My Stool

When I was about 17, I spent
some time in Nepal. I didn't
have any money, but then
you really don't need any
in Nepal. I was walking with
a few friends and a couple of
Nepali guides in the low hills,
low meaning maybe 12,000 feet.
Already, after only a couple
of months, I could speak Nepali
fairly well, much better than
any other foreigners I knew.
That fact made me a little
cocky; I got to thinking I
understood the ways of
the country better than
the others too. So I didn't
think twice one morning
when I woke up early and
walked up hill to move
my bowels. A steady diet
of rice and lentils has
a way of keeping a person
almost unnaturally regular.
Or maybe it's the essence of
naturally regular. I didn't
stop to ponder the location
of my deposit. It was just
off the trail up a steep hill
from the shack where we had
stayed the night. I joined
the others for breakfast
(rice and lentils of course).
We discussed where we were
headed next. Oh my, I thought.
We're headed up the hill.
Stupid. I should have known.
And so we set out. As we
passed my stool, which
appeared quite fresh and
recent, a few of the others
looked back at me, knowing
I was the only one who'd gone
uphill that morning.
I think it was only
the Americans who thought
poorly of me for it.
The Nepali fellows were thinking,
"So someone shit by the path.
Big deal. It happens."
Indeed. Shit happens.

(2008)