An Unreluctant Orphan
by Michael Johnsen
They’re both dead now. Odd that she went first being the younger of them.
Of course the vodka and the cigarettes and the parties may have accelerated her
departure and her slurred conversations and patronizing voice should have been a sign
of an early demise. There are times though when I feel an ache for that voice.
I’ll reach for the phone to call then set it down and stare off into space. And him?
His only sins were paranoia and bigotry. Anger and brutality. For people like him dying
can take too long. But he could laugh. I’ll come across some ancient outtake
of a comedy he liked from the fifties or sixties, say the Honeymooners’ Ralph
Cramden or the slapstick violence of the Three Stooges. Jack Benny. His wry humor
expressionless. The stereo I got on my thirteenth birthday came with his music.
The Dorsey Brothers and Glenn Miller and one or two jazz greats like Louie Prima
and Keely Smith. I smile. Turn to him. Remember he’s no longer there. That he can’t see
those images dancing across the black and white screen. Hear the music.
There’s no grief nor is there any pain. No guilt thinking how much I’ll get
for the house or how I’m going to explain all of this to them. It does bother me
some. That there’s no regret. I can’t imagine either of them looking down
from heaven. I don’t believe in up or down. Just the recalled fragments of time
cycling through. The torn pages of a photo album long set aside. One morning maybe
a year from now it’ll settle in. It could take longer. I’m sure
I’ll go days without thinking about them. Certain at some point it’ll
stretch into weeks. Then perhaps sitting at a table in a conversation one of them
will crawl out of my memory. And then the other. Ask me how
I’m doing. I wonder how much more he wanted? What she would have done
to stay? The natural thing would be to think about my own death. I do. Just as most
I will put off dying. I’ll eat less and move more. Buy things. Make
an accommodation with denial. The temporary woman keeping me company
is buying a new face. On the doorstep of her new lover’s house my ex-wife turns
to me. Tells me she had only a few good years left. Some stop watching the
clock or looking in mirrors. Me? I quit looking at maps and asking directions. Even
an unreluctant orphan doesn’t want to know how long a stretch he’ll have to walk alone.
