Static
The wind blew. It blew and blew. It blew so hard the windows rattled. It blew so hard the trees creaked and moaned. “A storm approaches,” Connie heard on the TV just before falling asleep to its blue light. When she woke up, the TV still on, the camera focused on the rain making rivers down highways, the leaves floating like lost boats. And then the camera lens, covered in raindrops, focused on the newscaster in his Gore-Tex hooded coat.
“Don’t go out,” the newscaster said—even though he stood on the sidewalk in some rainy suburb, the water dripping down his face, the wind roaring through his microphone.
Connie waited for the camera to take her other places; but suddenly, the screen went blank. Gray static replaced the rain and wind. She found her remote and flicked it here and there.
She landed on Home Shopping where she saw a woman walking on a treadmill—her voice not at all winded—as she said, “You can build a relationship with this machine. Why go outside, when you can walk for miles right in your own home? You can burn not 100, not 200, but 500 calories. That’s much more effective than a walk in the park.”
Connie thought about the newscaster’s warning, “Don’t go out,” and the Treadmill Woman’s insistence that a walk going nowhere was better than walk going somewhere.
Just then the phone rang. Connie answered. A woman’s voice asked a question about Connie’s health coverage. Connie started to answer the voice, but then realized it was recorded. A recording was asking Connie personal questions. The nerve! Connie hung up the phone. Connie turned off the TV. Connie opened the front door and went outside. She let the rain hit her face. She jumped full force into a puddle. She ran down the sidewalk and into the park. Finally, tired and soaked, Connie sat on a bench. She stayed right there and watched the sun break through the dark clouds.
It was something to see.
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