The guy in the book Jill had thrust at him, touching his arm and gushing about the profundity, had incurable something-or-other and was running around apologizing to the world, his mother, his boss, his sock drawer, and embarking on meaningful talks at twilight with his lover, revealing the pain and anguish that made him into the dismissive man he’d been up until this point.
He put the book down and sat up a little, rifling his pocket to find another cigarette. Lighting it, he lay back down on the green grass of the park. If he looked straight up there was the rigid twist of tree branches, rich with the complacent green of mid-summer. Frisbee players were over in one direction and parents walked slowly with a toddling child in the other. Dogs barked this way and that as dogs always do on sunny days. A beetle struggled up the rough bark of the tree.
He imagined someone walking up to him right now, lying here on the grass, breathing in the mix of clean air and nicotine, and stating, “This is it. This is all you got. Make it count.” Maybe a black-suited mobster kind of guy, short and thick with dark brows and an intense stare, sweaty and annoyed he’d had to walk so far in bright nature to deliver the words. He’d point a beefy finger at him and give the terse message. “Tomorrow you don’t exist, guy. Think about what you wanna do.”
Well, he wouldn’t quit smoking, that’s for sure. Another satisfying exhale and the smoke curled and drifted into the mosaic green and blue above. As for apologizing, sure there were people that deserved an apology from him. Annie for one, she definitely did. And Joe. And yeah, his mom. Who doesn’t need to apologize to his mom?
But what would that do for anyone? You tell them you’ve been a jerk, which they already know. Then you tell them you’re going to die so they have to forgive you. And then you die and don’t have to change or prove you were going to change and you leave them with a queasy satisfaction that doesn’t satisfy and probably just adds another layer of confusion to the mess that you left behind.
If the mobster guy pointed his apocalyptic finger at him, he’d say ‘okay’. Then he’d lie back down on the grass and watch how the sun filtered down through the leaves, deepening and changing as the hours progressed, bleeding away into twilight and then giving way to the deeper night with the stars all glowing out, one by one, through the creaking arms of the tree above. That was about all he could think of that would really be worth doing.
Hand resting on his chest, he settled into a sun-warmed doze. He had a feeling this thing with Jill was not going to work out.
3 comments:
cool!
I like this. When do we get more?
Thanks, guys! I'm going to shoot for once a month...try out having some writer's discipline and see what happens.
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