Month: November 2018

Anyone else watching wouldn’t have noticed at first, he was so practiced at the game. If they had followed him for a block or two, studying his movements, they might have caught on and thought he was crazy, the way he took careful steps, walking at angles while still moving forward. The police had stopped him once and asked him if he was intoxicated. He’d smiled and explained how he was playing at a child’s game.

He was no child. Those years were long since passed, and he was well into the fall of his life. His leathery face was a deep brown, the color of the leaves that dotted the ground and which he tried to avoid crunching as he walked.

It was a foolish game he’d played while walking home from school as a child, trying to make as little noise as possible. They had learned how Indians walked in silence through the woods and he was eager to practice ways to avoid being noticed.

That was years ago. He smiled at the memory as he felt the aches of oncoming winter creak through his body. The years had taken some of the spring from his step, but every now and then, when he wanted to disappear, he’d play at the game.

Summer had thought him foolish when he explained the game to her. She asked why he wouldn’t grow up. He’d told her he didn’t want to become old before his time. She’d shaken her head at him, but smiled.

She was gone now, a sad reminder, along with the snowy color of his hair, that winter was coming.

He knew the change in seasons was inevitable as was the passing of time, but he still clung to the game and the youthful joy it brought him.

She was an impossible woman to love. She was so unresponsive to it; it was even difficult to like her. She gave little and expected so much. The only feeling any of us had towards her was indifference.

She’d lived a hard life; smoked hard, drank hard and had a voice hard as iron. She’d dress you down for saying hello if she hadn’t been into the bottle yet.

It was hard to say what she was hiding from. Ma said she’d had a tough upbringing, a difficult relationship with her folks. That might have worked for some, but it felt like an excuse.

When the news came that her liver was failing, it wasn’t a surprise. It felt like news that was known before it made the paper. She always had something mixed in with her Diet Coke. At every family gathering, she’d head outside to smoke and reload her Coke. Ma called it a coping mechanism. We didn’t know what that meant, but it sounded like another excuse.

She loved us in her way; cold cards at Christmas or digital happy birthdays. She always showed up too, for any event. She was the first to leave, but she would show up. Once we’d established her limitations, we almost felt loved.

We all showed up for her funeral. Wedging in to the small room to hear the forced remembrances of a few friends and family members. It was nice.

It wasn’t until later anyone felt her loss. Now there was presence missing from the family. It gave everyone pause. We thought about getting older, and the lives we wanted to lead.

Ma said at the end Aunt Lute realized maybe she’d burned too many bridges, and she’d wished she’d done a few things in other ways.

She gave us that.

The digital displayed blinked a neon green 4:00 am at him, as “Better Man” began to play gently. He tapped snooze and rolled over wondering why he hadn’t chosen “Black.” It sounded more conducive to sleep, and that’s what he wanted.

He spun back over and hit the button to turn the alarm off. Knowing the snooze would only last two minutes, and what was the point?

He slid from beneath the covers; the carpet scratchy on his toes. He wondered why he hadn’t ripped it up as he grabbed what he needed for the gym.

The bathroom lights brought him into sharp review. A single gray hair was cutting a crooked path down his right temple. He wondered if this would have been easier when he was younger?

His coworkers thought he was crazy for being up this early. He always told them he had things to do, but he often wondered if it was worth the dark pockets that formed below his eyes. None of the articles he’d read had mentioned those.

His ankles popped on each step as he descended into the lighted darkness of the living room. He’d given up on trying to be silent years before. It didn’t matter now anyway.

He put the water on for tea and turned his laptop on, hoping today would be the day. He cracked the blinds so a sliver of moonlight would break through. It was how he preferred to search, in the quiet, before the rest of the world was awake.

He would try for a couple of hours before he went to the gym. Maybe today he would find her again. At worst, he’d be further ahead for being up so early.

Brain awake, he began to search the keys for the thread of her.