Rambling Thoughts of a Dying Man

Loved my first-grade teacher, Mrs. Brown. Good woman. Never said a harsh word to anyone. Pity I never learned that from her.

Never meant to see Thad hurt. Wasn’t my fault, yet it was. Funny how things come and go around. Playground was my responsibility as a safety-guard, but I had to go to the bathroom and left another kid in charge. That one pushed Thad off the steps. Thad lost an eye. Still say it’s my fault.

There was Annette in seventh grade, my first crush. Only thing was, she was more interested in Paul, the school jock. Got over it soon enough.

So much in my life that went by. It’s like every day, every single thing that went on was brand new, like an experience to learn from and be grateful for, though some of it was pure crap, if you get my meaning.

Learned a lot, messed up a lot; guess they kind of go hand-in-hand, like good and bad, right and wrong and that.

Went through a ton of jobs, mostly labor work. Never got the education most do. Third grade was good back then, but the Depression was purely hell on my folks and me, neighbors, too. But I got that education good enough. I call it life. Living it. Figured I might as well make the most of it. Just me and me won’t get too many second chances.

Things went okay until the war. Ended up in a place called Okinawa. What a mess that was. Fighting and dying everywhere. Crawling across a beach being shot at was no picnic, I tell you. Somehow, we managed to get to where we needed to be. Though there were thousands who never did. Was I scared. You bet’cha. Hell, I was seventeen, but I felt like thirty when it was over. War can age you faster than you like.

After the war, came home, only to visit my daddy’s grave. Another loss among many. My momma died almost a year to the day he did. I had a brother three years older than me, but he was killed at Pearl Harbor. That left me. Alone. And it’s one thing to be alone, another to be lonely. I guess then, I was a little of both.

Sold the house and land, wasn’t much, packed up what little I had and made my way across the country, I reckon, to try and find myself. Sixteen years of moving around, meeting different people, though some today would call them low-life’s, but I learned how to live on my own the best way I could.

Met a girl named Aggie, ten years my senior, I was maybe thirty-six then, took me in to her life and we did okay. Six years. She was a bartender and that’s no easy job for a woman. That came crashing down when the bar was robbed, and she was killed. That hurt. Bad. Another person I was attached to, gone. I decided then, I wouldn’t get serious again, makes the pain less painful.

Time rolled on as they say, doing construction and one day I was in an accident.

Scaffolding broke loose. Broke my back, both legs and my left arm. Company paid the bill, but I couldn’t walk, and if I can’t walk, I can’t do the only thing I knew I could do. Things weren’t good. What money I had saved was thinning out and when you hit sixty-three, not many places look at you as someone they want to invest in.

And what with all the changes that have been going on, stuff getting expensive—hell, I thought the 20’s were tough—’86 was a bitch. Let me tell you, but I won’t.

Nothing too much I can say I’d change as nothing can be. Be nice though. Be nice to win the lottery, but that won’t happen either.

Looking out my window, seeing the sun go down, means right close to the end of another day. You know more than likely this whole time I’ve been talking, probably 5,000 died and 10,000 were born.

Only thing for sure is that one time I’ll go to sleep and not wake up. Speaking of which; goodnight, goodbye, see you later, maybe.