On a late January morning, Fred and Oscar sat at their regular Wednesday table at Christo’s, each with a fresh cup of coffee in front of him.
“Well, whaddya you think, Fred?” asked Oscar, breaking the silence.
“About what?” Fred put down his coffee and looked at is old friend.
“About the meeting the other night?”
“What am I supposed to think about it?”
“Hell, I don’t know what you’re supposed to think about it, I wanna know what you do think about it,” said Oscar.
“Well, to tell you the truth, I was a little surprised that you stood up and shot off your mouth.”
Oscar smiled. “Sometimes you gotta do that, Fred. Sometimes you gotta stand up and say what you think. Let folks know where you stand.”
“Oscar, you can’t hardly stand without a cane. Ain’t you a little too old to be saying what you think?”
“Old? No, I’m not too old to say what I think. More old people ought to do that: let the younger folks know that we old timers got experience, that we’ve been around the tree a couple times and have learned a few things because of it.”
Fred took another drink of his coffee, contemplating what Oscar had just said.
Oscar continued, “It’s one of the things wrong in our society these days—everybody thinks the young people have got all the ideas, have figured out where things are headed, and wanna let you believe they know how to move into the future. I’m not sayin’ we shouldn’t listen to these young folks; we should. But they ought to listen to us, too. There ought to be a mix of ideas comin’ from all directions.”
“So whaddya think of what old Shotgun had to say about not eatin’ meat?”
“I think he’s got a point. Yes, I do. And by golly, he’s got a right to express it too. You notice that reporter guy, that Josh somebody, picked up on what Shotgun said and wrote about it in the newspaper today?”
“Yup, I did see that,” said Fred. “Can’t see it happenin’ though. People been eating meat since they lived in caves.”
“How do you know that?”
“Know what?”
“That people ate meat when they lived in caves.”
“I just do. Read it in a book when I was in second grade.”
“You could read when you were in second grade?”
“You damn betcha I could, and I remembered stuff too.” Fred touched the side of his head as he spoke.
“So where do you come down on the idea of a big hog farmer comin’ into our valley?”
“Ain’t thought about it much.”
“Why not?” asked Oscar.
“Why not what?”
“Why haven’t you thought about it?”
“Other things to think about. Lots of other things to consider,” said Fred.
“Like what?”
“Well, my arthritis has been kicking up lately. Been thinkin’ about that. Been thinkin’ about getting old—been thinkin’ about that a lot.”
“Good God, Fred, you gotta get your mind away from arthritis and worrying about gettin’ old. You should think about something else. Something important.”
“Arthritis and gettin’ old are pretty damn important to me.”
Oscar sipped his coffee and didn’t say anything for a half minute or so.
Fred broke the silence. “So you agree with me that I got other things more important to think about than a bunch of smelly hogs comin’ into the valley.”
“I didn’t say that,” said Oscar, picking up his coffee cup.
“So what are sayin’, then? Just what are you sayin’?” Fred raised his voice a little.
“You don’t have to yell. I ain’t deaf,” Oscar said quietly.
“I ain’t yellin’, I’m just wondering what you’re drivin’ at.”
Oscar put down his coffee cup and looked Fred straight in the eye. “Are you for or against this big hog operation comin’ into our valley?”
“I figure it ain’t none of my business,” said Fred.
“None of your business?” Now Oscar raised his voice.
“That’s what I said. Now if I was to stand up and say what I think, people are gonna call me and write to me and put my name in the paper. I don’t need that kind of attention, I just wanna live what I got left of my life by myself, without anybody botherin’ me. I don’t want anybody messin’ in my business, and I figure I shouldn’t be messin’ in anybody else’s.”
“So you don’t care that when you wake up in the morning all you can smell is pig manure? You don’t care about that, huh?”
“I don’t wanna smell pig manure when I wake up in the morning.”
“So, you do have an opinion on the matter.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Sounded like you said that.”
“Well I didn’t.”
“Know what, Fred?” Oscar hesitated for a moment before he continued. He didn’t want to criticize his friend, but then he thought, Why not, and he continued.
“Do you know that you are a middle-of-the-roader?” said Oscar.
“What does that mean?”
“It means you sit right in the middle of road, trying not to take on a position on either side.”
“Expect that’s right.”
“Know what happens to middle-of-the-roaders?”
“What?” asked Fred. He took another sip of coffee.
“They get run over by traffic goin’ in both directions.”
Fred laughed. “I ain’t been run over yet.”
“Know what else?”
“What else?”
“People who don’t stand up and say their piece when decisions are being made have no right to shoot off their mouths when they don’t like what happens.”
“Why not?”
“’Cause they didn’t have guts enough to stand up and say what they thought when the idea was bein’ discussed.”
Fred drained the last drop from his coffee cup, stood up, and put on his John Deere cap.
“I gotta be goin’,” he said. “See you around.” He walked toward the door of Christo’s, leaving Oscar alone with a half cup of cold coffee.