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Round And Round

 

by

Gary Lee Wells

 

 

 

I dressed for the winter weather and headed for the lake two blocks away through the Black Lake community.  I hoped to find Vic and Ron, old friends who spent hours racking up miles on the asphalt path encircling the lake.  I walked up the knoll twenty feet from the path to get a better view of the lake.  I looked down the path in both directions until I spotted Vic and Ron.  There they were, chatting away as usual.  They saw me when I waved and beckoned me to join them.

     As I walked down the incline I wondered what we would argue about today;  every day was something different.

     Vic left little to wonder.  As I reached them Vic grabbed the half-smoked cigarette from his mouth and asked what I thought about the new helmet law for bicyclists.  “That’s some real shit,” he said.  “The government dictating this and that.”

     At first I thought so many kids would not be hurt in bicycle accidents.  I did not tell Vic, though; he seemed adamant in his position.  He was right, too, in a way.  Parents should know that if their kids get reckless on their bikes they may get hurt.  If they want to protect their kids’ heads from potential danger then, by god, it should be their option to buy a helmet; not be given an ultimatum by a bunch of pencil-pushing bureaucrats to wear on or get fined.

     Ron asked if I ever wore a helmet as a kid.  I did not think so.  Hell, I was not sure they even had bicycle helmets when I was a kid. 

     “Maybe, just maybe, the helmet manufacturers are old college chums of the Senator who wrote that bill,”  I said.  “Can you picture legislators forcing everyone to wear helmets so their old buddies can make a killing selling them to the public?”

     “Yeah,” Vic and Ron chimed in unison.

     “And what about those abortion clinic bombings?”  I asked.

     Their eyes lit up at the mention of the recent bombing.  Vic grabbed another cigarette from his pack and lit it with the one he had been sucking on.  He flicked the used butt on the grass which drew a disapproving glare from Ron.  I began to wonder how a guy who chain smoked could possibly care about any god-given free will.  I guess we had the free will to commit slow-motion suicide, too, if we chose.

     I went on about the bombings.  “Here are people who claim they’re acting in the name of God.  They feel they have to stop abortion because it is murder, . . . and it may very well be.  But how can a sane man justify the stopping of murder by murdering someone else?  Didn’t God give them the same free will to choose whether they want an abortion or not?”

     I watched out the corner of my eye as they nodded eagerly.  I know they wanted to cut in but I was not finished.  “You know, if I didn’t agree with abortion I could do a lot by making sure my wife or daughter didn’t get one; tell them why I feel the way I do; educate them.”

     Vic said it is the same as the helmets.  “The government or some crazed, bomb-toting fool trying to take away our free will and they have no right.”

     Ron and I agreed.

     We walked on in silence a while letting it all sink in.  I wondered why the three of us cared anyway.  Here we were, nothing better to do than pace around the lake talking about issues that were out of our control.  We were all older than any man had a right to be.  We would be leaving this life soon and if he younger generation wanted to bomb each other into extinction, so be it.

     If one thought about it long enough, I am sure we would conclude that we were taking lawmakers’ free will if we said they could not make laws anymore.  It is all a vicious circle, like the path; we start off meaning well and only end up where we started.

     I thought about that wise king of thousands of years ago.  Did he not say it was all vanity?  We live.  We work.  We raise families.  And for what?  We are all going to die soon enough.

     I was glad to see the knoll come up in the distance.  I was getting tired and told my philosophizing companions that I was going to go home.

     When I reached the top of the knoll I looked over my shoulder.  There they go, Vic and Ron, round and round ‘til they come back to where they started; making a lot of headway but never  really going anywhere.  Just like this vane life; round and round and never really going anywhere.

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