You’re surprised to hear church
bells in the distance. You thought the church had been demolished a long time
ago. In a strange way, the bells are comforting. Unusual for an atheist. Must be the memories of church bells during
your childhood. The neighborhood. The friends. Suddenly the memories flood you
and you have to sit down for a moment, on a stoop.
The church bells take you back to
the old days when everyone knew everyone else, doors were never locked, you and
your best friend Ralph were inseparable.
I wonder what happened to him
you say out loud. Ralph was great. He had no fears. You liked to follow him
around, imitate him. Your mother used to warn you about that but you never paid
attention to her. You were spoiled, her favorite son. Her only son in a family
of girls. Five girls…geez…you were the golden boy.
You’re listening to the bells when
the door behind you opens. Excuse me
someone says. I’m sorry you reply and
get up. I’m sorry. I felt faint for a
moment you explain to the lady looking at you suspiciously. You start to
walk again, down the block to the 711 to buy cigarettes and a six-pack.
You walk out of the 711 with the
six-pack under your arm and a cigarette in your mouth. Stopping to light it you
realize the church bells have stopped tolling. You inhale deeply and blow the
smoke out of your nose, cross the street, smile. You’re going home to drink and
forget the neighborhood, Ralph, your mother.
That’s what grown men do. They
drink. They forget. They forget until they’re forgotten.
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