Henry’s alarm clock buzzed loudly, gradually increasing volume with every passing second, to remind him every minute asleep was a minute lost. He woke promptly, but only sensed darkness. The continued tradition of breakfast before dawn followed as his wife Maggie readied herself for work. For years during these times Henry mapped out the day; neighbors to visit, properties to fix, family members to check on. Well over a decade of retirement, and Henry refused to relax, life lacked lethargy and so did Henry.
“I’m off to the hospital” Maggie’s southern draw echoed, as she kissed Henry on the cheek.
Bells above jingled as she slammed the insulated door Henry built years before. Moments later, Henry heard the door of a new model SUV shut and drive off. Annoyed by the sudden silence, Henry guided himself to the small kitchen television, and turned to the news. He repeatedly dipped a cold spoon into a cereal bowl Maggie poured, then paused with the spoon mid-air.
“The DOW is down even further today, which make us wonder...when is this going to end?” The uppity newscaster announced.
Henry shook his head, a blurry sunrise rested in his left peripheral. He labored for decades as a carpenter and as manager of a lawn-mower company, only to see his life savings sucked dry from economic collapse and from the surgeries. At twelve he lost most sight in the left eye, and at seventy-five he lost all sight in the right. Expensive doctors told Henry he may see again, so every three months after the surgery he took the pricey injections, worked hard on rehab exercises, and stayed determined. The surgery, exercises, and determination never brought back clear vision. Henry muted the television.
Henry was never a man of prayer, he saw himself as a practical man. He became even more practical after witnessing the deterioration and death of his first wife...Schizophrenia. After her death, the lawn-mower company offered him a new position, one in South Carolina. The carpentry trade was too rugged for a man of his age, so he took the position. It was a chance to leave behind pains of loss, a way to keep working and living without distracting emotion. Henry’s son, Henry Jr. followed in Dad’s footsteps, and became a formidable carpenter back in his home state of Ohio through the years apart.
Henry thought about his son, both wives, and his four daughters over breakfast. Every few weeks he would call and ask how weather was up North (it tended to be warm in the Summer and cold in the Winter) The short period of reflection and stagnation turned to frustration, so Henry walked outside. The stroll became a struggle for Henry; down two flights of stairs, across a steep lawn, and to the dock, where a pontoon and speed boat rocked in crisp lake waves. Dry air told Henry the boats would soon need raised from the lake. For a few moments, Henry didn’t think about anything; wind played the water below, wood clanked against rock, and every few moments a Gar’s fin splashed in the air as it preyed on bluegill below. Soon the noises sounded too familiar, boring Henry into another task- retrieving the mail.
With his head cocked to the right Henry slowly shuffled away from the lake and to the front yard, bracing himself against every tree and landmark on the way. Dead pine needles cushioned thick crab grass and clay beneath him. Inside the old black mailbox a thick stack of magazines, letters, bills, and advertisements filled the space.
“Damnit” Henry spat allowed, pulling a toothpick from his pocket to chew on, a way to calm nerves after quitting chewing tobacco.
Henry forgot to bring outgoing mail, knowing he would later retrace his footsteps, only taking time away from the day’s other tasks. He closed the box and walked to the front door.Once inside, Henry passed a computer he never used and a keyboard he never played in a room he never occupied in route to the kitchen. He slapped the mail onto the kitchen table, then grabbed a pen, checkbook, and large magnifier from a miniature basket on the table. Reading every letter and paper received became the day’s most time consuming task. He wrote a check and set it aside for Maggie’s review, then continued until he came across a letter concerning his grandson.
“The amount below is delinquent” The letter read.
Henry shook his head in disgust. He never went to college, yet he owned two cars, a truck, a lake-house, three boats, a jet ski, an arsenal of guns, and four wheeler, all in cash, and all from hard work. Years before he co-signed a student loan for his grandson. Henry Jr. wanted to name the grandson Henry III, but Henry Jr.’s ex named him Dustin, citing Henry Jr.’s drug and physical abuse as reasons Henry didn’t deserve the freedom. Dustin was the first of his mother and father’s family to attend a big University, and now the bastard had trouble paying his debts.
Every few months a letter would arrive at Henry’s house in regards to the loan, but Dustin always gave excuses. He was living in a friend’s closet, couldn’t find a job, had been laid off, he simply couldn’t afford his school debt, which he compared to a mortgage. Henry never missed a payment on anything, and didn’t understand how anyone could. Dustin’s mother didn’t work for years as she raised Dustin’s brothers, Henry assumed the same lethargy moved to Dustin.
Henry hadn’t seen Dustin in years. Henry Jr. moved to South Carolina at one point, and Dustin lived back North with his other family. He visited every summer before college, sometimes staying for weeks, the two fished, drank beers, and worked alongside one another on Henry’s properties. In high school Dustin worked at Henry’s favorite local restaurant back in Ohio. Henry offered to pay for the business and franchising rights, so Dustin would run the business. The fifteen year old Dustin declined, saying he wanted to stay in school and with his brothers. Though he was often disappointed, Henry missed Dustin.
Henry guided himself along the kitchen table into the living room, where dusty pictures of a young, sixty-year old Henry sat atop a fireplace in the living room, below a large mouth bass mounted on the wall. Henry sat comfortably in his large recliner next to the phone, feeling his way around the wide key pad to call Dustin and remind him of his obligations. The phone rang, but Dustin never answered. It was eight in the morning, so Henry called again, hoping to wake Dustin up before work, or to simply wake him from unemployment, Henry never knew what Dustin was up to.
On the other side of the ringing Dustin looked at the incoming calls and ignored them. He was broke, homeless and far in debt from school, but knew none of this mattered to his grandfather, all that mattered was a payment which was late. Dustin remembered times when Henry called him every few weeks to ask about the weather or sent a birthday card which always arrived on the right day. Recently Dustin only received angry letters from Henry, or condescending phone messages about “all that education”. He once looked up to his grandfather, but now only wanted to be left alone. After years of a broken and awkward relationship with his father, Dustin only felt tied to the family through his grandfather, but he no longer felt that connection after the nasty called and letters.
“That makes me so damn hot in the collar” Henry shouted to himself, hanging up the phone.
He rested for a few moments in the recliner, seething from the lack of respect and gratefulness. In hopes to appease his feelings he called his son Henry Jr., only to hear more ringing with no answer. Henry Jr. lived in Ohio with his new wife but traveled the country, working on different building contracts from state to state. Henry again hung up the phone and shook his head. The morning heated as it neared noon. Henry sat in darkness, tired of the taunting nature of a blurred son in the corner of his eye.
