This veteran fought under Gen. Electric.

Laying in bed at 3 a.m.
tossing and turning and dreading
going to work in three hours
I roll over on my back
stare at the ceiling
eyes drawn towards the light fixture
in the center
like the end of some tunnel
with walls that get darker and greener
as sight wanders further from the center.

It's an image I've noticed since I was seven.
My parents had just gotten divorced and
on weekends I'd go across town to
stay with my old man.

("Visitation," they called it
institutional as a prison.
What an ugly legal term.
Redundant, I know.)

My room then had a ceiling light
like the one in my room tonight
and the ones in rooms I've occupied
between then and now.
I'd stare up at it for a few minutes before bed
or during the day if no one was around to play
which was quite often.

It seems that was good practice
for years to come.

Sometime after that I grew up.

Called my mother today
to feed her what she wanted to hear
regarding the state of things.
She told me she was showing my senior picture off
at work and a colleague of hers two years my senior
had her jaw hit the floor and wants to meet me
says she likes guitar players.
I reminded my mom that I don't look the same
as seven years ago
more haggard
the years have taken their toll
the scars are permanent.
In true maternal fashion she laughed off my self-doubt
before telling me about this girl
and I quote:
"Has her Master's, seems genuinely nice, long brown hair
cute, but not drop-dead gorgeous like Gwendolyn was."
I jiggled my phone to see if I was hearing correctly
if she'd really gone

there.

She did.

Then I heard my stepfather in the background
spewing out a sequence of drunken slurred words
asking why the hell she would say something like that
after four years of getting over the one that got away
and thankfully
finally being there
mostly.

She parried through the phone in typical maternal fashion:
"I tell it how it is, Dave. You know that."
I do
since that brutal honesty
is one of the many good traits she's given me
and also one that gets me in trouble.

In my head I visualized a girl better than the last
but not as good as the first
another numbing mediocre
and realized then and there that
the fate of any potential anything was sealed.

I appreciated her honesty
but also my stepfather's going to bat for me
even though I've been moved to clean-up since those days
after a few clinch comebacks in the bottom of the ninth.
He's become a better teammate than my real old man
since he cut me off a year ago
despite the letter's I've sent
trying to reconcile.
I wonder what he tells his family
when I don't show up for the Holidays.
I was never really one of them anyway
the darker son of the black sheep of the weird family.

I'm sure I'm out of the will
a sinner not to be spoken to
regardless of blood
or paternal instinct or responsibility.
My father doesn't even know where I currently reside
probably never will.
It won't be the same
ever again.

I wonder if he's ever stared up at the light in my old room
and seen that same tunnel.

I'll never hear either of them laugh anymore.
They've found what makes them happy
and it isn't me.

And even though it hurts less
with every paid bill
with every song sang alone in the car
after every night spent in the company of loyal friends
and every other reminder that I'm alive
the reality of loss still rears it's head once in awhile.

So hey,
It's no wonder I can't sleep tonight.

But it sure is nice having something familiar
like this ceiling light
at the end of the tunnel
to make things bearable
for now.

And I'm sure that new girl
will warm my bed just as well
as long as she doesn't get to know me too soon.







Currently reading:
"The Wall" by Jean-Paul Sartre.