Dead Letter Office

To wake in the night, at about 10:20, on a Thursday evening.  To see that my father is not in bed.  To sit straight up.  To feel my heart in my throat.

Go to the bathroom & get a Dixie cup of water.  Drink another.  Drink another.  Drink another.

To look down the stairs.

To see you in your bed.

My father standing over you.

To blindly walk down those stairs and stare across the living room, and see the lifeless look on your face, your body ashen.

The inevitable was happening.

To turn the corner and walk into the basement.

To turn on the television.

I want to feel normal.

The end of the news.  A reporter standing on a sidewalk in front of a house.

Johnny Carson.

I want to feel normal.

‘Your mother has gone to be with the Lord.’

Time loses cohesion.

My cousin is standing in front of me, ‘come on…let’s get out of here.’

To stand in the driveway.

To see a silver Mercury Cougar.

To see my father walk out of the front door.

To feel him hold me.

To feel the tears on his face, pressed against mine.

Standing in the cold.

Drive away, in the darkness of night.