I looked bleakly upon the desolate patches of dirt and weeds. It was a desolate stretch of rural Texas road where my dads pickup had rolled several times. Everybody's got to die sometime. Either you die suddenly on a lonely rural Texas road, or you die of ennui sitting around wondering when you are going to die. Waiting for something to happen.
I tell you it's no way to live.
Exactly 22 years to the day after my dads death I wondered if I was within site of my own pot of gold. Like so many before me when was I going to step on my rainbow?
I drove home and watched the city lights paint the dark velvet of night. I dialed my mothers' number. It was disconnected. I dialed my dads, number. It was disconnected.
My phone rang and the voice on the other end sounded very young.
I looked out my window and saw people walking by. The people seemed to cling to the shadows and the shadows seemed to cling to the people like heathens or whores or other biblical types. They huddled together beneath burned-out streetlights waiting for the sun to take them away.
The young voice brought me back to the present.
Tonight I felt rather disconnected myself.
Watching the slow decay, first written 2. Jan. 2009
4 months ago