57
After Leon and Prince are through having a real stunner of a time putting the pieces of my story together. We sit around a fire in Leon’s backyard having a few beers. I think they’re more shook up about the whole thing than I am. They love me, man, they really do. God. You shoulda seen their faces when I first told ’em the details. They practically rallied for justice. My brothers. They flew through all the questions, but when it came down to it, I didn’t have all that much to share. There are the facts of the story, but who the hell knows anything about the rest?
“I’ll know a lot more when I see him tomorrow.”
He’ll be coming over again in the evening. I have all the intentions in the world of getting dug in deep with him and hashing out everything. No stone unturned. There are five years on the table.
“With him dying, what else is there to do? Might as well burn the ground and air it out.”
So, I’ll grill my father a burger outside the house he had long ago built and abandoned. We have a landscape to traverse, and we will see.
“Proud of you, man,” Prince says and Leon echoes, as if I had done something honorable. I don’t see it that way. There is simply a deathbed, and he is saddled beside it. I don’t know when he’ll climb in, so while I have him, we might as well scrap it out. Does he have any fight left?
We share a few more beers, and it dawns on me more than ever that we three amigos are on the cusp of the biggest season of change we’ve ever had. And what a miracle it is that we are still around in the first place. One way or another, we’ve made it here. We have survived, and surviving is something in itself. Don’t let them tell you otherwise. We have strung all these days and months and years together somehow. Together. What a thought. Not everyone is so lucky and blessed. That’s the truth. I pat them both on their shoulders and leave them by the fire. I take my dreams to the night. I get in my car just to drive.
I am picking up speed. The wind rushes like ice across my face. How ephemeral are the black shadows of the towering trees flying by, streaked with moonlight. And always the fields, reminding me that anything is possible, that at any second we can run it all the way. We are limitless. I look down at the clock and see it’s almost eleven. Rose will be off in five minutes. For her, I’ll steer the car home.
On the edge of the bed, she wraps her arm around me. I bury my face in her hair, and I kiss her.
“He’s sick.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You should see him. He’s smaller now.”
“Maybe you’re bigger.”
“I don’t think so.”
I smile.
“My mom lost weight too. Never ate.”
“Things never happen how we think, huh?”
“You want to make God laugh, tell him your plans.”
“I thought I’d be so angry.”
“Yeah.”
“I thought I’d hate him.”
“It’s hard to hate our parents.”
“I don’t hate him.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I’ve thought a lot about what you said to me about forgiveness.”
“Yeah?”
“You’re right.”
“Can you say that again?”
“You’re right. You’re always right, Rose.”
“Thank you. I try.”
“I want to hear it all. Where he’s been, why he left, I need to know.”
“Of course.”
“And then I’ll tell him.”
“What will you say?”
“We don’t have much time. And I forgive him.”
“Yeah?”
“We can be free of it. For what it’s worth. For however long we have.”
“You won’t regret it.”
“No, I know.”
I bring her closer. Tomorrow will bring what it will. With Rose here, I manage some peace.
Hours later, I can’t sleep.
In the murky dawn I lay exposed to the frigid air and watch Rose as she rests.
It can’t be much past 4am.
The freckles on her face, forever a map of stars in the dim light communicating with me.
I dream about figuring out the secrets of our broad, malleable universe in the details of those freckles.
And here’s to Galileo and all the others who believed such things were possible.
Maybe God detailed his most intricate plans in the tiny birthmarks on Rose’s face.
Tonight, my mind is heavy.
My pillow feels inadequate, and my skull is full with iron and lead.
There is no sleep to be had.
So, I look to Rose.
Whisper to me your dreams.
She has the most even, easy breath.
Calm.
God, what it must be like to do everything with such effortlessness.
She lies on top of her left arm and shoulder, hugging a small pillow to her chest.
And to think this woman possesses the most spirit in the world, and she sleeps.
Even the most indistinguishable lights must be dimmed from time to time.
What a shame some went out for good.
Rose, how have you come here, resting so soundly beside me in this house? I thank God.
There is no other way.
I kiss her forehead and bring myself up and out to the world.
It is waiting.