Saturday, October 28, 2006
time stand still
Yeah right, like that's gonna happen.
"To pass an evening with a drink and a friend. . ." - Neil Peart
That is what I am trying to do right now.
Monday night I awoke from a nightmare with a jolt that to this day I do not recall. I only remember The Wife telling me on Tuesday how I suddenly sat up from sound sleep gripping the sheets, frightened and tense. She told me I said that I was fine and didn't want to talk about it. Almost as suddenly I lay back down, curled up in her comforting embrace and went back to sleep.
It was most likely a visit from you. After all, it was your birthday. You should have, would have been 40, you bastard.
Every other night this week has brought a visit from you in my dreams. Some are happy, some are sad, some are memory, some are fantasy. And always, you come with him. The two of you are inevitably and eternally intertwined by the choice you made.
So yeah, to some extent, I guess I am cursed to be a victim of your bad decisions.
So on this night, as The Wife and The Boy slumber, I find myself sitting outside in the cool darkness of autumn, sipping a single malt and smoking a Camel, trying to exercise and exorcise your demons.
The changing of the season brings with it changes of memory. Memories of fun in the sun give way to memories of new school years, both high school and college. The two of you were always there. You both still are.
It's kinda funny, ya know.
It is in some way cruelly ironic that I have spent more time with you in the year and a half or so after your deaths than I did in the last couple years of your tragically short lives.
The irony lies in the guilt I feel.
I can't help but to think all those thoughts of the times I coulda, woulda, should've called or something, just to say "hello" or to catch up and fill in the blank spaces in as we grew up and inevitably moved forward with our lives in somewhat divergent directions.
Could I have made a difference? If only I took a moment from my self-absorption and picked up the gawddamned phone could I, would I, be sitting here now drinking with you instead of drinking alone with your memories?
Or am I just blowing smoke out my ass right now?
|
"To pass an evening with a drink and a friend. . ." - Neil Peart
That is what I am trying to do right now.
Monday night I awoke from a nightmare with a jolt that to this day I do not recall. I only remember The Wife telling me on Tuesday how I suddenly sat up from sound sleep gripping the sheets, frightened and tense. She told me I said that I was fine and didn't want to talk about it. Almost as suddenly I lay back down, curled up in her comforting embrace and went back to sleep.
It was most likely a visit from you. After all, it was your birthday. You should have, would have been 40, you bastard.
Every other night this week has brought a visit from you in my dreams. Some are happy, some are sad, some are memory, some are fantasy. And always, you come with him. The two of you are inevitably and eternally intertwined by the choice you made.
So yeah, to some extent, I guess I am cursed to be a victim of your bad decisions.
So on this night, as The Wife and The Boy slumber, I find myself sitting outside in the cool darkness of autumn, sipping a single malt and smoking a Camel, trying to exercise and exorcise your demons.
The changing of the season brings with it changes of memory. Memories of fun in the sun give way to memories of new school years, both high school and college. The two of you were always there. You both still are.
It's kinda funny, ya know.
It is in some way cruelly ironic that I have spent more time with you in the year and a half or so after your deaths than I did in the last couple years of your tragically short lives.
The irony lies in the guilt I feel.
I can't help but to think all those thoughts of the times I coulda, woulda, should've called or something, just to say "hello" or to catch up and fill in the blank spaces in as we grew up and inevitably moved forward with our lives in somewhat divergent directions.
Could I have made a difference? If only I took a moment from my self-absorption and picked up the gawddamned phone could I, would I, be sitting here now drinking with you instead of drinking alone with your memories?
Or am I just blowing smoke out my ass right now?
|
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