New England Sketches by Mike Bozart - HTML preview

Eudaimonia in Vermont

by Mike Bozart

© 2024 Mike Bozart

Friday, June 16, 2023 in Winooski (northwest Vermont; 2020

US census population: 7997). An older, brick-mortar-and-steel-strapped restaurant/tavern on the eponymous river. It’s a not-too-warm-in-the-shade, windy-in-spurts, predominately sunny, verdant-flora-once-again, post-lunchtime afternoon. A sextet of stragglers are gazing at the cascading series of shelf-edge drop-offs known as Winooski Falls and a converted textile mill on the other side of the wide, bluish-grey-today stream. The conversations are very varied.

An early-50s, artfully attired, Caucasian Canadian couple are seated at a square table next to a wide riverfront windowpane. Having finished eating, they are now contentedly sipping their iced teas as they gaze southward.

Looks like a [Boeing] 737 is landing. Ours?

“I’m so glad we decided to stop here,” the beret-topped man says to his presumed wife. “A splendid view. Much better than sitting in the [Burlington International] airport for four hours. We really made great time on the highways. Maybe just hang out here for another hour. Our [American Airlines]

flight departure isn’t until six.” Hope there are no incidents onboard. Not in the mood for it. / We can’t stay here too long, though. Glad he’s not drinking alcohol.

“So true,” the scarlet-scarfed woman concurs. “I’m happy that we decided to check this place out. Seems like a nice area to reside. Hope they’re prepared in Charlotte. [NC] This deal could make our retirement so much easier.” Oh, indeed it could.

“You aint kidding, dear. I have a good feeling about it, but don’t want to get cocky and jinx it.” What?! He’s becoming a worrywart. We’re on the homestretch now.

“Get cocky and jinx it?” the green-eyed lady retorts. “Oh, Harry, superstitious beliefs are for the feebleminded. Relax, we got this.” Infamous last words. [internal groan] Really wish she didn’t say that. May come back to bite us.

At an oak table about seven feet (2.13 meters) behind the quinquagenarian couple, two female UVM [University of Vermont] students are seated with laptop computers in front

of them. They are intermittently munching on a basket of onion rings. Mmm … so yummy.

The Asian American lass looks up and softly states to her African American accomplice: “That woman over there said

‘Charlotte’. Remember Gene’s party in Charlotte [VT] during spring break? What a hoot that was.”

“Oh, yeah!” Aliyah replies excitedly. “What a super-fab time that was. I could tell that Mark [a Caucasian American UVM

student] was interested in you; he was ogling your ass all night.” Just know that he had prurient designs for her. Bet he wanted to hump Soon out in the woods.

“Oh, really? Well, I caught him leering at your booty, too.

Maybe he wanted both of us for a triracial threesome.

[laughs] What would be your preferred primary position?”

OMG! Can’t believe she said that. / Yep, stunned her.

“Girl, you crazy! Though, strangely, I have never seen him since – never once on campus, nor in town. It’s like he disappeared after that groovy bash. Poof! Gone.” Wonder where he is right at this very moment. Unknown until the ever-after I suppose. / Wonder if he got arrested for dealing drugs. His behavior became overtly peculiar as the night wore on. When was the last time that I saw him that night?

Hmmm … Said he was going to the bathroom when we were on the back deck. Yeah, it was then. He never returned. And I was so fucked-up at the time. Didn’t even take notice. Just started chatting with the hipster contingency.

“Maybe he dropped out,” Soon suggests. “Failing grades.

Maybe a party boy.” Party hearty! / How many Fs was he riding on? Five?

“Yeah, that’s probably what happened. Speaking of grades, I need to pull a C up to at least a B in sociology. My parents will be very upset if I don’t.” C cups.

“I’d like to go from B to C, cups, that is.” [laughs] Wow! So candid. She really is like no other female I’ve ever met.

Where will she be a decade from now? Sitting pretty in Silicon Valley [San Jose, CA] with an IT millionaire husband and a precocious, über-bratty child? Ok, reel in the envy, girl.

Aliyah just shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “Check, please,” she announces. Maybe shouldn’t have said that. My tongue will be the death of me. Hope not.

“Already?” Soon dissents.

Two, nearly bald, ash-gray-bearded Caucasian American men in their mid-60s are seated at the vermilion-with-variegated-veins maple bar drinking amber-colored beer in thick-glass, concave-indentation steins. The bartender is away. The flat-screen TVs are replaying yesterday’s baseball [MLB] highlights, but neither is paying much attention.

“Congratulations, Steve. You made it to Essex Junction.

That’s top of the league in Vermont, my friend. Well done.

Take a bow.” Though, that condo in Stowe [VT] would be nice. But, my snow skiing days are over. Long gone. Don’t want to break an ankle now. ‘Twould suck a rotten Rutland

[VT] cucumber. Now, where’d I hear that? Was it in Middlebury? [VT] Memory fades first. And fast. The ‘joys’ of old age.

“Thanks, Dave. I feel very fortunate. I would say blessed, but as you know, I’m not much for religion or divine intervention.”

Wonder if he’s still agnostic. Or, is he now a full-blown, card-carrying atheist? Better not press him. Let it go. Could ruin our amicable, long-awaited pub-chat.

“Yeah, I know that you’re quite the irreligious one. Do you think that if everyone abandoned all of these organized religions …”

“Stop. I know where you’re going, Dave. If the world were suddenly devoid of organized religions, yes, there would be fewer wars and skirmishes, but group violence would still continue. Clan A versus clan B would go on. Sadly, it seems to be irretractably woven into our DNA strands. Though, maybe it evolves out in four thousand or so years.” That long?

“Not sure if I’ll be around then, my friend,” Dave dryly replies.

And then chuckles. Can’t tell him what I really think of humankind’s fate; it would probably end our friendship.

“Well, getting back to my propitious – like that word, Dave?

[laughs] – station in life, at least at this moment …”

“I do approve of that most auspicious word. Do continue.”

“Everything is fluid, Dave, but it seems like we are set to stay safely and comfortably above the waterline. Though, who knows what the near future holds. Janet [Steve’s 2nd wife]

could die in a traffic accident on Interstate 89 tomorrow, a savings account could be drained by a Russian hacker, the house could burn down tonight, I could be diagnosed with a rare terminal cancer next month; one just never knows what is around the bend. Anyway, I don’t mean to sound self-congratulatory or pompous, but I truly have arrived at eudaimonia: a combination of well-being, overall happiness, and general flourishing – without exploiting anyone. At least no one that I’m aware of. Very lucky, for sure. I take nothing for granted, or for granite. [quick chuckle] It could have all gone south so many times. And still could to a limited extent.

But, I’m giving back now. Smart philanthropy. Strategic.

Researched. Thoroughly researched. I do my homework, Dave. I’m not sending any money to shady, nontransparent enterprises. Nope, not a dime going to those feckless charities with 90% administrative costs. Ok, that’s an exaggeration. Slightly. Just not interested in bankrolling another crooked CEO.” Wow. ‘Take a victory lap and hoist that gold medal, partner!’ Am I jealous? Absolutely! But, must not let it show. / Maybe a little heavy on the chest-thumping. Hope I didn’t incite any jealousy. Dave is not doing bad. Not at all. And his two kids and their families are doing fine. He’s got a nice house in Charlotte. [VT] And some say that’s the best place of all in Vermont. Crazy male one-upmanship. Guilty as charged. [internal chuckle]

“So, you’re buying the final round?” Dave jabs playfully and then guffaws freely.

The bartender, a 30-something Latina, is now back behind the bar. “You two gentlemen doing ok?”

“Maybe one more of those artisanal pilsners,” Steve replies.

“Oh, make it a double. My buddy’s feeling lucky.” I am?

Classic misdirection. Something invisible is in the air: LUST.

/ Really wish I could catch a break. Just once more.

“Coming right up, sir,” The Costa Rican bartender chirps.

Wonder where she lives. In town? What size is her mattress? Do the box springs squeak? Whew! Calm down, old boy. Take a deep breath. Get a hold of yourself.

Two minutes and, well, wouldn’t ya know, two seconds later, Ángela is setting down two, freshly poured, white-sudded steins of amber brew on the fractal-image-imprinted cardstock coasters. “There you go, guys. Enjoy!” In addition to that sexualicious [sic] behind, she seems to have a nice disposition. Or, is it only reserved for paying customers? Bet she can get feisty. And change gears swiftly. / Seems Dave is thinking about her. Boobs.

“Thanks so much,” Dave says. “Great service at a nice place for a reasonable price. I call that a bargain, the best I ever had. Lines from an old [The] Who song. Back when the dinosaurs roamed.” Is he really flirting with her? Sheez.

“Muchas gracias por la cerveza fría, señorita,” [Spanish translation: Much thanks for the cold beer, miss.] Steve chimes. Does Steve know her? Or, is he just trying to impress her with some elementary Spanish? Are he and his wife not getting along? He hasn’t mentioned her but once today. And only in passing. / Oi, otro viejo tonto. [Spanish translation: another old fool]

“I swear to your non-God that you are axiomatically

eudaimonic, high priest of the seventy-seven seas,” Dave fawns faux-earnestly. Axiomatically? 77?

Steve spies the Hispanic bartender’s name tag. “Ángela, have you ever heard the English word ‘eudaimonia’?”

“Yes, sir. It’s actually of Greek origin.” Woah!

“Correct,” Steve confirms. “I’m very impressed. Hellenic studies?”

“Just a hobby. I like doing research on the later phase of Greece. Though, it gets tragic. The decline. And then Rome wins out. It’s over. And then it happens to the Romans.”

“Timing is everything!” exclaims a handsome, now-entering-the-scene, sprightful lad named Mark.

another pSecret pSociety pshort pstory



Zoar Gap Trap by Mike Bozart (Agent 33) | mid-August 2024