come over for tea later today. She calls it high tea, as she was born in England, so for her it is a formal affair. Would you be interested?”Immediately, he found himself responding, “Yes, should I wear a suit?”//He wanted to share the first thunderstorm of the year with his friends. So he left his books and writing and rushed down to his local bar. Remembering his mother’s words, “It is never good to be in a storm alone.”//I have the gift of beholding very deeply. Thanks. It’s actually raining! We forgot to be thankful, until! Thanks God. That day, when the elderly man I was working with said—“I’m dying so I know stuff-just know that you are loved and named, and treat other’s the same.” It stuck with me, that.