Everyone knows my name, face, and products. I appear on screens across the world. Wealth and I speak a coded language, encrypted inside green and silver. Luxury touches every corner of my existence. I touch no one. Distance keeps profits safe.
Then, for fun, I bet my associate, “If I walk through one of my factories in a central state and someone recognizes me, another layoff is possible. The workers are not watching what they are doing.”
I did.One of the older men on the line almost ran into me.
“Geesh, do you know who that is?” another man whispered. He was loud as thunder. “Quiet, Jake, his son was laid off last time around. He couldn’t feed eight kids no more. His baby died last week.”
I finished my check without adequate detail. I will send someone from my staff for the next inspection. Workers need to watch where they are going.
“Need help carrying groceries?” a young man calls from across the street. Wednesday evening and our trash cans are at the curb ready for weekly pickup. Our next-door neighbor moved them before he tended to his own.
I smile at gifts surrounding my husband and me, at the brown, black, and white faces that reveal hearts exploding with care.
Garbage exists inside and outside the population. Love moves it along.
Dear Ruby, I realize I should explain why I’m writing an old-fashioned letter instead of talking to you in person. I’m not sure what I want to say. There would be too much silence between words—not a thoughtful pause, but Ausable Chasm without its beauty.
Remember rock climbing at the chasm on our honeymoon? Was there ever anything typical about us?
Our wedding day, when for better or worse was a phrase that had as much significance as a television commercial for the terminally naive.
In black and white, that’s all we had in the 1950’s. Black or white cowboy hats determined whether a character was on the side of the law or not. You said that bullets killed both sides equally. I noticed only action and fantasy.
We were young. I wanted to get a job and protect you forever. As the mom, the cook at home.
“No way,” you answered, sweetness mixed with acid. You needed a career as well.You rerouted my chauvinism and triggered my admiration. However, my ignorance could only be channeled so far.
Our baby. A boy. Lived three hours.
“But, sweetheart, he didn’t have a chance anyway.” I tried to comfort you with facts instead of arms. “His brain and kidneys were not properly developed.” Perhaps I need to say goodbye to both George Henry Sr. and George Henry Jr.You mourned our baby. I lost you.”
Draft Two:
Dear Ruby, In my dream last night I bought a second engagement ring for you. But the ring disappeared when I tried to slip it on your finger. And you got angry as if I were trying some ill-mannered magic trick… No, I can’t admit that. It overflows with insecurity.
Attempt Three:
Dear Ruby, I worked late again the day we reconciled. It had been dark when I entered my brother’s house. His wife left food for me. She is kind, but sometimes feeling sorry for me leaks out of her and stains my ego. Thanks for taking me back. I have something important to tell you. I’m a changed man—odd timing, I’ll admit, but for the first time in my life, I see clearly you have always been the stronger half. Okay, minus the five months when we were separated. You got a break.
Grief is like the ocean; it comes in waves, ebbing and flowing. Sometimes the water is calm, and sometimes it is overwhelming. All we can do is learn to swim. Vicki Harrison
One sip of coffee. I ask it to wash away chaos inside my head, to stop yesterday from flooding the kind of memories that jolt reality, to cause a friend’s dead fingers to move again.
Outside, the wind stops as if it understands. All moments end.
I recall making my friend laugh. A story about childhood innocence.
Now may I hold onto that memory at least for the next moment.
terrypetersen 