What really exists in those moments we call alive? I offered no insights to theories of entropy, no solutions to the horizon problem. But it sure as hell was fun talking, elbows on the kitchen bar, gulping cheap brandy, or sometimes in the pool, feeding waterlogged junebugs to toads eventually too engorged to hop.
I have no children, but I have changed diapers. There was a moment when you (butter knife in hand) told me – as you stood by the toaster – that you had to kill all the spiders to get the radio to turn off. I replied gratefully that I was glad you got them all and I didn’t like that song anyway. My still existing nightly routine of unplugging appliances thusly ensconced.
There was a night of fevered sundowner’s stirring in the foyer that brought me, stumbling, out of bed. I asked an obviously aggravated you what was wrong. you said that THE people were here, to perform the exorcism. I, somehow summoning all of my 3:00 a.m. cognitive powers, replied “Oh shit, Dad, I forgot to tell you, ‘they’ called and the ceremony’s been postponed.” You shrugged, said nothing and apparently satisfied, went to bed.
What really exists between synapse and neuron? What does decay bring? A million moments between a father and son that belong only to me.