I usually drive, never walk, but today I need to clear my head.
Need the time.
Air is crisp, there’s moisture in it, sense of foreboding rain. The sun grants Last Rites to the Earth and dips below the horizon. A breeze takes the cue, cuts in and slices through my unprepared body. Crusty brown leaves swirl, dodging my steps, giving way on the sidewalk.
I head up Washington, kids shooting hoops in the last of the light. Making noise, calling out, like they’ll live forever. Cross over to First Street. Walgreens is open, surprising me. Twenty-four seven, yeah I get it, but today? I shake my head.
I wait at the corner to cross. Cars zipping by. The hell are these people going? What can be so important? I count them. Fifteen cars before the light turns red, and one more rushes through. To where?
Patrick’s is across the street, but before I can duck in, I have to get past a guy. He’s waiting for me. Fitz saw me before I even crossed. Gives a curt nod. Then a hug.
“I heard.” He steps back, gives me space. “I remember the last time I saw him.” Points his thumb inside Patrick’s. Shakes his head now. “Tomorrow, is it?”
Yes, tomorrow. The funeral. I can’t say the words, knowing they’re followed by too much drama. The air’s moisture fills my eyes. I nod, tap his arm, trudge past. Patrick’s is lit. People inside laughing, toasting their future.
I’ll never understand how the world grinds on like it didn’t just lose one of its best.
12 thoughts on “A Long Walk from Home”
Quite an emotionally evocutive scene. Lovely.
Gotta pass through ugly to get to lovely. Workin’ on it.
Like it – good visuals!
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Why, thanks for stopping by. Day earlier, you coulda heard me read it aloud before final edits!
Scarily well done (when I started reading I thought it was autobiographical!).
I suppose everything is, to some degree. We’re all products of our past. But no, you’re correct that it is not autobiographical in the true sense.
Writing so exquisite it sticks in my throat like pain does. Thank you, John.
I adore how that line is a compliment.
I was ready to offer my condolences until I saw the flash fiction tag. Well done!
Yes, condolences would take on a different meaning when it turns out to be flash fiction. As in, condolences, but you’ll write better next time!
uh-oh … then I’m glad I added the ‘well done’ at the end 😉
Haha! No worries there, Joanne.
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