They had been talking for a while now.
Sitting by his fire, he has big old man fuzzy slippers on. Looking dashing, his beard neatly trimmed. She's afraid he's going to lean over and make a pass at her. And she'll have to hurt him as she pushes him away. He looks a little weaker than before. She could take him.
But her gut is telling her that there is no sex in the air. There's something wrong. He's brought her here, surrounded himself with comforting things---something's wrong.
He's drinking hot cider. They talk about the rain, the leaves, the ball game (he knows she hates sports, but she indulges him when he talks about the big comeback game. She had heard about it on the radio the next day. Everyone gave up and went to bed by 10. By 10:30, the game had flipped. Moral of the story: fall asleep in front of the tv)
She even tries to ask him. But he just looks her in the eye, or looks away. His eyes are bloodshot. Either he's been drinking (it seems like he's as sober as the day he walked into his first AA meeting 39 years ago), or he's been crying.
God, she had never known him to be a crier.
"Remember that song? About the baby?"
"Of course I do."
"Y'know how I told you about the kid. . . "
"Justin. The one who might have been yours. And the one you treated like your own son, even after she married some other guy."
"Yes,"
"For a guy who's not a father, you sure seem to have missed out on a lot of chances"
He turns away from her, and turns back trying to be brave. His face crumples before he can get the rest of the words out. He makes a few snorting sounds with his handkerchief, which she would normally laugh at. If it wasn't such a serious moment.
"Wasn't he living in Wisconsin? A banker? 3 kids?"
"He (snort) He -- it turned out he had a tumor. In his brain."
"Oh my god, is he going to get treatment for it?"
"Well, he found out 3 years ago"
"And he hasn't told you til now?"
"We hadn't really been in touch. He didn't tell me. His mom did. He's dead."
All her coldness be damned. She runs over to hold him. Cry. Snort. Snort.
"I'm so sorry."
"Me too."
"When's the funeral? Are you going out to Wisconsin?"
He doesn't answer.
He only starts rocking himself, slowly. She rocks with him. Gently. Like a prayer, like how the Orthodox Jewish men daven/pray, always moving like a candle. Always mourning, actively.
She was thinking about the word "Abandon".
How he had always used it as if it were such a word of action. He abandoned his family. That girlfriend abandoned him in his hour of need. But it seemed like the word was for something much less dramatic. It was a word about not doing something. She had abandoned him, after all. Hadn't bothered to call. At times she didn't miss it at all. A thing she didn't do. When you walk away, you may be slamming a door, or running. But you make yourself disappear, and then poof! Life is made up of being there.
He was there for the kid as long as his Mom would let him be. And then she and the kid abandoned HIM. And he was left with the Big Nothing. And now, here he is, still mourning.
He pulls away. Tears still wet on his face, but he's much calmer now.
"He died 3 months ago. She didn't think to call me until now,"
And calmly, he lights a cigarette. The first he's had in 17 years.
Cat's In the Cradle by Harry Chapin
Sitting by his fire, he has big old man fuzzy slippers on. Looking dashing, his beard neatly trimmed. She's afraid he's going to lean over and make a pass at her. And she'll have to hurt him as she pushes him away. He looks a little weaker than before. She could take him.
But her gut is telling her that there is no sex in the air. There's something wrong. He's brought her here, surrounded himself with comforting things---something's wrong.
He's drinking hot cider. They talk about the rain, the leaves, the ball game (he knows she hates sports, but she indulges him when he talks about the big comeback game. She had heard about it on the radio the next day. Everyone gave up and went to bed by 10. By 10:30, the game had flipped. Moral of the story: fall asleep in front of the tv)
She even tries to ask him. But he just looks her in the eye, or looks away. His eyes are bloodshot. Either he's been drinking (it seems like he's as sober as the day he walked into his first AA meeting 39 years ago), or he's been crying.
God, she had never known him to be a crier.
"Remember that song? About the baby?"
"Of course I do."
"Y'know how I told you about the kid. . . "
"Justin. The one who might have been yours. And the one you treated like your own son, even after she married some other guy."
"Yes,"
"For a guy who's not a father, you sure seem to have missed out on a lot of chances"
He turns away from her, and turns back trying to be brave. His face crumples before he can get the rest of the words out. He makes a few snorting sounds with his handkerchief, which she would normally laugh at. If it wasn't such a serious moment.
"Wasn't he living in Wisconsin? A banker? 3 kids?"
"He (snort) He -- it turned out he had a tumor. In his brain."
"Oh my god, is he going to get treatment for it?"
"Well, he found out 3 years ago"
"And he hasn't told you til now?"
"We hadn't really been in touch. He didn't tell me. His mom did. He's dead."
All her coldness be damned. She runs over to hold him. Cry. Snort. Snort.
"I'm so sorry."
"Me too."
"When's the funeral? Are you going out to Wisconsin?"
He doesn't answer.
He only starts rocking himself, slowly. She rocks with him. Gently. Like a prayer, like how the Orthodox Jewish men daven/pray, always moving like a candle. Always mourning, actively.
She was thinking about the word "Abandon".
How he had always used it as if it were such a word of action. He abandoned his family. That girlfriend abandoned him in his hour of need. But it seemed like the word was for something much less dramatic. It was a word about not doing something. She had abandoned him, after all. Hadn't bothered to call. At times she didn't miss it at all. A thing she didn't do. When you walk away, you may be slamming a door, or running. But you make yourself disappear, and then poof! Life is made up of being there.
He was there for the kid as long as his Mom would let him be. And then she and the kid abandoned HIM. And he was left with the Big Nothing. And now, here he is, still mourning.
He pulls away. Tears still wet on his face, but he's much calmer now.
"He died 3 months ago. She didn't think to call me until now,"
And calmly, he lights a cigarette. The first he's had in 17 years.
Cat's In the Cradle by Harry Chapin
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