I sleep in the raw and have done so since the time I
graduated high school. This means, among
the more glaring things, that I leap out of bed in the morning and run around
the house naked as I start brewing the coffee, feed my 40 pounds of cat, and,
perhaps, step outside to check the weather.
Since I live out in the country, scampering around
naked is not really a problem.
I have not always lived in the country.
In the late 1980’s I lived in East Helena,
Montana. Living in town had a few advantages. Pizza places delivered to my home. I was five minutes from the nearest bar. A grocery store was only three minutes
away. Also, I found the morning paper freshly
delivered to my front steps each morning as started my daily rituals.
One morning, after leaping from my bed and starting
the coffee, I cracked open the front door only to discover that my newspaper
was not there.
Highly unusual.
On a few previous occasions, though, our
twelve-year-old paper girl had flung the newspaper off the side of the steps
into some ground junipers. Recalling
this, I fully opened the front door and stepped onto the concrete steps to
investigate, thinking I might find the paper there.
Just as I started to snoop around, I heard the front
gate creak open about fifteen feet down the walk from me. I looked up and found myself face to face
with the paper girl and her mother.
I stood there—full-frontal naked—with no place to hide.
It occurred to me that something should be said by me. Especially, as I saw the paper girl’s eyes
widening. Her mother was fully aghast.
I needed to appear casual, calm. I needed to belong there. I blurted the first thing that came to mind:
“Have you seen my cat?”
No answer. The
girl quickly shook her head and then half-heartedly dropped the paper onto my
walk. Soon after, the pair whisked off
down the street. As I recall, they did
not even bother to close the gate again.
I dashed out to grab the paper and then quickly ducked
back into my house to dress.
--Mitchell
Hegman
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