"You look as healthy as a horse," Butch said. I hadn't seen him in a few days. He might've actually said horse's ass, but I took the compliment. "Because, I shaved" I explained. The first time since Saturday. Staring in the mirror for too long can expose a conceited perspective. I used to shave every day but, I've lost my motivation. Butch is always there. Usually on his front porch keeping a watchful eye on the neighborhood. He's retired but still goes to auto-shop. Butch was wiping his forehead with a bandana before Covid made them fashionable. He's the neighbor drinking coffee on his front porch that you see on the walk to train every morning. He's the neighbor walking his Husky, Sasha on the bike path. You drop his name to the mechanic when you get your car inspection sticker. He's the neighbor with the forecast whether you want it or not, "hope you have an umbrella" as you're dreading the day ahead.
I was taking an afternoon walk. The rain had stopped and other than a graveside burial service, I hadn't been out all day. Hoping the walk would bring me back to life. Two miles later and back on my street, Butch is back on his porch. "Ready for more rain this weekend?". I tell him I've had enough for now. "You get caught in it earlier?".
I explain the burial. I tell Butch that that my cousin's Aunt died. Not my Aunt but that I knew her a little bit. That my cousin is my mom's cousin and that her Aunt Alyce was 98. I over-explain the details in an attempt to cool off any sympathy. Right now, I prefer to keep the conversation about the weather.
The burial was like a funeral in a movie. The rain started on cue with the service. Lots of cars driving slow. Lots of people. Lots of umbrellas. Green grass and gravestones. Pouring. Prayers. Flowers.
I tell Butch that Alyce was a character. That she went out in style with a purple casket. Talk of the climate changed to caskets. "My brother-in-law spent $20,000 on his casket" he told me. Somehow Butch knew that the average casket costs $8,000. "Did you know you can rent them?" He told me "Just for the funeral showing".
"Everything is temporary" I thought.
With a cigarette in his fingers, Butch tells me his personal plan is to go straight from the hospital to the crematorium. "Cemeteries take up a lot space", he mused. He's thought this through. It was like he was narrating a horror movie "too many buried bodies, the dead will rule the earth". Remembering the purpose of my walk, I wrap things up. "Time for dinner" I said.
Making my way home I hear an unrecognizable noise. It's loud. Like a house is being ripped apart. Some other masked walkers and I peek down the street and see a motorcycle toppled over. It fell, skidded and slid down the street. Front doors are opening. People peering out. Everyone appears ok. I'm in my kitchen about to peel potatoes and carrots when I hear the sirens. Out my window I see the ambulance and firetruck drive by. I also see neighbors walking dogs and coming home from work. "Its a balancing act out there", I think.
I pre-heat the oven. Toss the potatoes, carrots and onions in olive oil. Chop the broccoli.
Earlier that day I learned my youngest nephew, Tim broke his arm. I was unfazed. A fearless 10 year old boy. Sticks and stones will break his bones. I was doing the dishes when the X-Ray arrived via text. Staring at it exposes the break. There's no other way to describe it. Clear as a contrasted black and white photo can be. Like a lightning bolt striking a tree trunk. But, it's a 10 year old bone. A white humerus with a jagged black chip in the middle. It hurts your legs to look at it. Playground to hospital in an ambulance. Reset the bone. Pain, nausea and hunger. Heal. A balancing act.
'Healthy as a horse', was Butch's greeting. That was after the burial. Before the motorcycle. Before the ambulance. Before the X-Ray. For the second time that day, I think "everything is temporary". 'Healthy as a horse's ass', I wish my watchful neighbor had said as he unknowingly gave me the forecast for the remainder of the day.
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