Like an old western

A humid summer evening, at least by Portland standards. He stands in the neighbor’s yard, calling out insults that morph into threats. The streets have cleared like an old western. Eyes peer out of windows, hoping to see but not be seen. He demands justice for his offended child; someone must pay. Like a bull anxious to charge, he looks to find his enemy. He snorts and paces. The sun settles behind roofs and trees. Onlookers lose interest and fade away into the night. Darkness overwhelms the neighborhood. He slips home and downs a few before falling asleep on the couch.

expectations

This isn’t what I expected. First, I was sure it wouldn’t happen to me. I’ve always been sharp, quick witted. Second, by its own nature this should blind me to the reality. Ignorance is supposed to be bliss. Wrong again. It’s here and I know it. What do I do? Skirt the edges and "fake it" as long as I can? Go to the doc and seek treatment? Tell someone, everyone?

What if they already know? What if I’m some fool, the last to know. What if they’ve been graciously whispering behind my back, kindly letting me live in my dreams?

Before mid-terms

Called a genius, he skipped middle school and breezed through high school. Got straight As, of course, and a perfect SAT score.

Began college at fifteen; St. Andrew’s, a previously religious school, not too far from home. His goofy glasses and greasy hair only overemphasized his inability to fit in. The first week, he missed half his meals and classes. He was usually lost in the library. Couldn’t find his dorm room on Friday night, so he wandered in the rain. He was taken to the infirmary the next day and diagnosed with pneumonia. He died and was buried before mid-terms.

Hatred Owned My Brother

The divide was as deep and perilous as any I’ve seen. Hatred owned my brother’s soul. He burned to make our mother pay for the pain she’d sent his way. We never knew what evil drove him to obsessively plot his revenge. On Christmas Eve, days after turning eighteen, he announced he was joining the Army and going to war. That holy night was our parents’ twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. He knew this was the perfect day for betrayal. And he was almost right; yet it paled to the anguish she felt fifteen months later meeting his flag-draped coffin at the airport.

Hatred Owned My Brother

The divide was as deep and perilous as any I’ve seen. Hatred owned my brother’s soul. He burned to make our mother pay for the pain she’d sent his way. We never knew what evil drove him to obsessively plot his revenge. On Christmas Eve, days after turning eighteen, he announced he was joining the Army and going to war. That holy night was our parents’ twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. He knew this was the perfect day for betrayal. And he was almost right; yet it paled to the anguish she felt fifteen months later meeting his flag-draped coffin at the airport.

The fall chill

As the sun dipped below the horizon, a fall chill filled the kitchen. They stood looking anywhere but at each other. He with his back to the empty child’s room. She near the sink, wishing for dishes to wash or another distraction. The wooden frame of the screen door tapped steadily in the breeze.

She spoke.

Why?

Who knows?

You promised.

We were kids.

We could try again?

Too hard.

Silence drew any remaining life out of the room. It’s impossible to know which was more hollow: his eyes or her tears. He was out the door. She heard the car.