A Humanist Thing
By sean mcnulty
- 356 reads
Meditation didn’t go as well for Devin as he’d hoped it would. He kept fidgeting and flicking open one eye to check on the others. When that eye was open, he made sure to check on Imogen and was disappointed to see she was getting on with the cleansing of her mind like a trooper. The scepticism she’d unveiled the night before wasn’t currently holding her back. Ah, was it really a fair world for those seeking peace, for only some appeared to be able to do it, almost as though a lottery had been drawn up and if your name was picked you were administered the appropriate cognitive faculties to close your eyes and shut yourself off from the material world and all its troubles. Maybe he just wasn’t meant for things like meditation, whereas Imogen, ambivalent as she was, had been picked without knowledge of having been so.
Regularly Devin was hit with the realisation that he compared poorly to Imogen in terms of social capital, however he could never bring himself to resent her or even fear that this schism between them could bring it all to an end. Different pedigree, yes, but she had stuck with him. They bickered hardly ever. Mental sparring occurred as it did in all relationships but nothing for them calamitous. The biggest argument they ever had, on a road trip previous to this one, concerned whether they should park and screw in the car RIGHT NOW or wait twenty minutes until they got to the hotel. They came to agreement and chose AT THE NEXT LAY-BY because both of them acknowledged that sex was the thing that worked between the two merrily. So they kept on top of it, so to speak. He saw them settling together eventually and living in a nice big house; a house such as this one would more than suffice. And there would be no more running. Only settling. Perhaps the racist woman was right: he should have popped the question by now.
He took another look at Everly Stewart’s big breasts again. Then closed his eyes and pretended to meditate.
Breathe in.
Breathe...
Breathe...
Elder went to the piano and pressed an ominous key which seemed to signal the end of the session. Judging by the way he lifted his head like a philosopher liaising with the expanse, you’d think that single note had been produced by a musical genius, even though he couldn’t play a single instrument. Then he faced the group and said: The ego, ah – such a large cumbersome thing it is....
Elder went into a lecture but Devin couldn’t listen. He was so relieved that he no longer had to manage the frayed footbridge between his mind and its cleansing, that once more he was allowed to communicate with the world normally. Free again, he turned to Sasdy beside him. It’s funny how cigarettes establish bonds. Since Sasdy offered him that first smoke the night before, the two men now found themselves sitting or standing near one another all the time. Almost as though cigarettes had brought them together forever, or for as long as the world saw fit to have them in a shared space.
You’re a geg, Sasdy.
What? A gay?
No, a geg. I don’t know----a laugh. You’re a character.
How so?
Just the note-taking. Is it a humanist thing?
That’s a human thing, my friend. Have you not taken notes before?
In a bookies. Does that count?
Yeah, I suppose it’s in the ballpark.
Right. Ballpoint?
Gel.
What are you writing down anyway?
What he’s saying. You should listen.
Elder had stopped speaking. Sasdy looked at Devin and shook his head, disenchanted he had missed much of the oration.
Ah sure he was only talking for a minute, said Devin.
Every minute counts.
If you don’t mind my asking, how did you get into your humanism?
It’s a long story. It started with my mum Angela who had three sisters – Una, Clare, Aisling. Clare, the middle sister, married Michael Driscoll who had links with the Flemings in Portrush. You might have heard of them. The towels? Flemings Towels.
Oh. Yes. I think so.
Sonny Fleming was a mad laugh. I met him through my uncle Michael and the two of them had me out for a night on the lash once where Sonny introduced me to Annie McCann and her brother Trevor. And it was Trevor who was the humanist. And he got me into the whole thing.
That’s quite a journey. Without a story.
Well, isn’t that just life, my friend.
It sure is.
Isn’t it?
image: Wikimedia Commons
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Comments
Funny and fast paced. Very
Funny and fast paced. Very enjoyable,
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