Tuesday, November 08, 2005

November 8th, 2005, Upload 1, Chapter 11 (16,088 words out of 50,000)

11.

“Why are you so late?”

“I’m not – I stopped at the, uh – funeral home.”

“Funeral home?”

“Yeah – guy I knew from elementary school, saw the name and recognized it. Went in, I was the only one there.”

“Oh, honey, you should have called me.”

“No – no – it wasn’t like that, I didn’t even stay long, I was just kind of hanging out for a bit, in the back. Just kind of wondering who paid for the funeral, you know?”

“There was no-one there at all?”

“Just me.”

“..”

“I haven’t spoken to him in years, you know? We used to see each other now and again but then we just kind of drifted – you know how that can be –“

“Of course.”

“We just sort of drifted and that was it. Four years later, I guess, and I’m just wandering into his funeral – no-one there but me. I was kind of wondering what he was up to the past few years, you know? How he got along, what he did. I mean, three years is a long time. Did he get his shit together? Have some kids? Fuck – I don’t even know how he died.”

“You shouldn’t beat yourself up over this.”

“I’m not. I’m really not. It’s just – I’m 27, you know?”

“I know.”

“And so was Rick – it’s just, the guy always seemed to be the type who lived it day to day, you know? How’d you say I lived, without a goal? Destination or something like that?”

“Destination.”

“Right. And you were saying something about being empty and unfulfilled, you know? And I kind of think of Rick and wonder how fulfilled he was. I know he had his shit together for some time, a real entrepreneur – he made some great money. But just as he started getting to the top – the dude just checked out. That’s about when I drifted, figuring I had no time for a lazy, freeloading son-of-a-bitch.”

“I’m sure Rich –“

“Rick.”

“Rick?”

“Yeah, Rick Desa.”

“..”

“What?”

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