Call Me Dynamo

by Mic Mathis

I’ve been incredibly depressed lately, so on Tuesday I decided to do my “dynamo day.” My partnered therapist told me you should give everyone a fun nickname to get yourself out of your head. “Definitely do it with strangers. I called a guy ‘bro’ at the train station a month ago.” I wasn’t confident in it until I was driving home down the big highway. I passed a large billboard featuring a hip elephant riding a skateboard well in shimmering sunglasses. “Let’s Address The Dynamo In The Room” it said. I was so impressed I forgot what it was advertising. “Dynamo” I said to the windshield. “Everyone should feel like this.” 

At breakfast, I served my wife some eggs. “I got two cluckers here for a sexy dynamo!” She looked up from her business article. “What in God’s name are you on about?” Before I could let this harsh my vibe, I saw my son Ed readying two slices of rye for the toaster. “There he is! A dynamo ready to hit the books!” He lowered his sunglasses and looked at my wife/his mother. “I’m gonna be late actually” and took the untoasted bread out the door. 

After they left I thought about crying, but decided to get some errands going instead. I took my wife’s credit card to the grocery store to get some essentials. Sure enough, my favorite cashier Trish was at her post. “Light haul today. Looking for something to do, Ted?” I took a second. “Other than talk to a real dynamo like yourself?” She tucked her hands behind the counter. She would only speak again to tell me the price of the haul. 

As always, I was definitely doing something wrong. I made my way to the big highway and pulled over by the hip elephant. I felt as impressed as I did yesterday. What was missing? Before long, I locked eyes on his sunglasses. 

I drove to the high school and asked the front desk what class Ed might be in at this time. I walked into his Honors History class to find him and his classmates dressed in silly outfits. I asked his teacher if I could talk to him outside. 

“I need your shimmering sunglasses.”
“What in God’s name is this? And what was that whole ‘dynamo’ thing this morning?” “You’re angry. I get it. But you won’t be, just let me wear the shades. You’ll see.” “They’ll dock points. I’m Douglas MacArthur” 
“You can keep the pipe and the brown duds.” 

He handed me the sunglasses, but stopped before letting them go. “I’m not going to call Mom, but please call the doctor. I love you.” “I love you too,” I said. “But he’s a therapist, not a doctor.” 

I was so excited I went home immediately and waited at the dining table. Apparently it was six hours before she got home, but I was just staring at the wall! My wife walked in the door on her cell phone. I jumped up like a dog. “MY DYNAMO WIFE HAS RETURNED.” 

She stared at me with confusion as my son walked in the door, eyes to my shoes. She looked at him and sighed. “How did the presentation go?” 

“I failed.” 

The rest of the night I thought about how awful my therapist was.

Mic Mathis is a scribbler, soundgician, and tinkerer who runs very long distances for money.