Conrad to Planet Earth

 




Vernon called the other day. Vernon, the brother that puts the blog together. I didn't know what a blog was until he brought it up half a year ago. Still don't. He worries about me all the time. For no apparent reason.

"So whatta' you think, would you like to try something new?"

"Something new what?"

"Well, you know, a new blog entry."

"What's wrong with the old ones?"

"Nothing, nothing. They're just, well... old."

"What's wrong with old stuff. I'm old."

"I just thought you might want to spread your wings a little, think of something new.

"What, you think thinking is easy? I can't do it much anymore. It bothers me. Never did do it well. You were always the smart one. Mom said so."

"Well, okay. I was trying to be helpful. Think about it." 

"Leave me alone and I will. Don't hold your breath."

We said goodbye (that bothers me a lot nowadays, for no apparent reason), I told him he was starting to sound like Monk's psychiatrist, and drove to Walgreen's in town to pick up some meds without which Conrad would not be thinking about anything, ever again.

Waiting in the drive-thru with all the other addicts, I noticed a single red ant hanging on to the hood of my truck just a foot away from my face on the other side of the glass. There are no red ants at Walgreen's, only acres and acres of asphalt. Ants hate asphalt. I knew this ant. His home is in a small hill right where I park my pickup under the carport. He's got lots of buddies, probably some family, and thinking about that another thought came to me.

The Romantics of the nineteenth century had a belief in the sentience of all living things, ants, trees, critters of all types, that supposes they have thoughts and reason, just like we do, but on another plane, and that as their body size gets closer and closer to ours it becomes more and more noticeable. Their awareness, I mean.

I know for a fact there's a family of crows in my neighborhood that know the difference between me coming out of the house and Pam doing the same thing. I'm the guy that brings the scratch feed they eat. Pam's the one that throws rocks at them. Smart? Sentient? Maybe more than you realize.

So what about the ant on my hood clinging for its life at Walgreen's? Was he aware of my existence? Well, he'd have to be thinking something, even at that level of sentience. What might it be? What could its equivalent be to our level of sentience? Could his ride all the way to Walgreen's from his home out on Baker's Branch be the equivalent of being abducted by aliens and taken up into the mothership as it would be for you or me had the same thing happened to us? 

Come on now, think about it. If he made it home safely, and scrambled down the side of my truck to Hillhome to be greeted by an anxious family desperate to know where he had been for so long (for how is time measured by an ant?), and why such a strange look on his face, would they believe his wild tale? Would he say, "You're not going to believe this." Would they then say, "Calm down, calm down, Red. It's okay. You're home"?

I will say this, the first thing I did when I backed under the carport was look for Red. He wasn't there. He had been, all the way to the head of driveway. I'm bettin' he jumped to the ground as soon as he recognized his surroundings (wouldn't you have?). Look, we may have a problem here. Both of us. You, me.

My brother told me to think of something, so I did. He didn't tell you to spend however much time you did reading about what I was thinking, did he? So you're in this as much as I am. There's lots of crazy people out there. If I'm one, you're one, too. You don't tell on me, I won't tell on you.

Deal?

© 2022 Conrad M. Vollertsen


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