Grounds Keeping: The Idleness is Full of God’s Activity
Fox Rinne What were they then that are what they are now —A. R. Ammons, Garbage #2
FALL I started the groundskeeper job in the fall. A lot changed quickly. I was getting up at 5 A.M., I was losing a lot of sleep, I was in the men’s locker room, trying to pass as a man among men for the first time. I felt like anything I did could be a slip up. I kept to myself for a long time. Some just thought I was really young. There was a wide distance between my work self and my other self. At night, I would stare down that long hallway of routine— the two trains waiting for me in the morning, the gray tunnels, the men I was hiding between, the certain man I had to be to keep being a man. I joined the procession of sleeping construction workers in the morning. Reflective chests, worn boots, open slack mouths, crossed arms like fathers who fell asleep in front of the TV. The train would click over the bridge with the moon still up, still full. Mostly, we kept sleeping. I recognized one guy because he got off a few stops into my ride, and I could always take his good seat on the end. I wondered if he recognized me too, other half of the trade.