The Dead and Dying
“If I’m honest, Ansel, I don’t want to care. I want to say I don’t care at all. Hearing you say this doesn’t bother me. My father being sick didn’t buckle my knees beneath me. Hearing he was alive did. Not because I’m happy. Because he doesn’t deserve it.”
The Dinner
There is a quiet, wise dignity to a dying woman, as if their final act of love is the benevolence to those they share their final days with. Women like my mother and Annie are like calm water to those of us still caught up in the rapids of the demand of time. Tasks stretch out before us, and we forget to be kind and still. When a person is dying and the tasks left are few, they set out a ripple of peace that reaches those of us who have yet to experience the relief of death. There is no question about it, I am eager to be by Annie’s side this evening, even if I have to suffer Conrad to do it.
Forgiveness
Imelda is silent and it feels like weighty rejection, or disgust. I can’t even look her in the eye. Maybe I’ll never be able to look her in the eye again. She knows the least damning thing about me is that I don’t have my chip. She knows the most damning thing about me is that I’m capable of failure. I’m capable of touching death. I’m capable of existing when I don’t deserve it. The only comfort to what feels like a sunburn in my gut, is that she can never ever hate me more than I hate myself. I feel suspended between my self hatred, my sadness, my desire to be more, and the resignation that I shouldn’t bother. It feels as if someone has tied each of my limbs to a different horse that run in different directions. What I know for certain is that the horse carrying the hatred is the strongest and fastest of them all. He always wins.
The Farm
We stand there, silent thunder between us, for what seems like an eternity until the tightness in Conrad’s jaw relaxes slightly. He turns on his heel, and I follow him. Not because he has asked me to, but because I know this dance from living with Ansel. Men like Conrad, and like Ansel, command with their presence, not with their mouths. You anticipate what they need or what they want, and you act.
A Close Call
Imelda isn’t looking at me, but as the light filters in against her, I swear she reminds me of a lighthouse. Her entire person feels like a call to safety even as waves are crashing against her. She’s better than me, which is not a hard feat, but for some reason knowing that she is fills me with angst. I open my mouth to speak, but nothing is coming out. Internally, I beg her to say something to me, to put me out of my misery. She doesn’t come to my rescue though. She only sighs at me with a look of disappointment and walks down the ramp into the sunlight. Clearly, I’m not one of the ships in her eyes. I imagine myself sinking into the ocean as her light skips over the waves, leaving me to my fate.
The Storm
For some reason that I cannot begin to fathom, I tell Ansel, “I had a baby brother, and he would do the same thing. When he didn’t get his way, he would act up. I remember cleaning up a lot of his messes.”
Ansel stiffens slightly and sadness washes over his face. “You….had a brother?”, he asks.
I search for an answer that doesn’t indict me, but all I can come up with is, “It was a really long time ago…before all…this.”
The Shed
Franky moves into Ansel’s shed and quickly finds out that there is more to Ansel than meets the eye.
“Believe it or not kid, I’ve lived a whole life. One that didn’t include selling street meat from a stall. At one time, I had a boat. I fished. That barometer may not be useful to me anymore, but it reminds me of who I used to be. And I think I need that sometimes”, his voice almost fades to a whisper.
Meet Franky
Franky is on the run
Father had prepared for this day. In the closet there is a loose floorboard. I use the palm of my hand to push the board a few millimeters to the side, and create enough space to get my thumbnail between them. I inch the board up just enough to get my fingers underneath, and I pull it up. Inside, there is a black duffle bag that father left for us. I unzip the bag and examine the contents. There are two flashlights, a rope, a knife, some dried fruit and nuts, and an envelope with three one dollar bills and a picture of Father, Joseph and myself. There is a small scrap of paper with one word on it: run. I replace the board, throw the bag over my shoulder, look at Joseph and say, “Time to go.”
His big eyes immediately answer my question, “Okay.”