To live is to learn, even for the oblivious.


The sun awakened suffusing the day with its rays of warmth as a young worker rose to proceed on his daily chores. He lathered his cheeks with face wash and splashed water over his caramelized toned face until his eyes widened with vigor. Today’s task was to transport a full pallet of stacked baled pine straws to the backyard. To the vigilant worker, this task didn’t seem as daunting as he pondered over a fresh cup of coffee. This was not his first rodeo, so he was well aware of the delicacy of this project. Knowing some baled pine straws would not be fastened tightly enough, he planned on using a wheelbarrow before any accidentally burst open. He took a second sip of the bitter French roast while debating to himself about how he could prevent them from bursting in the first place. By the time his mind wandered to a less trivial matter, such as what might be for dinner, the beverage was finished.

The young worker reached for a nearby navy blue sweater hung behind the person door of the garage. Without hesitation, he slipped into the sweater and opened the garage door, immediately struck by a waft of humidity. The worker sighed, unbeknownst to the drastic change in seasonal temperature. He debated while looking down at the sweater but reminded himself of the pine and how the straws tend to irritate his skin. He marched onto the workman's bench and grabbed a utility knife.

Outside the garage, the sun cast a lacquered look on the full pallet of rectangular packed pine straws smothered in plastic wrap. Our worker reached over to a small black wheelbarrow and dragged it from the handle, placing it to the side of the overstocked pallet. With the press of a button, the serrated edges of the knife sprung out of the utility knife, and he cut through the plastic with ease supplying minimal force. He peeled the plastic away as if it were an oversized Christmas present and began his transferring.

Halfway through the now daunting task, the young worker was drenched in his own sweat dripping from his scalp. The smell of pine overwhelmed him as he paused from time to time to sneeze. He was sure it wasn’t an allergy, since no rashes were ever present, but at the end of the day, he was no doctor. Each bale of pine straws was tied by two thin pieces of plastic orange string. It was distinctive enough from the brown pine, but still posed a problem in the sense of how to maneuver them. If grabbed by the string too tightly, the pine would separate from its compressed state, and if held by both ends the slightest amount of pressure would make the rectangular bale of pine split down the center. The worker had done this enough times to know the most feasible strategy was to place both index fingers at the center of each string and lift with equal balance. The process was repeated over twelve times already by placing three stacks on the wheelbarrow one at a time. The heat intensified by the second, which made the worker heave at times, but it didn’t stop him.

As the worker trudged back and forth with stacks of pine, neighbors with smiles dressed on their faces passed blindly waving at the man. For the most part he didn’t even notice them, until he took a quick break to catch his breath, and saw a middle-aged, sun streaked blonde in leggings and running sneakers strolling with her baby wrapped with pink sheets in her cradle. She let go of the stroller handle with her right hand and waved at the worker. He glanced back at her and shrugged a limp shoulder, while smearing his arm across his drenched scalp. Wiping his soaked sleeve with enough force to spray pellets of sweat at the ground, he then raised his head to spot the mother once again noticing a disgruntled look on her face as she gripped the stroller in frustration. The worker heaved as she picked up her pace down the block. A sudden burning sensation shot through his veins up to his brain.

Did I just shrug at that woman? He asked himself, wiping yet another leaking faucet from his scalp. He remained with a puzzled look, but ultimately knew the moment had passed. The mother and child had appeared like pebbles in the distance as the worker attempted to grab yet another stack. He aimed for the sweet spot right underneath the center of the string and was rewarded with a stray straw piercing him underneath his fingernail. He yelped in pain as he watched the spread of blood leak down his finger. At that moment he regretted yet another miscalculation forcing him to get workman’s leather gloves.

The task had been completed and the young worker took a brief pause outside, drenched in his own perspiration. He may never admit it to himself, but he was waiting to see the mother and child once again to salute her properly. He thought perhaps he could at least make up for one of the many mistakes he made today, but she never came. He freed himself from the soaked sweater and walked back inside the house. Inside he placed his palms up against his beige marble counter top ruminating about the kind hearted mother and her disgruntled expression. This moment wasn’t to plot a resolution, but to understand and learn from his mistake. The young worker had witnessed what he’d done wrong, but would his mind broaden?