7.25.2006

Raincheck for Ray Bradbury


I invited Ray Bradbury to dinner once.

I was a 22 year old unwed mother, college dropout, convenience store clerk, and part time student at a local community college. I was a young woman with leaky breasts, a chip on my shoulder, the epitome of Wasted Potential, manning the cash register of a store that sold mostly beer, gas, and cigarettes. I hated the job and resented the minimum wage paycheck, but I enjoyed the opportunity it gave to meet some interesting characters.

I was propped against the clerks counter one warm day, when a scrawny, kind faced, toothless and bald old man walked in the door with a Scandinavian Adonis. While they waited for some customers to clear out, the Adonis surveyed the store items with a gaze of complete detachment. The old man introduced himself to me by his real name (which I no longer remember), and began asking me about the local area, in particular, the hills north of the small Colorado town where I lived. I wasn't able to give him much valuable information, but we got on the topic of Colorado history, which I had taken in college and enjoyed. He said he and the Adonis (a Dane, I believe) were researching some mysterious circumstances involving two of their respective ancestors. Apparently they had partnered on a mining claim north of the town long ago, and had either vanished or been murdered, though my memory of the story is now unclear.

We chatted for quite a number of minutes about the town, and I recommended some local restaurants to them. I also invited them to drop by my home for dinner, if they liked. They accepted. We talked about education, fiction, favorite writers, and science fiction. Shortly after this, he admitted to me that he was actually more than a researcher, he was actually a writer. Perhaps I had heard of him? The name he had given me was a real one, but he wrote under the pseudonym of Ray Bradbury.

I remember feeling as if the floor had dropped out from under me, and my face had to have turned 10 shades of red, because I could feel the blood pumping into my ears so fiercely I'm sure they could have heard it. I wanted to disbelieve him, and perhaps he realized that because he said, very gently.. 'You wouldn't recognize me from the publicity photos on my book jackets, because they take them while I have on a wig, false teeth and other glasses.'

It wasn't the man's fame that had shaken me so deeply, it was more that he was a WRITER, and a writer whom I greatly admired that put me into a panicked frame of mind. And I had invited this man and his traveling companion to my home!

After giving them directions to my house, they departed to go explore more of the town. I begged my boss to let me go home early so that I could find some food (other than homemade baby food, popcorn and Ramen noodles, that is). Long story short, she was unimpressed by the stature of my guest, had never heard of him, and she refused to give me the rest of the shift off.

Something happened in the hours that followed, and it is something I have never been able to sufficiently explain to myself. I went straight from work to the local library and checked out every Ray Bradbury book they had, from Something Wicked This Way Comes to Martian Chronicles and Fahrenheit 451. I headed home, sent the babysitter packing, and headed upstairs to our tiny attic bedroom with my son and the stack of books in tow. Then... I fell asleep, baby on tummy, book in hand.

That evening, I was startled out of a deep sleep by a knocking at my door. I was disoriented at first, but then reality hit.. and I realized that Ray Bradbury (himself!) was at my door. I had hospitality duties to fulfill, and had slept through the preparations. Now this is the part that I still try to dissect.. and still cannot fathom all that was going through my mind, though I remember some of the internal dialogue:

1) My house is shabby, I have no furniture.
2) I have no proper food.
3) I can't interact with this man knowing now how important and influential he is.
4) I won't be able to hide my hunger for what he could potentially do for me, if he chose. (maybe a job? education?)

Along with the negative voices.. there were positive ones striving to be heard:

1) You invited these people to your home, they would not have come if they didn't enjoy your company.
2) You are an intelligent person, and you were capable of conversing with him before you knew who he really was.
3) He may give you unparalleled advice, on a variety of topics.
4) He may be capable of helping you find decent employment, somewhere, somehow.
5) You have the opportunity to entertain a person of staggering intellect, who has a deep empathy for mankind and a love of science and knowledge.
But..

I convinced myself to stay right where I was: crouching, undignified, holding my breath in silence and praying my baby wouldn't wake up and give me away. The voices argued in my head, tears ran down my cheeks, all the while they continued to patiently knock and wait for me to open my door to them. I believe they waited a good 15 minutes before finally leaving. I peeked out the attic window and saw that even while they were slowly driving away, they were watching the door of the house to see if it would open. I sobbed all that evening, and spent the next day in a fog of loss.

I've admitted to 'meeting' a famous person a couple of times, and when asked and I admit that it was Ray Bradbury, generally it doesn't impress anyone. Among those who might be impressed, even awed, I steer clear of the story completely, because I've never wanted to admit how badly I blew it.

It was a very big deal to me at one time. Still is, though the reasons have changed over the years. I was honored to have met him, I do regret that I lacked the self esteem, maturity and courage to invite him into my house.

These days.. I'm still broke, I still don't keep 'company' grade food around the house.. but I have become less self-conscious, less introverted. I wouldn't be ashamed to invite anyone into my home, even if all I had on hand was popcorn and Ramen noodles.

I've figured out that the only things that truly matter in my life are the relationships I have with other people. I'm sorry that I missed a wonderful opportunity to get to know the man behind the amazing stories I've loved for so long. When I read his books today, I still feel a tiny sting of regret, though it's soothed somewhat by the thought that he would definitely have understood my behavior, and might have tried to alleviate my discomfort had he known.

If I had it to do over, I'd choke that negative voice and invite Mr. Bradbury and friend right in, shabby house be damned! I'd offer them a glass of ice water, put on some music and start making a batch of popcorn. I'd forget about worries over the future and hopeful expectations, and just enjoy the company.

Mr. Bradbury.. if you ever read this, the rain check still stands.

7.16.2006

Cop says legalize, not decriminalize.

Norm Stamper was chief of the Seattle Police Department from 1994 - 2000. He is the author of 'Breaking Rank.'

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