Sidetract Game

If there is a line, a friend told me, I had long since crossed over. From the inside, there doesn't seem to be much difference. I do the things I do, but they're no longer interrupted by stints of building houses or installing shows. This morning, as Greg Brown so eloquently said "dressed in just my socks", I heard a car on the driveway. I'm an old hand at translating sound. I knew it was a powerful front-wheel drive vehicle, and therefore the police, in one form or another. I was making coffee, thinking about 'provisional commas', which is a temporal device I use to keep my place when my thought scatters. I dressed quickly, yesterday's jeans and tee-shirt, went and opened the back door an inch (it sticks) and went back to brewing my espresso. I had not combed my hair. Clearly a mad man. But I asked them in, made them a cup of coffee. They're following up on the tractor and farm-implement theft ring that's operating in this area. They suspect, it seems to me, that I know something, which I don't. I do, I tell them, occasionally hear a truck down-shift, achieving the gap, but in this year of the cicadas, even that is seldom. The younger of the two officers, Alex, can't believe I don't pay more attention to what's going on around me. If you live in the country, people haul equipment around on trailers. I tend to notice brand names and paint jobs, it would never occur to me that it was a stolen John Deere tractor. And I don't spend any time on the roads, especially after dark. The older guy, Bud, walks around, looking at piles of books, looks closely at the wood-stove, admires the stairs, actually apologizes for interrupting whatever it is that I do. They were probably only here for a hour, but it seemed like forever and I knew I'd lost the day, every paranoid thought resurfaced. Finally got in touch with Diane, and she isn't going to visit, which is too bad, because I was looking forward to the food and conversation. I had an acorn squash, stuffed with raspberries, figured as a side dish, pounded pork stuffed with crabmeat. I'll fix them anyway. Reading Don Delillo, considering how a language could be mastered.