I wish I remembered his name…

Posted on Posted in Fiction

“Let me tell you something, son. And this is something you can tell everyone in one of your stories. I’m no hobgoblin, see: just an old black man with more years behind him than forward. Hell of thing being a man in this day. Nothing seems worth fighting for anymore and every direction you turn you can taste the sadness all over.” He coughed. “I love my wife. Loved her since the first time I put my eyes on her. It was all so easy, her and me. I could tell you good stories. The kids are all grown and now it is just her and me again. Sad and nice like. I work hard so we can move to Florida. I want to retire. I want to spend more time with her. You understand that. Every night I get into bed with her, I know that someday this is going to end. The good things never last as long as you want them to. The kids grow up and leave. The woman you love turns old. Nothing you can do to stop it. Like trying to beat a river with your fists. That is how I see it: like a river rising on you. Flooding everything you know and love. You can fight it all you want. Break every bone in your body. Give up and drown if you like. Or you can swim.”

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *