The Madman

I was sitting on a park bench with my aging mother who was also accompanied by her arthritis plagued friend from the home. They often spoke to each other in short converstions, each one followed by a long stretch of complete silence.

A homeless man walked by and was talking to himself. My mother's friend said that the man is in touch with the spirit world. I offered the opinion that there was a malfunction in his brain causing his waking life to be overlapped by dreams. I further suggested that neuronal paths were displacing chemicals that triggered chain reactions rather arbitrarily which compromised his volitional control. My mother said that my opinion smacks of rational idiocy and that I too, lived in a dream world of conceptualization. She said that the difference between me and the homeles man, at this moment, was a matter of degree, not of kind. Perhaps to mitigate the wallop of her opinion, she suggested that my rational placement was better than being a complete moron.

After some moments of silence, I told my mother that I felt beat up by her and that I felt cornered. She responded by patting my forearm several times and said that I am a good son.

The homeless man came directly to our bench after another moments silence. He looked dirctly at my mother and asked her if she was afraid to die. My mother said, "The woman that you asked the question to is already dead".