“I’ll get around to it,” Jer said when he was asked to go to the laundromat.
On his way out a few hours later he looked around for a piece of fruit to eat but quickly gave up, opting instead to stop at Magoos Pizzaria for a slice since it’s on the way. Every time Jer goes to that pizza place he thinks about the Warlocks who played at a place with a similar name for their very first show.
As he walked down the avenue a block from the laundromat someone randomly yelped in a shaky voice “Jerry.” Coincidence? Probably, but that is not Jer’s name. He whipped his head around anyways, almost right on cue.
With the smell of pizza in the air and his hands full he continued down the avenue. There was the old man again up ahead sitting on a bench surrounded by dozens of pigeons that were swarming around him as he rolled pizza crust into little pieces. Before Jer reached him there was another dozen birds swarming the man’s feet. Afraid to step on any he got up anyways and started cursing about how the birds at Central Fountain don’t swarm so much and aren’t as frickin greedy.
Jer thought to himself that if you don’t want birds to come at you don’t feed them. Find a different hobby. Read a damn book.
“Oh sweet,” he said under his breath, walking towards a familiar character. “What up bro?” The two friends hugged elated to see each other. It was Eric.
After a quick catch up Jer asked Eric if he still writes lyrics because he was looking for somebody to fill in some gaps to his own songs. “No, I have some pretty heavy things going on in my life right now …don’t have the time…I do think I should get back into it…would probably help.”
“We used to get into some shit didn’t we?”
“For sure. I’m only ten days sober,” Eric was not prideful at all.
Jer started humming one of the tunes the two worked on years ago and Eric started laughing wildly. “You never would sing then either.” The two friends embraced again but only Eric had watery eyes.
Noticing the late time Jer started to run to the laundromat before they call last cycle. Like a clumsy, non-athlete, guitar slinging greaser he tripped and the clothes flew everywhere.
“I can still make it.” He arrived all worked up from tripping and reminiscing.
With little time he threw the two baskets of clothes into one big tumbler and almost started it without putting in the light jacket he was wearing which wouldn’t take up much room. While going through the pockets he pulled out a piece of paper he didn’t recognize that was cut into a circle with two words scribbled on it. “To it.”
He swelled up with tears and recalled the song he and his old pal wrote together years ago. A song he still plays.
“If you see a fruit tree and you are starving, run to it.”
“If you hear a voice that is louder than the muffling inside your head, pray to it.”
“If you hear a bird that follows you from day to day, sing to it.”
“If you feel ignorance in your comprehension of life, read to it.”
“If you have something to say to your audience, write to it.”
“If you hear a beautiful song that reminds you of happier times, cry to it.”
“If you have to be somewhere close, walk to it. “
“If you feel the need to do any of these things, jump to it. “
“If you don’t have the time to do any of these and can’t make it happen, get around to it.”
Francis Erich McElroy 