Driveway Graffiti

Wye Oak – Obituary

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When I wake it’s with a whistle. I wake with fluid joints, swift movements and a song. I stretch. I open my mouth and the room fills with the scent of freshly made waffles. I wash my face out of habit more than necessity.

I eat well-balanced meals. I exercise. I scrub the dishes and load the washer while listening to NPR. I brew coffee, but only decaf and only for the smell; dependency is death.

For the past 12 years I’ve called 1-800-WEATHER for the daily forecast. I could step outside; I could turn on the television; I could query the Internet, but no — 72 degrees Fahrenheit with a 20% chance of rain. I put my umbrella away. I call again just to make sure. I call a third time just to listen. And a fourth. And a fifth. She is the only woman who will speak to me that day.

At work I do the crossword. Literally. I am a Knight Ridder employee, and it is my job to make words flow into words flow into a satisfyingly throbbing mass of letters. First, I trim my nails. I lick my lips and get to business.

When finished I leave for lunch. I walk to the deli across the street my coworkers enjoy. I sit at the bar. My bread is wheat. My drink is milk. I chew slowly to aid digestion. I tap my foot to shouts, cries, order numbers, cash registers, and I know what 16 Across will be tomorrow.

I finish my meal as my coworkers enter. I always finish my meal as my coworkers enter. Once, on August 3rd, 2001, someone said, “Hello, Toby.” but they were speaking to the man beside me. It was still very nice.

The local kids are on to what I do. When I arrive at home my driveway will bare graffiti. Every night it’s something new. Tonight it’s the word “Quaker,” last week’s 28 Down. I act as though I’m upset but, really, I’m just glad someone noticed.

[Buy Wye Oak, Myspace]