Two Lost Souls
Page 9
Something else.
Daniel:
Pamila was saying a farewell thank you to Harry. Our well-spent time with him was through. This time, as was the last time, was more than interesting; it was unique. And not unique as the word is too easily tossed about. To Harry, me, and all that have heard it, Harry’s last tale was unique. In a theoretical world, a place that only exists in consideration, the tale he told today was unique. It was not without intent that I used full name Pamila in the previous; Harry all day had done the same without veering.
Now years later, Harry’s physical stature weakened by time, mental acuity pinpoint still, Harry was a different same. Graceful in his acceptance of his point on the time-line of life, Harry was near wizardry in being. That special kind of understanding that comes only with a flow of a life that had been the best of kind. One that was sadly ebbing to its end. Sadly for those that shared him. I had seen this before, this kind of content-ness in good. Always near spiritual in meeting, I always sought this gift that some offered. A simple-ness of life.
Both cliché and wrong it would be to say that time had not been good to Harry. Time had indeed taxed his physical and so blessed the core of his self. As I knew Pami, I knew there would be tears of understanding from her that his journey was near its end. Harry certainly knew his long walk was near complete. Nonetheless, he would shed no tears. Long past, and surely alone, I figured he had done so. His tears had dried and there would be no more. One is ready or not; Harry had guided himself ready. Coming to it only after thought, I found we were here because of that ready.
“Thanks Todd for all that you have done.” With my firm and slightly prolonged shake, my eyes fixed in his, and my sincere manner, I hoped he understood the depth of my thanking. Todd’s tender smile hinted that he did. Pami lifted from one last Harry hug. Turning to me, her eyes were an emotional sheen. Looking down upon a seated Harry, I was awkward in how our relationship should part for this I knew the last time. Our Harry hosted event had buried me. It was much more than I could have possibly anticipated. My thoughts twisting tight with his latest telling, I fought to untangle for this moment. Harry gracefully and gratefully took the moment from me. He passed the awkward with an extended hand.
“Not until I am gone.” I took in his implied meaning, but he wanted to make sure that this stupid kid truly did. “Feel free to write it up but I ask that you not release it until I am standing with Elizabeth.” My eyes welled along with Pami’s. A final as our hands slid apart. Sharpie indelible in me, I would re-live this memorial often. Perhaps too often. Perhaps not enough.
As a writer, even before clicking the return to open a new paragraph, I know that the following will take place in yet another vehicle. This causes me pause. Dear reader, you would think that if I was trying to tickle your mind, I would fresh something that is not so stale. Perhaps a Handsome Cab, why not a cable car, or how about the space shuttle. However, New York City is over an hour from here, I have never been to Ms. Joplin’s adopted home, and reality check please. But the fact is that we are headed toward the airport, home, and Bubba. Perhaps I can Impressionist the written moment now to come:
The late afternoon wind was so very much alive, so very fraught with force, and filled so with anger. Its titanic iron jaws clamped so firm that the test of opening the car door was certain to be failed. My Pami, my tiny frail Pamila, she collapsed in weeping scared tears. Being the Gallant that I am, I freed my tower’d Princess from her entrance that had been forebode.
(Sorry that you were forced to endure that. It was really for me. I mean I sit here on a Sunday afternoon working. I usually do not write on Sunday. Nonetheless, I was forced to do so by my lack of productivity during the week. Therefore, I guess I am not really into it right now. I can call it whatever I want, bottom line, that was writer pissy.
People tell me how lucky I am to have a job that I so love. Well that is- I will stop myself in mid rant. I do not have a job; I do however work. It is a fine line between the two, but I rationalize it as being there. As of work; everyone, everyone has moments when they hate working. If you say you don’t, either you’re making way more money than I am, or you pants are on fire.)