"Essence of a Memory"

“Essence of a Memory”
property of D. Ogden

Burt just stood there. On a regular day he would be verbalizing one liners from the 50’s one after another. Burt’s jokes aren’t always funny but we all indulge him. I suspect in his day Burt was quite the man. I say this because he tells me stories about his life with his Father . The kindness his Father showed to many a young man needing refuge. I often wondered about Burt himself. What was his life like? For now he is older possibly in his seventies and working in the warehouse at the Newspaper Office. Now and again Burt will help me lift the heavy bundles. He is the only one that offers that courtesy. You see times have changed. But Burt didn’t. Manners still abound in his life along with the bad jokes and scoffing his feet when he walks. He combs his hair like “The Fonz.” Gray as it is with a tad of a curl and a bit of what might be “Grease!” Burt carries that old Dean Martin look.
I came into the warehouse as usual the other day. Loading bundles for my courier route. The huge room was dead silent which is not the norm. No young men blasting through on their boy toy forklifts honking before and after they pass, going a speed unlawful to any Union. No phones, no warehouse doors going up or down, no semi drivers looking for the right door to leave their load. Only me in the silence and cold of a February morning in Wisconsin.
Not long into the silence I felt a presence in the room. I turned to reach for a bundle and there stood Burt in the shadows. He didn’t utter a word like the usual Burt. I felt a touch of discomfort until he spoke. A quiet soft gentle voice said, “You smell very fresh. You smell like the morning fresh and nice.” Then he just continued to stand there for a moment longer. No jokes, no further sounds. I saw a presence of many moments of his life standing with him.
I said, “Thank You Burt.” And he walked his six foot five inch frame slowly away. There was more to this moment in time than the perfume I received for Christmas from my Mother. Burt’s words and facial expression were of soft memories. Maybe the memory of his sweet Mother. Or his Grandmother both long passed on. A girlfriend or a wife? The soft touch of a woman I presume. The word fresh kept coming to me all day. Fresh. Burt wasn’t jolly and amusing as usual. He was remembering a time or more than one time in his life that was new and fresh. Clean and kind. Giving and gentle. Young again. I gave Burt something that day no one else could. I say that because I believe the Universe set up that perfect moment. It gave Burt a rekindled memory of times gone but everlasting. The smell of ink, the dust, the broken stacked pallets, the papers disheveled about. Oil spilled over from an old machine. None was noticed that morning. The Universe had given Burt a moment in time all for himself. And given me an opportunity to share some special memories from the mind and life of a kind old man