A FRIEND IN NEED IS A FRIEND IN NEED

Blog number 111                                               Aug 20, 2007

I just finished reading this book about two girls and a boy and their fellow "students," all of whom their primary purpose in life is to be donors. Organ donors, I assume, since it is never spelled out, exactly.  It was written by an Englishman by the name of Kazuo Ishiguro. 

I read another book of his called, "Remains of the Day," which was made into a movie that I fell in love with, thus my wish to read the book.  In this book, the protagonist's sole purpose in life is to be the perfect servant.  And he is.

Mr. Ishiguro seems to be interested mainly in purposes in life.  From what I've read of his so far. 

He has this ability to pull the reader along to see what comes next.  It's like he has a string in his hand that you follow, hand over hand and just before you come to the end of the string, he hands you another.  For instance he'll say something like, "There was the time, maybe a few weeks after the talk by the pond, when Miss Lucy was taking us for English," and when he explains what happened on that walk, we are told interesting hints of things that are going to be told to us later on.

I have been reading a lot of interesting books, and this one got me to thinking of a best friend I once had that always seemed to like the same books I did, and vice versa.  He also told the most interesting stories.  He "collected" interesting friends.  I met him in a math class and I think he "collected" me to help him with his math because that is what happened.

After I finished this book, I wanted someone else to read it and the only person I could think of that would like it as much as I did would be Carl.  That was his name.  Carl.  But I can't do that because I don't speak to him any more.

I used to not talk for months on end.  I loved it because I never had to explain myself or worry about saying something idiotic.  It's a very carefree way of existing.  It wasn't so at first, though.  I used to get so angry.  I finally worked that out - through perseverance, I'm sure.

Teresa hated my silent periods.  Now she hates my talking periods.  What's a husband to do?

After several months of silence, I started talking.  Then I went back to not talking because it was more peaceful.  One night Carl and his wife picked me up and he went through a stop sign.  His wife yelled at him.  Then he almost went through a red light and I realized he was trying to get me to talk.  I wondered what kind of a friend would do that.  This got me to remembering other times when he wasn't being a friend and within just a few moments I realized that he wasn't a friend at all.  He didn't care about me.  I was just someone that entertained him.

But I still miss his stories and talking about books with him.  And he WAS funny.  I like funny.

Post Script: The last time I tried not talking, a woman friend of Teresa's - someone she worked with, was at our house and after she found out that I wasn't talking, she made a point of saying to me, "something something when you've finished your anti social behavior."

What is it about people that think we are there to entertain them?

Bitch.