306

You: Are you ready to celebrate tonight?

Me: Celebrate what? The COVID death total has reached 345,000. Trump is attempting to destroy our democracy. I turned 70 two days ago. I've been fighting a sore throat and GERD. The gloomy weather reflects my mood. And I don't feel like commencing the year with a hangover. I'm in the fourth quarter of my life. If we estimate our life spans at 80 years, at most there's 7:30 left in the game that we knew the outcome from the start. The only question is the margin of defeat. Will we score a few touchdowns before the final whistle or will we even tally a first down? 

You: It's called a new year for a reason. You can start over. 

Me: You're wrong. It's a cumulative effect. Time isn't on our side. When we're young, time is like a thief in the night. You don't appreciate your youth until it's gone. I spent my birthday mostly shaking my head. I stared at myself in the mirror and I found it difficult that I was contemplating the image of a 70-year-old man. I'm suffering from COPD because I've been smoking dope since I was 15 and I've smoked cigarettes when I've been drinking. I'm not smoking anymore. I prefer a deep breath these days, but returning to the analogy of the football game, I have the ball in the shadow of my own goal post and I'm mired on a field that has turned into a sty.

You: You're being too hard on yourself. Throw back two tequila shots and you'll be your old self again. You've been the life of the party since we first started hitting the streets more than a half century ago and it's fiesta time. Seventy isn't old in the age of modern medicine unless you catch COVID and you have COPD. Just kidding, bro. You have game. You haven't lost your mojo. And there's always Viagra. Are you going to spend the rest of your days moping because you're not young? There are plenty of people six-feet-under who wouldn't think twice about changing places with you. If you lost 20 pounds from your belly, you wouldn't look a day over 69. Let's party. Downtown will be fun tonight.

Me: I'm serious. I'm not going out. I'm not in the mood. I don't need a New Year's Eve to drink and party. Guys like us get shitfaced on a Tuesday night. I'm in one of my moods in which I'm wrestling with the futility of it all. There's so much I want to do, but I'm losing it both physically and mentally. How am I going to perfect my backhand if I can't walk? How am I going to finish my next book when I can't think? Didn't Hemingway kill himself because women no longer found him macho and he couldn't write a coherent sentence? And he was ten years younger than I am now.

You: Don't panic, bro. We're not sending you back to the minors. You're not washed-up. You're in the starting lineup because you have the quality that makes the key difference: You haven't lost your desire. Your aspirations are an inspiration to me. These are dark days and there is a bleakness, but don't lose your wits. Trump will soon be gone. We are going to weather this pandemic and then you can realize your dream. One year from now, after you finish your present work, you'll be in Portugal writing poetry in a Coimbra cafe. You say that you have the ball with 7:30 remaining in the fourth quarter? You know as well as I that seven minutes and change is an eternity in sports. At 70 isn't it about time you grew up and put your priorities in order? You've lived like a damn kid your entire life and it has cost you. It's about time you matured and became more responsible. It's not too late to perfect that backhand. It's not too late to finish The Coronavirus Chronicles. At 70 you may realize that you have to take it slow but stay steady. We're going to lose, but there's no reason you can't finish with a flourish and chalk up a TD or two. When you're down to your final seconds, you can unleash your Hail Mary pass. That might be the one that gets you into heaven.

Me: I'm not ready to be old, but I am. Some take comfort that with age comes wisdom, but I don't know a goddamn thing. I'm as ignorant as the day I was born and I have no confidence that I'm escaping that reality. You can't convince me that from the beginning we weren't condemned to futility. We push forward. We are ruled by our instincts, but our heads are empty. We know nothing. When it's all said and done, it's about our physical needs until our bodies rebel and we die. Maybe we become more adept at playing the game, but since we're destined to lose, we're little more than pretense with no sense.

You: I've had enough of your bullshit. You're spewing nonsense. You can stay in your dark room and rue about the absurdity of your circumstances, but while you're sucking on your bitter fruit like a little bitch, I'll be downtown hooping and hollering. If I'm fucking some strange pussy in the wee hours of the morning, then 2021 will already have been a successful year. 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

6

L ike a hound pointing to its game, the Spring Breaker followed his boner to his condo with the blond co-ed in tow. She had stepped up to the beer bong thrice and could barely walk. He led her into his room and stripped her of her thong as if he were peeling a banana. He was soon straddling her when he stopped an inch short of entering her shaved pussy. "I must confess something," he said. "What?" she slurred. "I have tested positive for HIV." "Have you tested positive for Coronavirus?" she asked. "No." "Then let's fuck, cowboy!!!" 
Read more

5

I was standing at the bar at Cobbleheads when I saw owner Joe Kenney walking past. I grabbed him by the bicep. "Pretty flabby for a guy from Phillly," I said. "Fuck you, Sully," snapped Joe before continuing with that goofy accent. "What do you want?" "I didn't get a chance to wish you Happy St. Patrick's Day! I'd pinch you on the butt since you're not wearing green, but you have a lousy lookin' ass. Let's toast the San Patricio Battalion." "A bunch of filthy traitors," spat Joe. "General Scott should have hung all the bastards instead of branding the majority of them." "You were in the Herald saying that Mexico and the United States had special ties as a result of these Irishmen switching sides in a war that Abraham Lincoln criticized as imperialism run amok." "It's all about business," confessed Joe. "I can't express my true sentiments about those Benedict Arnolds. I h...
Read more

1

My patio faces east. In the early afternoon the sun has embarked on its ancient descent toward the west and I relax on my lawn chair in the shade. I breathe deeply. My lungs are clear. Coronavirus has me contemplating life from a variety of angles. I am led to believe that those who suffer death from the disease suffocate. That doesn't sound like a pleasant exit to me. As a result of this grim reality, I have quit smoking dope. I don't want to weaken my lungs any more than 55 years of puffing on joints has wreaked on them. I have been retired for three years from the BISD after the superintendent threatened to fire me if I kept writing. I chose to keep writing. It is my spiritual calling. I had contributed 39 years to the school district and I was working for free. Retirement was a logical option. I don't miss the job, but I do miss my students, athletes and colleagues. I liken my present existence to floating down a lazy Hill Country river in an inner tube. Little did I kn...
Read more