Meet The Grown-Ups Involved

Another bright sunny afternoon, part of a typical workday commute, finds a middle-aged man and a mature, if somewhat younger woman, cozily ensconced together driving homeward down a country road right outside the main drag of town, past what the man calls the frozen emblems of sheep and cows on the soon-to-be dying family farm. The man, as usual, intense, distracted, brooding upon the upcoming holiday, sarcastically yearning for other, more obscure official respites (Flag Day, Arbor Day) the woman, upbeat, frenetic, smiling, humming a song quietly to herself, happy to be in the carpool absent two of its regular members...  The man lanky and uncomfortable, mildly disgruntled and part-way resigned to fate, the woman, impulsive, chatty at times but also thoughtful,  at ease in her own skin, [A perfectly detached observer of this mundane scene no doubt would notice the apparent stark contrast raised by divergence of gender - with the old stereotypes about male and female coming into play - but perhaps these two were so very dissimilar as glaring externals would indicate...] She was inexplicably glad to be alone with him, sharing the non-eventfulness of their not-implausible ongoing friendship that still had yet not blossomed into romantic involvement - and he, happily griping to her in anticipation of those intimate, pensive pauses that long drives engender...the usual complaints about getting old and tired, bemoaning his fleeting job security and the lack of respect, the general anonymity, being stuck in a rut, and blah, blah, blah. The woman however is looking out the window at a group of boys trudging along, each one with a stick in their hands, hovering over some small, squirming, unidentified sentient creature - perhaps a cat, perhaps a squirrel. And somewhere in the midst of their always rambling, half-mundane, half-philosophical conversation the woman observes:

"Did you hear that Donny Constable - our local drive-by artist - got arrested for what happened the other day...You know, he was caught pilfering auto parts..."

"I'm not surprised..."

"And it was weird because he didn't understand why...it's like he thought he was doing someone a favor."

"Ha. That's what they all say!"

"And little Ned. He was caught vandalizing - spray-painting - oh I forget what business it was..."

"There must be something in the water that these boys are drinking..."

"Oh good. You see the same pattern developing here. These aimless males running amok."

How strange that such playful, half-contentious banter could revive John's spirits - could fend off for another hour the onset of an ongoing malaise. He appreciated the strange, uncalled-for optimism lurking beneath even her highest pitch of concern. It was odd that so attractive a woman, could somehow be unattached - currently single, single for the long-term - openly flirtatious yet entirely wholesome and well-mannered. And yet - he had made no move to confirm her affections, had rather remained happily transfixed by their weird carpool friendship - as it bounced along from month to month. Was there ever a time to stop for coffee or a bagel or find a reason for some ridiculous errand that they both could perform? No doubt, yes...yes in fact they found themselves shopping together on a few occasions, but nothing ever progressed passed a certain juncture. Propriety preserved and heightened an almost unbearable tension that seemed to be channeled into their lively extended conversations.

"It's an old story of male adolescence...but thankfully, Martha, we're witnessing only a mild form of its greater excesses."

"But you know, John,  it occurs to me that men are the more dangerous vessels in our society..."

"Vessels - you say?"

"You know - vessels, repositories, sponges...

"You mean vessels - as in crucibles, conduits?"

"I mean vessels of mischief and mayhem..."

"As opposed to what exactly - Martha?"

"What I mean - John - is - you know... there's a difference between men and women..."

"Oh that. Well...I see...ah ha...uhm...well, Martha... that is...very..."

"Ha. Ha. You're tongue-tied."

"Yes, well, I seem to agree with what you're saying here. I'm somewhat relieved that you acknowledge this great unheralded truth...please continue..."

She was looking at him now the way passengers in cars often look at drivers without drivers being able to reciprocate...It was a long affectionate glance taking in his wrinkled attempt at spiffy dress shirt with large belt, corduroys and some type of comfortable desert shoes. Just the sight of him made her laugh - but there was somehow a deep admiration there, as if to represent a stamp of approval from her heart of hearts as to his lowly, underpaying career-path - a calling that she shared with him and perhaps excelled, at due to her reservoirs of patience, kindness and generosity and an impressive background in psychology, sociology and anthropology. He enjoyed the way she always seemed on the verge of laughter even when making serious conversation. The car felt bigger somehow, more spacious and comfortable. And he allowed himself momentary glances at her newly styled hair and green shoes. As it happened she was wearing an eclectic array of green all in one outfit -  green cotton sweater unconsciously paired with green cotton socks, green bracelets, green earrings. Make a mental note - he thought. Green her favorite color...

"No - really - I'm actually quite interested in what I have a feeling you're about to say..."

"I know it sounds kind of obvious, John, but you have to admit: men are the destructive ones - and why is that you men should be the killers, the fighters, the violent, creepy, problematic types..."

"And don't forget to mention: the warriors, the builders, inventors, protectors, defenders of -"

"Yes. Yes. Now don't get all insecure on me here."

"Okay. Okay. We men are the ones who kill and destroy, who pillage and plunder and vandalize more and commit those other more unmentionable crimes...who pull wings off of butterflies and set abandoned houses on fire... and dip ponytails into ink wells and...."

"You're not trying to be sarcastic are you?

"No no - I appreciate your honesty - really."

"But it's true. Men are the more destructive creatures..."

Though he had known her in this strangely casual capacity for some years now, he could not help but reflect on certain gaps in their friendship. What exactly were her feelings about men, and what kind of history did she have with them? Did she come from a big family - full of brothers and uncles? Had she entered into an early marriage that ended badly? Did she privately recoil in horror from the onerous habits of the foolish, uncouth, backward, boorish male slackers and hooligans that she counseled every day? He knew of at least two siblings - sisters apparently - and possibly one brother - but little mention of prior relationships. Never thought to pry past a certain point.

"I have a theory myself about all this stuff... But just so's I understand you: men, you're saying, commit the bulk of the crime - we kill,  maim,  torture, pillage, plunder, stalk, assault, threaten, harass, extort, lie, cheat, steal...Oh what am I missing here?"

"Now you're sounding like my sister..."

"It's okay really. I'm not going to even try to defend my fellow neanderthals ... But may I ask one simple question. Where is the incentive for all this chaos? Who encourages it, who applauds such behavior?"

"What? Are you expecting some magic word?"

"And who is it that is always egging men on in these endeavors? Who is it? Huh? Huh?

"I don't know what you're getting at....Other men I guess...."

"I mean who are the enablers that look the other way so often or actually get excited by said destruction?"

"Peers...miscreants... other criminals...sociopaths...insane people?"

"Nope. Wrong answer."

"What are you getting at?"

"I don't want to have to say it..."

"So -?"

"So we men must be punished, or rather have been punished by way of the by universal guilt emanating from the now irreversible late-historical consensus...there's no running away from that"

"I think you're misunderstanding . It's not a criticism. We have to take stock of the fact that men are the carriers of evil...it's almost like we expect them to do a certain amount of damage. It's not a complete and total shock to us. We see it coming. It's just that we have to allow for that burden to some extent - without making excuses for it."

"Thank you."

"Your Welcome."

"But as for women...they don't carry a similar burden?"

'Oh - it's different with us...but that's another matter..."

"What I mean, Martha dear, is that they too are linked to all this male-driven chaos."

"Yeah...so...what's your point..."

"Well this brings me to my freight train theory of men."

"Freight train theory?"

"Or if you like the cheetah in the jungle theory."

"I'm completely lost."

"Well - what if by some sort of insane biological script - women were fascinated by (notice I don't say approving of, but fascinated by) a certain type of male with a pronounced single-mindedness."

"O-kay."

"Just think of a freight train moving across the prairie. A cheetah sprinting across the jungle. A caveman with a stick marching into danger."

"Oh no. I hope you're not going with this where I think you're going."

"I'm saying there's something about these wild risk-taking tendencies that aren't completely negative - that hold others spellbound."

"Be-cause..."

"Because it's like watching that first person dive off the cliff..."

"I really think you should consider - helping out with that club again. They could really use your guidance you know."

"You want me to re-live my nightmare of a few years back?"

"No. It would be different this time."

"I'm not the same man. You seem to forget. I'm lucky to have still had a job after that fiasco..."

"Well. The situation is even crazier now, isn't it? I mean with those college kids involved."

"Yeah. I mentored those guys. They're my responsibility...even now, I guess."

"That's what Ron thinks."

"Oh great, one more reason for Ron to be on my case."

"Now don't get all flustered by this. I think you're still a great mentor. I mean, you're almost sort of a de facto clandestine guidance counselor."

Awkward Silence.

"This just reminds me of how I can't take this time of year...It makes me think of my paltry faith...and how unable I am to join in the celebrations..."

"Watch it!"

"What?"

"Are you okay? You're driving like a lunatic..."

"I saw it..."

"One thing we don't need is a dead squirrel..."

"Um...it was a cat. I'm a cat lover. Don't worry....I ran over a cat once...and I don't want anymore guilt."

"I bet those boys are up to no good already." she says.

"Oh sure, those derelicts, the usual crew." the man replies.

"Are they poking something with those awful sticks?"

"Someone needs to make another intervention..."

"It just proves my point...about men... that is..."