IT’S A TRAP

HP and I were to meet for our traditional early morning cup of coffee. Who was HP? Well… you could say he is my unofficial, official life coach…well he likes to think so anyway. We get together most mornings, start the day with a strong black coffee at our local coffee shop, and mostly just talk about life and how we could singlehandedly achieve world peace. Most of these meeting are truly memorable and this morning was no exception.

I had not prepared myself for what I was about to experience, not that one could prepare oneself for what unfolded before me. HP, filled the coffee shop door, not that he filled it physically as he was a tall man definitely not a well very well built. The box caught my attention first. Yes a cardboard box, not just any cardboard box, a huge cardboard box, the size of which could house a fair sized bus. What ever else HP did this morning, he had certainly achieved his primary objective, I was smiling and I was curious. I not only wanted to find out what was in the box, I also wanted to know what the heck he was doing bringing it to a coffee shop. If his second objective was to make me laugh for nefarious medical reasons that only he knew about; the path and time taken from the entrance of the coffee shop to my table took on pandemic proportions. So, besides the excellent advice I knew I was going to get over a long piping hot cup of strong black Brazilian, I had already received my first smile ‘shot’ for the day.

The image of a wet noodle-looking character swaying rhythmically between the tables holding an oversized cardboard box above is head will keep my therapist in Gucci belts for the rest of his life. Let us be upfront and brutal about this; HP would most definitely not go head to head with Husain Bolt in the athletic build or prowess department. At best, one could describe him as skinny with benefits, especially if one judged things by the size of his nose. The Sicilian version of Swan Lake would be one way to describe it, or maybe more aptly, the dance of the seven veils, and the box and the tables, could be another. Because what unfolded in front of me could only be described as a ballet for al dente macaroni. I can safely say it would have brought tears to the eyes of our Russian friends Tchaikovsky and Vladimir Begichev. The ‘pièce de résistance’ of course, was the look on his face, truly a sight to behold. His eyes gleamed with a holy light reserved only for Tibetan monks with a chubby Buddha in their pocket. The man’s smile took on biblical proportions only Moses could describe as he looked over the parting Red sea.

If the shop had a dirt floor one could say he arrived at our table in a cloud of dust, suffice to say the event took place with a … well…let us just say an air of boxed excitement. Still holding the box high above his head, the enthusiastic smile now fading a little, he scanned the area around the table for a place to place his precious cargo. Turning around slowly in a full circle, realisation crept across his face as he eventually noticed eyes shining with tears of laughter were watching him. The religious gleam in his eyes flickered dangerously close to reverting to steely atheism, and the Moses smile now completely vanished. A self-conscious sheepish grin grew at the same rate as the accompanying red glow spread up his neck and into his cheeks from under his collar. 

Still holding the box in the air, he turned slowly to acknowledge the kind voice of the waitress behind him. While apologising repeatedly, he self-consciously fumbled the box nearly taking the head off the woman, sitting at the next table. The waitress deftly ducked a left turn and sidestepped a right cross, the box narrowly missing her face. Swaying from the waist, she moved under the box and moved in close, grabbing the box, she assertively wrestled it from his grip. Smiling gently she stepped back turned and walked back to the till with the box. All the while assuring him it would be safe there until he decided to leave the shop. HP hesitantly sat down constantly glancing at what he obviously previewed to be a low down box thief of note. We both glanced around the shop at the other patrons; there was not a single dry eye in the shop.

Our coffee arrived and by the time, he had taken the first sip of his coffee the noise and laughter had subsided and things were back to normal again. After ten minutes or so, I could not contain myself any longer and asked him what the box was in aid of. He leaned in close, looked around as if he was about to reveal the location of the cup of Holy Grail and said in a hushed tone.

‘Do you remember when we were as kids, how alive we used to feel when we slid down a grassy hill in a box?’

‘Yes’

‘Well, that’s what it’s for.’

‘What is?

‘The Box, are you coming with me?’ he added

‘Where?’

‘To find a hill!’

‘What for?’

‘To Slide down.’

‘What on earth would I want to do that for?’ The lost look on my face set him off.

‘Jeez are you stupid or what, must I always spell every thing out for you?’ He said raising his hands in desperation,

‘Because it’s a trap!’

‘What is?’

‘Becoming an adult’, an evil glint quickly replaced the remaining Holy Grail gleam in his eyes as he hissed between his teeth, furtively glancing over his shoulder at his perceived box thief.

‘You must never grow up, it will kill you’