Life in the City
By Kelly M. Logue
Copyright © 2016 Kelly M. Logue.
All rights reserved worldwide
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THE ITINERARY
INTRODUCTION
ALL THAT HEAVEN ALLOWS
THE SPITTING IMAGE
IT’S SUICIDE
IN THE DARK
COME TO JESUS
THE NOBODY MAN
LIFE IN THE CITY
THE MAYOR
THE OLD MAN
THE YARCA CONNECTION
I, SEE
A VERY BAD PLACE
THE GREAT DIVORCE
END NOTES
INTRODUCTION
Let me tell you a story—
It’s a story that I shouldn’t tell, but I am old, and I do not fear death. Never have. It was always the living that I had a problem with, and I’ll be meeting my maker soon enough.
What I have to say will be short. I lived an unremarkable life. Did all the things a man is supposed to do. I worked a boring job that put a roof over my head, and paid the bills. I married a girl, who was pretty once, but slowly became less interesting as the years went by. I was a father of two.
My children hated me, and claimed I never showed them much love. Perhaps they were right, but then they never showed me much love either, so I guess we’re even.
I am alone now— my wife having passed on about ten years ago. It’s hard to say whether I miss her or not. After the kids left, we became more like roommates than husband and wife.
But, we never divorced or separated. My wife and I came from a generation when such things, like divorce, were frowned upon.
My son is working on his third divorce; my daughter her second. They blame me, of course, even while they fight with their significant others over meaningless possessions, and use my grandchildren like sacrificial pawns.
Marriage is no longer sacred to the young. Instead it’s a game of one-upmanship, with each side trying to be better than the other.
I didn’t marry for love. I married out of responsibility; getting the old ball and chain when my wife got pregnant with our son. We had nothing in common, other than being horny teenagers, and perhaps that lack of love was passed down to our children. What’s that old bible saying “The sins of the father are visited upon his sons and daughters”? Not that I’m a particularly religious man.
I do know that the years leading up to my wife’s death were fairly dull and mindless. I was going through endless motions, and one day bled into the next. This was my lot in life.
Only once did the veil lift. It was at my wife’s funeral. During the service, I causally glanced over my shoulder, and saw a man watching off into the distance. He smiled and waved. Even at a distance, I could see that the man was not right. His skin was burnt -- near charcoal black. He wore a pristine white suit that shimmered in the sunlight. I had never seen this man before, nor have I seen him since. It was not a kind smile he showed me that day. He was not there to bring comfort or pray for my poor soul. It was the smile of a man who was tickled pink by an embarrassing secret, and couldn’t wait to share the secret with anyone who’d listen.
Had he known of my burden? Did he suspect what I had done? Did he know that I had quietly smothered my wife while she slept? I had wanted my freedom. I had wanted a second chance at life. I had wanted a life free of responsibility. But the weight of what I had done crushed what was left of my soul. The years since her death have not been kind.
My heart longs, now, for escape of another kind. Perhaps, the charcoal man will be waiting for me on the other side. Waiting to greet me with his cruel smile and tell me his horrible secrets.
I take comfort in the fact that just before the bullet goes through my head, I’ll have time for one last thought. And, when the time comes, I’ll think:
At least I finally did something with my life.
HEAVEN
On the road to paradise, I stumble and fall…
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