Surrealistic Westerns

If you are anything like me, you are tired of turning on the news and hearing about how chaotic the world is becoming. My last few posts have been on the more serious side. Therefore, I thought I’d lighten the mood today and share a short story I wrote several years ago. All of the names have been omitted to protect the innocent. What follows is a slightly modified version of the original story. All of the details are true.

The last few days have been pretty surreal. I came home sick with the flu on Thursday. My stomach was so upset. It felt as if someone had been twisting my intestines into knots. I slept for about 17 hours off and on between Thursday afternoon and into Friday morning.

Most of the day Friday was spent in front of the television, although I did venture out to the store once. Who knew going to the store took so much strength? Once I got back home I felt like I had just made my way up Mt. Kilimanjaro. I definitely was in need of more rest.

I then woke up Saturday morning and did what most people would do after nearly dying from the flu. I went to a funeral. The grandmother of one of my closest friends had passed away. His grandmother’s dog was in attendance, which I found rather touching. My friend’s uncle did not dissapoint either, as he was dressed in blue jeans that he was having trouble keeping up above his waist. This particular uncle is known for wearing blue jeans to most functions. In fact, he often sports a pair of blue jean cutoffs while out and about.

After the service at the funeral home was over, I attended the graveside service, which unbeknownst to me, was in a town about 15 miles from home. So, I joined the funeral procession as it snaked its way across two towns. On the way some tumbleweed came blowing across the street, which is a rare sight in this area. It made me feel as if I was in a Spaghetti Western. The only thing missing was Clint Eastwood chomping on a cigar. Eventually, we made it to the gravesite, where we stayed for no more than five minutes. It was a magical, mystery funeral, that is the only way to describe this event.

After the funeral was over I broke out in a cold sweat because the flu still had its hellacious grip on my body. So I did what all people in my condition would have done, I went and had the oil changed in my car.

I then came home and had a long talk with the guy who had been fixing my computer, as it had become infected with a virus. He was there to deliver it to me. With my computer and I on the mend, I was feeling deliriously happy. On second thought, I might have just been plain delirious. After the computer repairman left I went outside to clean up the yard.

As I was outside picking up twigs, I looked up only to see an umbrella blowing down the road. I once again felt like I was trapped inside a Western film. One based on a painting by the Belgian Surrealist artist Magritte. I would have much preffered more tumbleweed. At least that would have been more in keeping with the theme of the rest of this influenza fueled weekend.