THE PAINTER

 I usually type

on my keyboard,
but there are times
I'd rather take a pen
and flow across
the pages
in a notebook.
It's the closest
I'll ever be
to becoming
a painter.

A DYING FRIEND

A friend lies dying. Would my presence make any difference? As poets have implied on many occasions, death can be an inconvenience. I have a certain pattern to my life that doesn't respond well to disruption. I don't like to take time away from myself. When worse comes to worse, I can take a long afternoon nap.

Brownsville, after 45 years as a resident, is a ghostly place for me. Even the empty downtown buildings where there used to be laughter are haunted. I remember drinking with so-and-so at that empty lot on the corner and now both are gone, gone for years.

The last time I visited a dying friend he told me that he would be getting out of the hospital in a few days. He was dead within a few days. I might be bad luck for anyone who is holding on for dear life before he must commence his eternal sentence.

What do you tell a dying friend? Do you reminisce about the good ol' days? They were fun, but they were so many decades ago. 

I don't see many people anymore. I don't communicate with many people anymore. There are no nights drinking until the wee hours anymore. It's predominately family. And since I'm not smoking marijuana these days, I don't need to stop at a buddy's house for a hit or two anymore.

It's time to find a place by the sea. It's time to find a comfortable apartment with a balcony overlooking nature. It's time to concede that time is slowly consuming each of us, leaving only dust and bones when it is finished with us. Where once stood a handsome man or a beautiful woman, there is nothing but empty space stretching into infinity.

Should I tell my dying friend that the moment has come to let go? We should have known better than to fool ourselves into thinking that this pleasure would last forever. Rather than saying anything, would he desire one last touch before parting ways?

I would like to be there, but I can't summon the will. My mother was residing in California when both her parents died on separate occasions in her native Massachusetts. She didn't attend either of their funerals to the horror or her siblings. They didn't speak to her again. She didn't care. She said that she would rather spend the money on a weekend in Carmel or a stay in the wine country.

I probably won't go to her funeral either. She is right. I could better spend the money on an excursion elsewhere. And as to my friend, I wish him well on his journey. All of us will be joining him sooner or later.

YOU NEVER KNOW

We piled into the car--my wife, my step-daughter Sara and my son Hank--in the morning for the approximate five-hour drive to San Marcos. Hank wants to play Division I football. He'll be a senior next year and has led his team in receiving as well as kick returns for the last two seasons. He had an outstanding track season in which he won regionals in both the 100 and 200 and has been hitting the weights hard. At six-feet and 180 pounds, he believes he has the tools to be a successful slot receiver at the next level. 

The Texas State Bobcats have struggled as a Divisional I competitor and Hank feels he might have opportunities here that he might not have elsewhere. He wanted to check out the town and walk around the campus as well as inspect the stadium to satisfy his curiosity, which was a great idea because we were looking for an excuse to spend a few leisurely days in the Hill Country.

We weren't in a hurry and endured the boring drive through the King Ranch, two hours of utter desolation. The freeway from Corpus to San Antonio isn't a visual delight either, but when four people are jabbering in a car, the time passes swiftly. Once at our destination, we booked into the Embassy Suites just off the interstate with easy access to downtown. After we deposited our baggage in our rooms, we drove to the university. 

Hank was anxious to view the stadium. He was impressed. It is a cozy, 30,000 capacity complex that was recently remodeled. Full of illusions of grandeur about performing at this level, Hank expressed his satisfaction with a broad smile that didn't leave his face for the remainder of the day. Sara, who is in her last year of dental school at UT/San Antonio, counseled Hank that Texas State was the perfect place for him since the university isn't held in high academic esteem and Hank doesn't like to study. He was blessed with intelligence and rides that momentum to squeeze out decent grades with minimal effort. He possesses none of Sara's dedication and discipline.

We hadn't eaten since a late breakfast and within a football throw on the Hays County Courthouse we made our usual pilgrimage to Grin's Restaurant. The hamburgers are the best, the fajitas are the best and the wife says that the margaritas are the best in South Texas although when you're from Brownsville, you hardly consider San Marcos, South Texas. And the beer is as cold as the frozen 'ritas and I was in a serious drinking mood. 

We had paid at the hotel for a two-night stay and there was no reason to rise early in the morning. Our only goal tomorrow was to find an authentic barbecue joint in one of those little Hill Country towns and stop at a winery or two. It's not often that it's only the four of us and we had no other desire but to savor the time together. For three hours we laughed, ate to our heart's content and drank. Sara surprised me with her ability to handle several glasses of wine. She was letting loose. Dental school hasn't been a canoe ride down the San Marcos river and we had the luxury of seventeen-year-old Hank as the designated driver.

As usual I had planned the itinerary; I have a flawless record of taking in the sights and making the right stops. We would breakfast in Wimberly, visit a winery outside Fredericksburg, head south to Boerne in search of a barbecue joint about which we had received a positive lead, cruise through New Braunfels before heading back to San Marcos for another evening of song and dance. 

It was the perfect plan, but I had failed to take into consideration that we often fall short of perfection because of human error. The next morning we consumed a big breakfast in Wimberly. With my wife behind the wheel and the kids in the backseat, we departed for Fredericksburg. The last thing I remember before regaining consciousness five days later was an expanse of bluebonnets blanketing the rolling terrain. 

When I awoke, I was completely confused. I couldn't focus. I couldn't move. I finally realized I was in a bed. I was next to a window and rain was falling. A beeping sound filled the room. Where was I? What had happened? I slowly moved my neck from side to side and from my surroundings I gathered that I was in a hospital room. I lay there and did my best to collect my thoughts. 

A vague memory of San Marcos began to creep into my brain, but I couldn't reach a mathematical conclusion since I couldn't fathom the equation. I kept blinking. I tried to take a deep breath, but a sharp pain shot through my chest. Thoughts began to coalesce. I had been on a trip. My wife, Sara and Hank had been with me. What had happened? Where were they? Foundering in this confusion, a man attired in a white lab coat walked into the room and stopped at the side of my bed.

"Mr. O'Connell. I'm Doctor Matthews. You were in a terrible automobile accident Saturday. Today is Thursday. You have sustained several injuries as well as head trauma. It was touch-and-go for a while, but I believe that you will make a full recovery."

"And my family?"

He looked at me with a grim expression on his face.

"My wife?"

"I'm sorry that I have to tell you this, but she died instantly."

"And my daughter?"

"She lost her life."

"And my beautiful boy?"

"He didn't make it either. You're the only one who lived."

"No, doctor. I'm the only one who died."

NORMANDY

He had big plans.

At 19,

he had his life before him.

First and foremost,

when he had finished serving,

he was going to marry

his high school sweetheart.

They had been holding hands

since seventh grade.

But a bullet suddenly

ended his life

as bullets have suddenly

ended millions of lives.

Before the sand sucked him

into its maw,

his fellow soldiers

would collect his body,

dig a hole and bury him.

There was an enemy to fight.

No time for pomp and circumstance.

None of his family members

visited his grave.

How could they?

They didn't know where

he had been

unceremoniously deposited.

Did he ever exist

or was he nothing more

than a brief coincidence?

The girlfriend cried

disconsolately for weeks

after learning of his death.

A year later she married.

HATING

You: Why did you vote against Trump?

Me: Because I hate his fuckin' ass.

You: You hit the nail on the head. You and millions of others voted against him simply because you hated him. You didn't give a damn about his accomplishments.

Me: His accomplishments?

You: Yes, sir.

Me: I'm going to make this real simple for you. It may be too profound for the idiots Trump challenged to storm the U.S. Capitol, but if you're not totally drunk on the kool-aid, you may be sober enough to understand. Although knowing you and the rest of your Trump fanatics, you probably would have hung the VP and shot the Speaker of the House, but I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt. I know that you don't kick the shit out of your wife even when you have caught her screwing other men, so I am deducing that you are not a violent person.

You: She doesn't screw that many guys.

Me: I was joking, pendejo, but just for the record I have never touched her. What are the two most important things in your life?

You: My family and my home.

Me: That's an answer. However, you aren't seeing the broader picture. I'm going to show you the forest. Bottom line: The two most important elements in your life are your health and your finances. If you don't have your health, you're fucked. If you don't have your money, you're fucked. And if you don't have both of them, you might as well be dead.

You: What does that have to do with Trump?

Me: You are a fuckin' pendejo, aren't you? Because of Trump's indifference and incompetence, we have more than 400,000 COVID deaths and millions more infected. So much for our health under his administration.

You: You may be right about the pandemic, but under Trump we had the greatest economy in the history of the United States.

Me: If you want to live in the past because the Coronavirus hasn't killed you, let's make America great again. Now that we have thrown the asshole out of office, we may succeed, but we live in the present, you maskless imbecile. Last week almost one million Americans applied for unemployment. We haven't suffered like this economically since the Great Depression and we haven't been this sick since the Spanish Flu of 1918. And you want to talk about accomplishments! The man failed miserably. We hate the motherfucker because he weakened us both physically and economically. And don't think for a second that we're going to stop hating the piece of human excrement because evil doesn't engender love.