He sat there sipping a coke, (his last 65 cents of change with 3 cents to spare.)
He was smiling with his eyes, but his face showed no expression.
It was the taste of the soda and the prints his hands left in the frost on the can. They took him back to better times.
I asked the usual question, “How you doing Pete?”
His wife passed away about 5 weeks ago, they gave him the option to keep her alive.
Which was followed by the usual response “Not bad, for an old man.”
They were separated at the time. He let her go.
He looked tired though, more so than usual.
“How about yourself…?”
He wonders all the time, what her life might have been like if they had stayed together.
How her last moments in life could have been different.
“I’m pretty good…”
He nodded and forced a smile.
His face was now saddened and he looked off into the distance and took another sip of coke.
I started to eat my lunch, now slightly concerned that he might fall out of his chair suffering a heart attack.
He covered his face and eyes with his right hand and his face turned red.
She is gone. She is not coming back.
Pete is going to die. Like his wife. Like me.The concept of death always puts life into perspective. I felt disgusted with myself.
Worrying about being sleepy or whining about this or that.
There stuffing my face. Worrying about feeding myself, when I am going to die.
Subhan Allah Al-Atheem
He finished his soda and got up, and walked back towards the door.
Wishing he had spent his last days with her.
His limp reminding us of that he was a veteran in the Vietnam war. Like most his age.
But that like most else in life didn’t matter.
We’re all gonna die. That reality stares some of us in the face.
So what’s left for Pete?
He doesn’t know.
Do you?
