More Bull in the Forest. Or Not.

Knock on the door. It's early for me; I haven't even finished half a cup of coffee. Figure it's a delivery person. Who else comes here unannounced.

Guy standing there. Vaguely recognize him. Remember the water was shut off, when I awakened. Had to swish my mouth clean with only dental rinse. Good thing the kettle was still half full.

Ask the guy whether he's going to turn on the water. Hope he's the right person to ask. Realize I've seen him maybe three or four times in a year, and am usually wearing a thin cotton nightgown. Today, I am wearing a thin cotton nightgown. Sigh.

He says there is work being done to repair a leak. The water will be back on soon. Good, he's apparently the right guy to ask.

Then he's holding up a neon orange sheet of paper.

"There's a boil warning," he tells me.

I pause. "A what?"

"Boil warning."

"Oh," I laugh. "I thought you said 'bull warning.' I moved here from the West, so it almost made sense, for a minute."

He chuckles. Waits for me to gather the sense to open the screen and take the paper.

I read the advisory. Have that recurrent strange sensibility at receiving paperwork written in English only, here. This one has a single paragraph in Spanish. I only notice because it's so poorly written. "BOIL WATER BEFORE USING," the words try to say. The paragraph finishes, in choppy Spanish, "Translate it or talk with someone who understands it better." Seriously. I'm thinking class action suit, before I remember where I am and the demographics of the place. Okay then.

Could be bacteria in the water, paper reads. In English. Scan memory for anything involving water, today. Boiled what was in the kettle. Did not put tap water in my mouth. Little one and I always drink bottled water. No ice cubes used today. Check.

Return to thinking about the necessity of a "bull advisory." Try to imagine why, really, that could possibly make sense. Even in the West.

Recall an afternoon when we were living on the edge of a State Park. Our backyard opened onto popular hiking trails. One afternoon, my omnipresent ex/best friend/children's co-parent comes down from the foothills, breathlessly telling me a woman wants us to call the ranger station, because there's a mare on the trail.

"A mayor?" I question, wondering why my ex/best-friend/children's co-parent is always so impressed with celebrity . . . and why anyone would want us to alert the ranger over a politician. "What's the problem with a mayor being on the trail?"

"I dunno," she answers, pausing to reflect. "Maybe it's a wild horse, and the woman thinks it's dangerous?" We both start smiling in that way which means we're about to break into laughter no one else ever understands, because we're continuing the conversation in our heads to its most absurd conclusion.

"No, a bear!" a voice shrieks behind us. We both turn to look at the panicked woman who is still insisting someone call the ranger . . . and now, I know why.

My ex/best friend/children's co-parent is a carpenter with some hearing loss due to industrial deafness. I understand her hearing "mare" rather than "bear."

For me, it's a question of interpretation. I come from a major metropolitan city; it's natural for me to think "mayor" rather than "mare."

I've never had a "boil warning." No idea why my mind translated that to "bull warning," as if that ever made more sense.

Individual interpretation.

Go figure.

I text message Pam about the boil warning.

"Lucky you have a water crock and a fine, handsome butch to bring you refills," she writes.

"No bull," I answer.

~Emmanuela