I thought that my father was going to die. I thought that. One day he was acting like
he always acted and the next day I knew he was going to die. Like that.
So I imagined my father’s hunting glasses resting on the kitchen counter like he had
just come home from killing something. We were going to eat it. Whatever it was, my
father killed it.
Only I wasn’t fat anymore in the picture I was seeing and my father was in the
bedroom. He was alone. He was talking, but he wasn’t listening. He was saying
something about poached eggs with suspension biscuits. Something like that. Only he
isn’t listening to himself say it. But I am.
I was afraid, but it was the kind of fear I wanted most. Sharp as a new leaf.
“Comfortable and happy lives have been exchanged for this,” I thought. And I thought I
wanted to visit the poor in spirit to verify my perception that something way beyond
unexpected was happening. I remember thinking, “Maybe I could decide what has been
done to them. Maybe if I found out, I could say so and it wouldn’t be done anymore.
Maybe I could give that away and I wouldn’t have to watch anymore.”
Sometimes we use things as tools without realizing we are doing so. I said that to
my father, but he was already on his way. It didn’t make any difference that I said that.
So I thought about something else and I listened. I listened good. I was successful
and I was achieving a portion of my selected presence. I was afraid and I was alive. I was
expectant and soon I was going to be expected.
Rich Ives is the author of Tunneling to the Moon: A Psychological Gardener’s Book of Days currently being published in serial @ Silenced Press everyday in 2014 and forthcoming in paperback. Begin from the beginning, catch up, read daily. Just refer to the Burrow Guide.