A Day Is The Life of Charlie O’Malley

by Rob Mahan
Copyright © 2009

Roger O’Malley woke with a start as the old family clock in the dining room chimed six in the morning. He had brought his wife and their first child home from the hospital the night before. They had both been up several times in the night to check on Charles William O’Malley, as all new parents do, sometimes at a whimper or a cry and sometimes just to make sure he was still breathing.

“Good morning, Charlie,” Roger said softly as he bent over the crib railing to look at his tiny son. He reached into the crib and gently put his hand on Charlie’s back, nearly covering it with his palm. Roger could feel the steady rhythm of Charlie’s little heart as he marveled at the miracle of life, his own son’s life, right there next to him.

With feelings of joy and elation mixed with just a bit of anxiousness at being a brand new father, Roger headed for the kitchen to make a big celebration breakfast.

The wonderful smells of scrambled eggs, toast and bacon drifted out of the kitchen and through the whole house as the dining room clock chimed eight o’clock. Roger was putting strawberry jam on the last piece of toast when Charlie appeared at the doorway to the kitchen.

“Are you hungry yet, Charlie?” Roger said as Charlie leaned on the doorway for balance. He could already manage several steps in a row before he abruptly sat down unless there was something to hold onto. He gave his daddy a toothless smile that lit up his whole face before abandoning his grip on the doorway. Charlie took several steps into the middle of the kitchen before he lost his balance and sat down with a thump. A look of surprise came over his face as a wail started to build in his throat. Roger took two quick steps over to Charlie and leaned down to pick him up as Charlie stretched out his arms and said “Da-da!”

Roger deposited Charlie in the high chair beside his own chair at the table, where his scrambled eggs were waiting for him. On the tray in front of Charlie, he set a bowl of warm cereal that could have passed for wallpaper paste. Even though Roger shoveled two spoonfuls of cereal into Charlie’s open mouth for every bite of eggs that he took, Charlie still kept reaching towards the plate on the table.

“OK, Charlie, at the rate you are growing, I guess a little bite of scrambled egg won’t hurt,” Roger said. As he guided a healthy spoonful of egg into Charlie’s mouth, he said “Wow, look what time it is! I have to get into the office and finish up the article I have due at the end of this week!” Charlie gave him a send-off to his upstairs office with an enthusiastic “Da-da!”

Roger had been working on his article for a couple of hours when Charlie proudly presented himself at the door of his father’s office. Roger looked up from the screen and studied Charlie from head to toe before he said with a sly grin, “Charlie, why are you all dressed up? Do you have some place to go?”

“Daddy!” Charlie exclaimed, “You know I’m going to school for the first time! I’m a First Grader now!” With his mother waiting just outside the door and a new lunch box in hand, Charlie waited for his daddy to tell him that he had not forgotten about this important day.

Roger got up from his desk and walked all the way around Charlie, inspecting him like a new recruit instead of a new schoolboy. He finally knelt in front of Charlie and said, “Yes, Charlie. I know it’s your first time going to school and I am very proud of you, too. You’re really a big boy now.” Roger reached into his pocket and held a brand new silver dollar out to Charlie. “Keep this in your pocket for good luck.”

Charlie put the silver dollar in his pocket, gave his daddy a big hug around the neck and was out the door and on his way to school for the first time.

Around noon, Roger was back in the kitchen making lunch when Charlie burst through the door with a backpack full of books and a team bag stuffed with his eighth grade baseball uniform, glove and cleats. Already almost as tall as Roger, he gave his dad a high five and said, “What’s for lunch, dad? I’m starving!”

“You’re always hungry now,” Roger laughed. “What do you feel like?”

“Well, I’d really like a couple of hamburgers and some fries but I don’t think I have time. If I’m late for practice again, the coach is going to be mad at me.”

“How about some of that leftover pot roast and mashed potatoes? I can warm them up pretty quick and they’ll give you protein for muscle and some carbs for energy to get you through practice,” Roger said.

“That sounds great, Dad,” Charlie said. “Dad. Can I ask you something?”

“Sure, Charlie. Anything. Is there something wrong?”

“No, not really,” Charlie started slowly. “It’s just that there’s this girl in school who started being kind of mean to me lately. She calls me names sometimes and whenever I look at her, she just stares at me. She even hit me in the arm for no reason at all! What should I do?”

Roger ran a hand through his thinning hair and looked at Charlie with a smile on his face before he said, “Charlie, I’m afraid I can’t tell you what to do, but I can tell you this. There’s a good chance she likes you but she just hasn’t quite figured out how to tell you yet.”

Charlie’s brows knitted together as he thought about what his dad had just said. Slowly, a grin spread over his face and he said, “Thanks, Dad. I was really confused. I actually think she’s kind of cute!”

As he headed down the sidewalk to baseball practice, Charlie had a warm feeling in his stomach and a little extra spring in his step.

The sun was shining and the air was dripping with humidity as Roger pushed the mower across the front yard. Wishing he had taken a break from his article before it had gotten so hot, he stopped to get some water just as Charlie pulled into the driveway in his beat up Chevy. The old car had seen better days but it was his first car so it was special to Charlie.

Roger walked up to the driver’s side window just as Charlie turned off the ignition. The backfire was loud enough to make them both jump.

“How’s she running, son?” Roger asked with a laugh.

“Great, Dad. I needed a jump after school today but as soon as I change the head gaskets, rebuild the carburetor, get an alignment, new tires, some body work and a paint job she’ll be just like new!” Charlie replied, not even trying to hide the sarcasm in his voice. The many infirmities of the old Chevy was a running joke between them, as they tackled them one at a time. “I just hope I don’t need a jump to get home from the Senior Prom tonight.”

“I’ve been thinking about that, too,” Roger said as he slowly stretched and tried to knuckle some of the ever present stiffness out of the small of his back. “I got you a new set of jumper cables. They’re in the garage. Why don’t you go check them out?”

“Gee, uh, thanks Dad. That was really thoughtful of you,” Charlie said as he hit the garage door opener on his visor. As the garage door went up, Charlie’s eye’s opened wider too. In his normal spot in the garage stood a brand new Chevy.

“Dad, what did you do?” Charlie exclaimed as he threw open the door of his old beater car and headed for the garage.

“I wasn’t kidding, Charlie,” Roger called after him with a grin on his face. “The new jumper cables are in the trunk!”

He managed to finish the lawn, but mowing in the heat had taken its toll on Roger. Sweaty and exhausted, he must have sat down in his chair in the living room and fallen fast asleep for an hour or two. Groggily, he awoke to the sound of someone walking past his chair.

“Who’s that?” Roger said with his eyes still half closed.

“Oh, hey, Dad,” Charlie said quietly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. I thought you knew I was coming home to do some laundry. The washing machine in my dorm is always either broken or busy.”

“I remember now,” Roger said, slowly waking up to a stiff back and aches in both legs. “How are your classes going?”

“Good,” replied Charlie. “Now that I am finally getting into my electives, they are a lot more interesting than all those prerequisites I had to take. I’m starting to think I will really enjoy working in this field.”

“That’s great to hear, Charlie,” Roger said. “One of the things I want most for you is to find something you are passionate about. That makes working at it so much more enjoyable and meaningful.”

“Thanks,” Charlie said, “I really appreciate it. Hey, you look like you could use a shower. I’ll wait to start the washing machine until you’re done.”

Still feeling achy and tired after a shower and supper, Roger slowly pushed himself up from his living room chair when the telephone rang in the kitchen. It rang several times as he shuffled toward it, hoping whoever was calling would know to let it ring for a while.

“Hello.”

“Hello, Dad. This is Charlie.”

“Well, hello Charlie. It’s great to hear your voice. For being so far away, you sound like you’re right next door.”

“I just wanted to let you know that I am settled in my apartment and my telephone service is started,” Charlie said. “My new boss is great and I’m really excited about the mission of this company. With everything I learned in college, I think I will be able to contribute right away. Getting a real paycheck is pretty nice, too!”

“That’s great, Charlie. Really great. I am very happy for you and very proud of you, too.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Charlie said. “That means a lot to me. Hey, can I ask you a question? There’s a girl at work who just graduated, too. Her name is Maria and she sits in the cubicle across the aisle from mine. She hits me in the arm for no reason at all. Do you have any idea what that might mean?”

Roger chuckled into the receiver and said, “Son, I think you should probably know what that means by now.”

As Roger hung up the telephone and slowly turned to go back to the living room, an intense mixture of love, pride and something that felt a lot like being homesick dampened his eyes.

The eight o’clock cable news was just coming on when Roger heard a knock at the front door. Doesn’t matter, he thought. The talking heads are just going to say the same things all over again.

Roger hadn’t gotten up from his chair when his wife called from the entryway, “Dear, the children are here!”

A moment later, Charlie and Maria walked into the living room. Maria was carrying Roger’s grandson, Will, in her arms.

“Hello, Dad,” Charlie said as both he and Maria bent down to give Roger a kiss on his scratchy, wrinkled cheek. “We were in the neighborhood and thought we’d stop in for a minute so Will could see his Grandpa.”

“I’m so glad you did,” said Roger, as Maria laid Will in his arms. “It’s good to have you so much closer to us again.”

Roger looked down at Will’s upturned and smiling face and thought about holding Charlie just the same way, not so very long ago.

“Is everything OK, Dad?” Charlie said. Roger looked up from Will’s face and realized that he had been deep in thought for several minutes.

“Yes, yes, everything is wonderful,” Roger said. “I just took a little trip down memory lane, I guess.”

Roger looked back down at Will, who was still smiling sweetly at him when Maria gently picked him up again.

Slowly brushing his teeth, Roger tried to piece together the events of the busy day that was nearly done. It seemed like so much had happened, yet the time had gone by so quickly. His thoughts seemed to ebb and flow like mist. Images of Charlie would come into sharp focus then fade again, in spite of him trying in vain to hold onto them.

Around ten o’clock, Roger picked up the telephone in the bedroom and dialed Charlie’s number by the light of the lamp on the nightstand.

“Hello, Dad,” Charlie answered on the third ring. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong, Charlie. I just wanted to talk to you about some things,” Roger replied.

“Right now?” Charlie asked. “I mean, sure, Dad. It’s just that the kids are all asleep, Maria hasn’t been feeling well and I have an early flight to catch for work. Can it wait until I have more time?”

“Oh, sure, Charlie. It wasn’t anything important. Sure, sure.  It can wait.”

“OK, thanks, Dad. I’ll talk to you soon,” Charlie replied. “And Dad?”

“Yes, Charlie?”

“I love you, Dad.”

“I love you too, son.”

Roger was dimly aware of waking up, remembering parts of a brief conversation with Charlie right before he had gone to bed. The light on his nightstand was on and there were people in his bedroom, gathered around his bed.

Before he could say anything, Charlie leaned close to his face and said, “Hello, Dad. Mom called and said we should come. Maria and all the children are here, too.”

“I’m glad you did, Charlie. It always makes my heart glad to see you,” whispered Roger. “How’s work going? I know you have been really busy.”

“Oh, Dad,” Charlie softly replied. “I’ve been retired for quite a while. You know Will is married now and Rachel and Becca are both in college, too.”

“Yes, yes, I knew that,” Roger said softly. “I’m sorry. Sometimes I forget important things.”

“Don’t be sorry, Dad. It’s been a long day and you must be very tired,” Charlie said.

“Yes, it has been a very long day,” said Roger. “But Charlie, it has been a wonderful day.”

With the silver dollar still in his pocket, Charlie laid his hand gently on Roger’s chest and said, “Yes, Dad. It has been a most wonderful day.”

Charlie could feel the slow, faint rhythm of his father’s heart beating beneath his hand as the clock in the dining room struck midnight.

Guilty Conscience

by Rob Mahan
Copyright © 2007

Lewis Mueller was dead tired as he pulled the leased BMW through the wrought iron security gate of his suburban Atlanta home. It had been a particularly exhausting day at the dealership. Luxury car sales were down across the country and the bills continued to pile up. All of his mechanics would probably walk out on him if another payday was late. His long time friend and business partner Hans had been worthless ever since his wife left him. All he seemed to care about now was chasing every skirt that came through the doors of the dealership. The banks were calling Lewis every day, sometimes even at home. It was getting difficult to keep the situation under control. His wife had started asking a lot of difficult questions.

As Lewis pulled into the garage, he again replayed the argument he had with Hans earlier that day. They argued a lot these days but this one had been the worst one yet.

“Where have you been all morning, Hans?” Lewis said. “You look like you’ve been up all night.”

Hans grinned and said, “That flight attendant I met last week is back in town. I forgot how much energy twenty-five year olds have.”

“Our bills aren’t going to pay themselves, Hans. I can’t keep doing everything around here while you make a fool of yourself trying to recapture your lost youth!”

The grin slowly faded from Hans’ face as he glared at Lewis. “YOU doing everything around here? That’s rich. If it weren’t for me taking up the slack while your marriage is falling apart, you would have lost your precious house and your precious car and your precious country club memberships a long time ago! Your kid even knows you are a loser at heart …”

“Insult me all you want, you sonofabitch, but leave my family out of this!” Lewis spat back. “This is just between me and you!”

“Come on, boy! You think you can take me?” Hans yelled as he pulled off his jacket and threw it aside. “I’ll kick your ass like I always have!”

Nearly blind with a rage that had been simmering just below the surface for weeks, Lewis jumped up from his desk and lunged at Hans, swinging wildly. With a huge crack, his fist connected with solid bone.

When he finally opened the door leading to the kitchen, Brutus and Cassius greeted him with their usual enthusiasm after being cooped up in the house all day long. He knew that Rottweilers needed a lot more exercise than these two got, but he felt safer with them around on the long nights he spent home alone.

“Are you boys hungry?” he said, and added under his breath “Of course you are. You always need something from me.”

After they bolted down their food, Lewis followed the two dogs into the backyard. As they chased each other around, Lewis closed his eyes and felt the warmth of the late fall sunshine on his face as he thought, It’s a lot warmer here than where Mary is tonight. His wife was traveling again, this time up north to New York City for a week long shopping spree.

Lewis opened his eyes to check on the dogs. A prickle on the back of his neck made him glance up at the house. His eyes came to rest on his own bedroom window and what he saw made his knees buckle. A face was staring down at him from inside what should have been a completely empty house. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head as a thousand thoughts raced through his brain. I should call the police, he thought, but a strange voice in his head whispered, Don’t. Lewis willed his eyes open and forced himself to look back up at the bedroom window. The face was gone but the image was still vivid in his mind’s eye.

Heart pounding in his throat and a watery weakness in his belly, Lewis struggled to get his breathing back under control as he tried to think through the possibilities. Could Mary have come home early from her trip? Maybe Clay decided to surprise us with a visit home. There has to be a rational explanation. The most rational explanation was a burglar, but deep down, Lewis knew that the face didn’t belong to any burglar. After a few more minutes of deep breathing, he felt calmer and decided that all the stress at the dealership, maybe his fight with Hans, was making him see things. But he decided to take the dogs through the whole house, just in case.

“Brutus! Cassius! Let’s go!” he called to the dogs. They obediently followed Lewis back into the garage, looking forward to a treat. Lewis opened the door and the dogs bounded into the kitchen. They didn’t seem to sense anything wrong. Lewis grabbed each of them by the collar and whispered, “We have to check the house. Be quiet!” The dogs finally picked up on Lewis’s anxiety and settled down.

Lewis led them, room by room, through the entire first floor of the house. They crept down the basement stairs, but still nothing. They went back up to the first floor. As they started up to the second floor, Lewis felt his heart start to race all over again. The master bedroom was at the top of the stairs. If someone was in there, he would be an easy target on the open staircase. He let go of the dogs and they bounded up the remaining stairs and through the bedroom door. He waited for them to attack the intruder but only silence came from the bedroom. Lewis worked his way slowly up the last remaining steps and peered around the corner into the bedroom. The only thing he saw was Brutus and Cassius sitting on the bed, tongues lolling and practically grinning, waiting for him to come and finish the game.

“You assholes!” he hissed as a wave of relief washed over him. After a quick check of the rest of the second floor, Lewis thought, Idiot, you’re just scaring yourself.

Later that evening, Lewis poured a tall glass of red wine and started to make himself dinner. Both dogs were sound asleep on the kitchen floor. The wine was making him feel warm and relaxed as he got into a rhythm, slicing vegetables with the razor sharp chef’s knife his son had gotten him for his last birthday.

Halfway through a piece of celery, something bumped his elbow and he pushed the blade across the first two fingers of his left hand before he could stop himself. The knife was so sharp that, at first, he felt no pain. But moments later, as the blood spread across the cutting board, a dull throb started in his fingers and raced up his arm, all the way to his shoulder. Staring dumbly at the deep cuts in his fingers, he finally realized that something had bumped his elbow. The image of the face at the window leaped back into his brain as he wheeled around to face his attacker! As he spun around, an arc of blood droplets flew from his fingertips and traced a path from the wine glass on the counter all the way across the front of the refrigerator. But he was alone in the kitchen. Both dogs raised their heads and just looked at Lewis. “Shut up! Just shut up!” he screamed at the bewildered dogs as he grabbed a dish towel to wrap around his bleeding hand.

After bandaging his fingers as best he could with a shaking right hand, Lewis had lost his appetite. He sat in his favorite chair in the living room with another glass of wine, staring at monotonous cable news shows but not really seeing them. His thoughts kept going back to the face he thought he had seen in the window. That face. I know that face, he kept thinking but he couldn’t quite remember where he had seen it before. The longer he sat in the chair, the more real the face in the window became in his imagination. Stomach in knots, fingers and now head throbbing too, Lewis finally dragged himself up the stairs where he collapsed into bed with Brutus and Cassius curled up at his feet. He immediately fell into a fitful sleep.

In the darkness after midnight, both dogs leap off the bed barking and snarling ferociously at the top of the stairs. Awake and disoriented, Lewis stumbled out of bed, heart pounding against his ribs and fingers throbbing at every beat. With the hair on the back of his neck sticking straight up and testicles sucked into his belly from stark terror, Lewis fumbled a pistol from the nightstand and willed himself to the top of the stairs, where Brutus and Cassius were nearly lathered into a frenzy.

With the sickening taste of bile rising in the back of his throat, Lewis forced himself to look around the corner and down the stairs at the front door. Light from the street was coming through the stained glass windows and he could see that the door was still closed. Gun in hand and his two ferocious dogs snarling right behind him, Lewis flicked on the stair lights. He screamed as he saw the shape of a man sitting motionless in his favorite chair in the middle of the living room.

There was something oddly familiar about the silhouette, familiar and yet frightening.

As he inched down the stairs, the chair slowly swiveled toward Lewis. In the dim light, he recognized the face of his long-time friend and business partner, Hans.

A voice from the chair floated across the room. “Hello, Lewis, old buddy. Payback is a bitch.”

Shaking, Lewis whispered, “This can’t be happening. You can’t be here, Hans.” He clamped his eyes shut, wavered on his feet and almost fainted.

When he opened his eyes again, Hans’ face was gone. Now the starkly mad face glaring at him from the chair was his own … and it was the face he had seen in the bedroom window.

The detached sound of his own voice came from the chair. “Yes. It’s time to pay, Lewis.”

Screaming as he sank to his knees, Lewis brought the gun up in front of himself with both hands. With a long wailing moan, he emptied the entire clip towards the accusing sound of the voice.

Early the next morning, neighbors could see crime scene tape draped across the front entrance of Lewis Mueller’s house. His dogs were tied up to the porch railing.

“What do you know so far?” Detective Baker asked the CSI who had arrived at the scene first.

“Well,” the CSI replied, “the deceased is Lewis Mueller, age forty-two. This is his home. Apparent cause of death is multiple gunshot wounds to the chest, but we’ll know more once the ME gets him on her table. Liver temp indicates he’s been dead about four hours, give or take.”

“Lewis Mueller?” said Detective Baker. “He owns a car dealership downtown and it’s about to go bankrupt. His business partner was found murdered in his office at that dealership yesterday morning. It’s my case.”

“Wow,” said the CSI, as he began to process this new information together with the evidence he had collected so far.

“Looks like we have a classic case of murder – suicide,” Baker said. “I may get to the lake today after all. Do you know anything else about this crime scene yet?”

“We didn’t find any evidence of forced entry. There didn’t appear to be any kind of struggle in the house, except for the cuts on the deceased’s left hand and some blood in the kitchen. But the blood was dry and the cuts happened several hours before death. But I’m afraid I have to disagree with your conclusion. The evidence just doesn’t support it.”

“What do you mean, the evidence doesn’t support it? It seems pretty clear to me.” growled Baker . “No forced entry. No signs of a struggle. The guy gets in financial trouble, kills his long-time business partner, can’t live with the guilt and offs himself. What’s not to like?”

“No powder burns or gunshot residue around the entry wounds.” explained the CSI. “He wasn’t shot at close range. It wasn’t suicide.”

“Damn,” muttered Detective Baker. “There for a minute I thought I was going fishing.”

A Midnight Visit

by Rob Mahan
Copyright © 2006

After weeks of waiting for the contractor to come back and finish the roof, I finally decided if it was going to get done at all, I would have to do it myself. It was a warm December afternoon in Atlanta. The sun was already low in the sky and the distant rumble of thunder promised evening storms. The partially completed roof may not have stood up to a real downpour and the heavy squares of shingles had already been waiting too long in the garage.

Being home alone and up on the roof always worried me so I made sure that the first tool I had was my cell phone. I thought, If I fall, I can call 911 on the way down. I set the ladder up on the back of the house and collected the rest of the tools I would need. I’d never roofed a house before but there’s a first time for everything, right? Pop had always taught himself new things by diving in and just working his way through them. So could I.

My first trip up the shaky three story ladder with tools in one hand and a sore knee wasn’t exactly easy, but there was no turning back. I was still upset at myself for letting the contractor off the hook. This job was getting finished tonight, come hell or high water, I thought. Right on cue, another rumble of thunder seemed to say, “Maybe both.”

After several more trips up and down the ladder, I was finally ready to nail down the first few shingles. The work started out pleasantly enough. The air was still warm although the sun was already low in the western sky. The back roof overlooked our creek and the woods beyond. I was making some progress and feeling pretty good about it. I can do this, I thought, as I reached for the next shingle. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a section of the roof the contractor had actually managed to finish. They must have been drunk. I could have trimmed those shingles straighter with a hatchet … or a chainsaw!

I wasn’t as young as I once was, but then who is? I couldn’t carry a whole bundle of shingles up the ladder so I had to make lots of trips, and each trip was getting to be more of a struggle. Both knees and my lower back were starting to complain. The sun was almost gone and the woods across the creek in the back yard were already dark. The air had gone from warm to cool to downright cold. I thought I had avoided the storms but another deep rumble of thunder told me otherwise. Damn, I was only half way done and now I had to set up a light to work by. Great. Another trip down and back up the ladder. I thought, Maybe I should make 911 a speed dial.

With a 500 watt halogen worklight in one hand, I used the cold fingers of my other hand to hang on as I pushed myself up, one rung at a time, dragging a plugged in extension cord behind me. Half way up, I wrapped my free arm around the ladder and closed my eyes for a moment. Breathing heavily, I muttered, “If that contractor had kept his word, I wouldn’t be on this ladder right now.” A flash of lightening snapped my eyes open and I pushed on up the ladder as the thunder reached my ears.

A halogen light gives off practically more heat than it does light, and on that night, it was a good thing. Working on the back roof, under a completely dark and cloud-filled sky in a small bubble of warmth and light, the rest of the world seemed very distant. I felt completely, almost eerily alone. Working mechanically, the deepening fatigue and repetition of nailing each identical shingle was almost hypnotic. In the back of my mind, I heard myself quietly repeating, I can do this. I can do this.

“Sure you can,” a quiet, familiar voice said.

I must be tired, I thought. I’m starting to hear things.

“What makes you think you’re hearing things, son?” that familiar voice said, this time with a hint of amusement. “I just stopped by to see how your roof was coming along.”

I very slowly looked up and there was Pop, sitting on the south gable, at the edge of the bubble of light. He was smiling and holding Cricket in his lap, that ever present pipe clamped between his teeth, just below his moustache. He had his old brown coat on against the cold and he was wearing his green suede driving cap. I instinctively glanced down to the back yard to see if his old burgundy Corvette was there. If it was, it was too dark to see it.

Closing my eyes, I heard a phone ring. I was back in my room at college, twenty-five years ago.

My mother’s voice quietly said, “Your father is gone.”

How can that be? I thought. He’s been doing so much better lately. “What happened?” I whispered into the phone.

“Your father had another heart attack four days ago,” the voice on the phone said. “He’s been in the hospital ever since, and he was getting better. They even moved him to a regular room yesterday. He had another heart attack this morning, a massive one. There was nothing anyone could do.”

Someone could have done something, I thought bitterly. Someone could have called and told me he was in the hospital four days ago. I could have gotten there. I could have had a chance to say good-bye … to say I love you.

Slowly I opened my eyes, not knowing what I would see. Pop was still sitting at the edge of the light, still holding Cricket and still smiling around his pipe.

“Did you take a little nap there, son?” he said with a chuckle.

“It’s been a long time, Pop … I’ve missed you,” I said slowly. “Hi, Cricket. You’ve been gone a long time, too.”

“She’s a good dog,” he said, giving her a gentle scratch under the chin. Cricket smiled at me and then looked up into his face with that Schnauzer look of love, intelligence and undying devotion.

“I’m sorry I had to go when I did,” he said quietly. “You were young, but I knew you would be OK. And it’s not like I haven’t been around at all, right?”

“That’s true. You’ve always been with me in many ways, mostly good ways,” I said, and then softly added “Some not so good ways, too, I guess.”

“Hey, don’t let me slow down your roofing,” he said. “You’re right about a storm coming and I don’t want you to be up here when it hits. You work and we’ll talk.”

I lined up another shingle and as I reached into my tool belt for nails, I said “When I build things, I often feel you beside me. Not really watching over me, just watching. I think ‘I’m proud of being able to build things with my hands and I hope Pop would be proud of me, too.’ It still amazes me how much I learned just by watching you.”

“I think I enjoyed building our house the most,” Pop said, “even if it did take almost twenty years to finish. The property it’s on has been in our family for over one hundred and fifty years now, you know.”

“Why did it take so long?” I asked. “Houses around here go up in just a few months. Big houses.”

“Your mother and I didn’t have the money to build it all at once. I didn’t want to go in debt, so I just worked on it when we could afford the materials,” Pop explained. “We did borrow two hundred dollars from your grandma to dig the foundation, though. Do you remember us living in the basement while I worked on the upstairs?”

“Yes, I kind of remember, but I was still pretty young,” I said. “I do remember our moving day, when we moved upstairs. It was just like moving into a new house. Was that in 1963? I guess I would have been about five then.”

“I think you’re right about the year,” Pop said. “Everything was nice and new then. It still seems like only yesterday …”

Pop looked down at Cricket and gave her a little hug. She looked up at him, licked his raspy cheek and then rested her head against his chest. No wonder Pop loved animals. They loved him, too.

“You’ve built some great pieces yourself over the years,” Pop said. “The hutch you built for your wife that Christmas is very nice, even though you finished it that next July! The new room below us is beautiful and you finished it in a lot less than twenty years. I am proud of you, son, for lots of things. I always have been. I hope you know that.”

“Thanks, Pop. I always have kind of known, but it’s nice to hear it from you.”

“Can I ask you about something?” I said.

“Sure, anything,” Pop replied. “I’m not exactly on a schedule any more.”

“What was that thing about your oldest brother cheating you out of $10,000 a long time ago? It sure came up whenever there was lots of yelling going on, but I never really understood what it was all about.” I said.

“Oh, that,” Pop said. “Well, I’m afraid there isn’t a nice ending to that story. You know my oldest brother inherited the slaughterhouse when my father died, right? That was just tradition in those days. I didn’t even know my father had died because I was overseas during the war. When I finally got home, everything had changed. My father was gone, my brother was running the slaughterhouse and everyone had already gotten on with their lives.”

“That must have been awful for you.” I said.

“Yeah, it was,” Pop replied. “But I needed a job after I was discharged from the Army and working at the slaughterhouse seemed like a good idea at the time. I delivered sides of beef to our local customers with a refrigerated truck. A lot of the sides weighed almost three hundred pounds and they were really cold, so it wasn’t easy work.”

“Three hundred pounds!” I repeated. “You’re not even six feet tall. You must have been a real tough guy back then!”

“We all worked pretty hard and for long hours in those days,” Pop said. “Right before I went into the Army, my father told me to never hit anyone when I was angry because I would probably kill them. He had never given me any advice before that day. It was one of the last things he ever said to me and I always remembered it. But I didn’t always follow it.”

“I never knew either of my real grandpa’s,” I said. “I wish I could have met them at least once. I guess they were both gone before I was even born. Oh, sorry, you were telling me about working at the slaughterhouse … and about the money.”

“That’s alright, there’s not really that much to tell,” Pop said. “I even learned to cut meat like a real butcher. My brother and I were slicing bacon late one night. He cut me clear across the back of my hand, by accident I guess, and it needed a lot of stitches. That’s how I met your mother, you know.”

“But what about the ten grand?” I prompted him, as I reached for another shingle.

“I’m getting to that,” he said, a bit reluctantly. “My brother decided he was going to add on to the main building and he needed cash to do it. He told me that if I lent him the money, he would pay me back with interest when the addition was done and the business was making more money. So I took $10,000 out of the bank, which was most of our savings, and gave it to him. Understand, he wasn’t just my oldest brother any more. He was my boss, too.”

“Your mother was nervous about having most of our savings tied up in the slaughterhouse because she said she didn’t trust my brother. That really made me angry and I told her not to worry about it. He was family and we would get our money back and then some, with the interest I had been promised.”

“I already know there wasn’t a happy ending. What actually happened?” I said.

Pop closed his eyes for a moment before he continued. “The addition was finished and after a while, I was delivering more meat than ever. Your mother kept asking me when we would get the money back but my brother never mentioned it. After several months, I couldn’t take it any longer and brought up the money during a conversation with my brother. He looked at me like he had been bitten by a snake. ‘What do you mean, loan? That was your investment in the family business. Don’t you ever throw this loan crap up to me again! Understand?’ I don’t think I even bothered to sit at the dinner table that night.”

“So all of the strife I heard about it growing up was because you never got your money back?” I asked.

“Actually, more because I never stood up to my brother and demanded that he honor his word,” Pop said quietly. “I wasn’t all that worried he would fire me. I knew I could get another job. I guess I was mostly worried my brother would make me look like a fool in front of the rest of my family, maybe even in front of the whole town.”

“I know how you must have felt,” I said, “because I have those same kinds of thoughts sometimes. I let this guy take a tractor I was trying to sell home to try it out before he bought it. The dirty bugger never brought it back and he never paid me for it, either. He knew where I lived and I was afraid that if I made trouble for him over the tractor, he would do something really bad. To hell with the tractor, it still eats at me that I didn’t stand up to him. All I did was send him a couple of letters.”

“That must have really hurt,” Pop said.

“Yeah, it did. Still does,” I replied. “For both of us.”

We were both silent for a while as I slowly continued to nail shingle after shingle. A low rumble of thunder reminded us of the coming storm but it seemed to be holding off at a distance for the moment. That was good. Even though my hands were barely usable in the meager heat from the worklight and my lower back ached, I wasn’t quite ready for this job to be finished. Not just yet.

Pop broke the silence first. “Watching you work reminds me of sitting in the bleachers and watching you play basketball. I think you spent more time on the floor, scrambling for the ball, than you did on your feet! I loved going to those games.”

“It was always great glancing up in the stands and seeing you sitting there,” I said quietly. “I don’t remember you ever missing a game. And until I got my license, I think you picked me up after every practice, too.”

“Your mother always made me be there exactly when your practices were over,” Pop said, “but you were always the last one out of the locker room. I usually had at least a half hour wait once I got to the parking lot!”

“I know,” I laughed. “I was always the last one out of the locker room. That wind down time always felt really good. I can still smell the cheap strawberry shampoo and Cramergesic® in the rusty old showers. We would complain about all the sprints we had to run or talk about the next game on the schedule. On those cold northern Ohio nights, it was great to get into a warm car for the ride home with you.”

“I didn’t mind the waiting,” Pop said. “It was quiet in the car, kind of peaceful, actually. And I always enjoyed hearing the ‘inside scoop’ about the team on the way home.”

“I don’t think I missed many of my son’s games, either,” I said. “I wanted to be at every one, just like you were at mine.”

“Actually, I don’t think we missed any of your son’s games,” he said with a smile.

We fell silent again for a few more shingles. I think we were both reminiscing about being fathers and sitting in the proverbial stands. About how sometimes just being there, not teaching, not preaching but just being there is enough.

“Do you remember how much fun we had riding dirt bikes on the trails through the woods across the creek?” I asked.

“Sure I do,” Pop replied. “Motorcycles were one of your brother’s passions so there were always a few in the garage for us to ride. What made you think of them now?”

“The picture of you lying in the creek with one of the bikes next to you just popped into my head,” I laughed. “It was late fall so I know that water had to have been cold!”

“I haven’t thought about that day for a long time,” Pop said. “The water was cold, alright. Do you remember how the bike and I got into the creek?”

“Which time?” I asked.

“What do you mean, ‘which time’?” Pop asked, looking a little bemused.

“Here’s how I remember the events of that day,” I began. “Since you were home, it was probably a Sunday. We decided to go for a ride on the trails that crisscrossed the farmlands and woods behind our property. It was cold so we put on heavy clothes, gloves, the whole nine yards. You got on the Suzuki 185 and I got on the Kawasaki 100. You know, the G5 with the dual range gear box that you ended up throwing in on the trade for your ‘Vette. We headed across the back yard towards the little footbridge you had built across the creek. It was only about a foot and a half wide, as I remember.”

“That day must have been at least thirty-five years ago,” Pop said. “You sure seem to remember a lot of details about it.”

“I don’t know if it was your encounters with the creek or just that it was something you did with me for fun,” I said, “but I think about that day fairly often. Anyway, you got about half way across the footbridge, being really careful and going really slow, too slow. The bike started leaning to the right. When you put your foot down to stop it from leaning, there was nothing below your foot but air and you and the bike went off the side of the bridge and into the creek! After I realized your head had missed hitting a big stump sticking out of the bank of the creek and that you were OK, we both had a good laugh as we were pushing the bike back up to the garage. After sucking cold creek water into the warm engine, neither of us knew if it would ever run again.”

“I guess I had forgotten that the trick to getting across the footbridge was to just hit the throttle and zip straight across,” Pop said.

“Yeah, that must have been it,” I said with a grin. “Anyway, once you got your clothes changed, we did get the bike started again and both of us got across the footbridge on the second try. I don’t really remember much about our ride that day, except that it was great fun. At some point during the day, we must have switched dirt bikes, though.”

“Why do you say that?” Pop asked, although the twinkle in his eye told me he probably already knew the answer.

“Because on the way back across the footbridge, you and the Kawasaki went into the creek!” I exclaimed. “I always figured you were probably thinking about your earlier splashdown and going too slow again. Whatever the reason, it was like watching an instant replay, only you were on the other dirt bike.”

“Seems like one of us was always falling into that creek,” Pop said, and we both laughed before falling silent again.

A jagged bolt of lightning tore across the sky, lighting up the roof like broad daylight. The light lasted just long enough to let me see that only a few more shingles would finish the job, but I still wasn’t ready for it to be finished. Not just yet. The intense light faded back to just the glow from the worklight as the rolling thunder shook the roof below us.

“Pop,” I said suddenly. “I’m afraid of dying.”

“Because of the lightning?” he asked, even though he knew better.

“No. No. Not right now. Just kind of in general, kind of all the time,” I replied.

“Oh, sorry,” Pop said. “What are you afraid of?”

I thought for only a second before I blurted, “I’m afraid I haven’t done the right things with my life. I’m afraid I haven’t made enough of a difference, that my time will have just been spent for nothing. And I’m afraid of missing my family and my friends, not being able to share in their lives any more. You were so strong and then you were gone before I could really talk to you …”

As I looked up at Pop, my eyes were threatening to test my roofing job for leaks before the storm did. Our gazes met as he thought about his reply.

“I can see how much this has been troubling you, son,” he said. “I’m very sorry I taught you about dying so early. The lesson I really want for you is about living the life you are given to the fullest, about making choices and trying to do the right thing. It’s not always easy, though, is it?”

“No, it’s almost never easy,” I replied. “Living life to the fullest always sounds risky. How do I know what the right thing is? There are so many choices, so many decisions to make and there’s only so much time in a day. Sometimes it’s easier just going along for the ride.”

“Going along for the ride is definitely easier,” Pop replied, “but when you let someone else drive, do you always get where you want to go?”

“No, not usually,” I replied.

“I probably got as much wrong in my life as I got right, but I can tell you what I know now,” Pop said. “These days, my hindsight is more like 20/10, you know.”

“Living your life to the fullest isn’t just about doing risky things. Choose what you want your life to be and then make it happen. Make the decisions that take you down your chosen path. Live your life. Don’t worry that you will make wrong choices and look foolish, or worse. You will make mistakes along the way and when you do, learn, grow and move on!”

Pop’s voice rose as he spoke with even more passion. “Stand up for yourself and for your family like a lion protecting his pride. Stand up for children. Help people in need who aren’t even asking for your help, and don’t look for their thanks.”

“Do these things and you won’t be worried about dying anymore,” Pop said, quietly now, almost too softly for me to hear. “Son, you’ve already touched many people’s lives more deeply than you realize, simply by how you have lived. Your legacy will live on in their hearts and minds, even when you are gone from this world.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I love you, Pop.” I nailed in the last shingle without looking up. Fighting bone weary fatigue, I slowly stood.

When I looked to the edge of the light, Pop was gone. Somewhere from the dark beyond, a little dog barked twice.

Drops of rain began to fall gently at my feet.