"What Did You Say?" and "A New Narrative" by Ralph Dranow

What Did You Say?

A middle-aged woman is speaking to me

at Berkeley Bowl grocery store,

her words a jigsaw puzzle with missing pieces.

“Excuse me?” Wishing my hearing were better.

Her smile fades, contorts into a frown.

“I’m sorry I bothered you.”

She strides away before I can speak again.

The missing pieces slowly fall into place:

“You’re one of the best-looking men I’ve seen in here.”

Damn, she thought I was annoyed,

but as an old guy, I feel honored

when an attractive woman flirts with me.

I’m married, but we could have had

a pleasant conversation.

Come back, brave woman,

so I can thank you for being so vulnerable

and give you a platonic hug.

A New Narrative

“You went right through that stop sign, Ralph, for Chrissakes!”

my father yells at me,

his muscular body a coiled spring.

‘Oh, I didn’t see it.”

I’m yanked from my daydream

into the inescapable reality of driving a car.

Neither of us wants to be there.

It’s my mother’s idea

for my impatient father to teach me,

a sheltered college kid.

But I improve a little over the next few sessions.

I’m driving on Kissena Boulevard, a main thoroughfare,

one Saturday afternoon.

“Slow down a little,” my father suggests.

I step on the brake, no response.

“Press down harder,” he suggests.

It feels limp under my foot.

“It’s not working. What should I do?”

I’m starting to tremble.

“Oh, Ralph!” His high, helpless voice startles me,

hurls me into the void,

the icy glare of death,

my heart going haywire.

No traffic coming toward us.

Instinctively, I steer the car into a sidewalk sign

on the left side of the street.

The blue Plymouth jolts to a stop.

My father gets out to inspect the damage.

I’m in shock, cold, numb,

on this sultry summer afternoon,

surprised we’re both alive, unhurt.

I blame myself for the accident

because of my lack of motivation,

even though I find out later

my father had absentmindedly let the brake fluid run out.

Driving is dangerous, I decide, becoming phobic.

Therapy and a patient, encouraging instructor

help me overcome this crippling fear

and climb to the top of the mountain,

finally learning to drive in my late 50s.

I also come to realize my improvised action

that long-ago day,

primal self-preservation.

or a force larger than myself,

was a small act of heroism.

probably saving both our lives.