When He Was 25

We had gone back to the Island, after a year of travel. First we had gone to Houston. A word of warning, don’t bother to bring marijuana with you, to Texas. It’s cheap and plentiful. Second, take some with you to California. It was hard to come by and outrageously expensive. But we know that things have changed and I would have no idea concerning cost or availability of any drug. But back then, it was a different story.

He was 22 when we met. He was and is the love of my life. He rescued me from a world that had flattened me. He saved me from the fight, that had knocked me down more times than I could count. He worked every day and took pride in his family. He was the one who provided. Finally, for the first time in my life, I felt loved.

He had a job at the local mill. We always had one car, and I was the designated driver. I was free in my days, and I used them as wisely as I could, at the time. But when five o’clock rolled around I was at the grocery store, outside the gate, waiting for the mill’s horn to blast. Then the men rambled towards the exit, like a herd of cattle. They moved rythymically, arms swinging lunch boxes and welding jackets. They wore their beanies and colorful bandanas. They kicked up the dust. My mind put a frame around them; they were a painting.

We had responsibilites that often seemed daunting. But we had fun too. Everyday was fun.

He is and always has been a fisherman.

So much had happened in our absence.

We had shifted into a different world without realizing it.

We had been to the circus and we had seen the elephant. Now we were the circus and the elephant was looking at us.