The Feeder Project

“But what does it mean?” he asked.

Raoul and I were sitting in a local truck stop. I was eating the turkey club on honey wheat. He was having only coffee. His hands were wrapped around the mug and never moved from that position, even when he lifted the mug for a sip.

I was not used to this. Usually it was Raoul explaining things to me. He told me an eybrow raising story. I ate my sandwich and listened. He asked his question. I didn’t know what to make of it. We sat in silence for a moment as I tried getting my mind around an answer to his question.

Across the room, in a booth, a older man sat close to a much younger woman. Noone sat across from them. He leaned into her. She tried to lean away from him. Under the table, he touched her leg. She crossed her legs and curled her right foot around her left calf. He laughed. She didn’t. She got up to use the restroom. I breathed a sigh of relief.

I broke the silence. “I think we’re addicted to the idea that we’ll always understand what something means. It gives our minds and nerves warmth.”

A waitress came by to re-fill our coffee mugs.

“It’s not all that different,” I continued speaking after a short sip. “Than what you’re doing right now, with your hands. Meaning is the coffee in the mug. Your hands are doing to the coffee mug what what our minds try to do with meaning. But, there’s a problem…”

“There’s no container,” said Raoul. “If the coffee is meaning, then there’s nothing to pour the coffee into. I need some sort of container.”

The young woman returned and took the same place next to the older man. The game of flirting/resisting continued. Raoul looked over his shoulder to look at the scene I was watching.

“I don’t get it,” he said. Raoul leaned across the table and whispered, “He thinks she’s his container.”

The young woman stood to allow the older man to slide out of the booth, presumably to use the rest room. I stood and walked over to the young lady. As I was leaving I heard Raoul quietly say, “Oh, man, whatcha doin’?”

“Is everything Okay?” I asked the young lady.

She dragged on a 100 millimeter cigarette and exhaled in my direction.

“What’s that to you?”

“You looked uncomfortable with that gentleman,” I said.

She laughed. “Gentleman?”

I looked down at my shoes.

“Look,” she said. “If I wanted to leave, I woulda been gone. I think I understand what you’re doin’. Thanks. But everything’s OKay.”

I nodded weakly and retreated back to Raoul. The older man returned, put a five dollar bill on the table and took the young lady by the hand and went to the register to pay their bill. We watched them get into a truck in the parking lot.

“Yes,” said Raoul, shaking his head. “But what does it mean?”

“That we’re sometimes not the only containerless souls walking the earth.”