The Long Short

I imagine a dying man wonders how he got there.

He lays in his bed thinking “Damn that was too fast.”  He laughs about the tragedies and cries about the comedies.

He thinks about the par 3 he clunked off that house.  He remembers that night with his friends where he embarrassed himself and his friends never stop telling the tale.  He pauses to wonder if that bartender actually loved him or were those just her eyes?

He contemplates his decision-making.  Was Texas the right call right then?  Why did Lake Erie call his name?  Did staying make any fucking sense after all?

He ruminates over the love of his life.  He knows there can be only one.  He is certain of nothing else.  He shares this fact with a few trusted confidantes.

He’ll never forget hanging his legs out the back of the bed of his brother’s truck.  Cigarette dangling from his lips, beer in his hand, surrounded by his brothers.  Laughing about the absurdity of that final out.  How did Jake catch that damn thing?

He has not thought about his bank account since he buried her four months ago.  His son asks “What about the house, pop?”  He chuckles softly.

Son, the house is just lumber and some odds and ends.  The house is a thing; the home is us.  Don’t worry about that.

He wonders what the end is actually going to feel like.  He knows it’s going to be okay.  Everything is always okay.  It’s just a wonder.

He remembers his first day of school.  He remembers his first bee sting.  He remembers kissing a pretty girl.  He forgets being bullheaded arguing with that guy in Poughkeepsie before the fight.  He barely forgets jail.  That cop deserved it.

He wakes startled the morning it ends.  His son beside him.  His wife waiting for him.  He remembers running ice cold laps around the neighborhood surrounding his parents’ house ages ago.  Just cause.  He remembers buying a bag of weed from Tyler that one summer before the thunderstorm.  Burning that couch at Shane’s.  He remembers having a Christmas party with everyone.  He remembers proposing to his wife.

He remembers just missing the setting sun. Wiping tears out of her eyes.  He looks up one last time.  He sees it all.  Understands less.  Accepts more.  And goes to sleep.

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