Heaven

Things are always the way they’re supposed to be. The old TV still sits in the corner, even though he knows that a new one is supposed to hang from the wall, his chair still sits in a place of honor, but something tells him that it has been moved. With a sigh he closes the door to the garage and walks into the kitchen, the large white cat sits on the counter, waiting for him like it always is. He knows that it’s the wrong cat, a different one should be waiting for him now, but Little White is the right cat, the cat that should be waiting for him. He unsnaps the fanny pack and puts in on the counter before stopping to scratch Little White’s head. Watching those blue eyes close to slits he smiles and talks to the cat, even though it can’t hear him.

He runs his fingers through his thick silver hair and takes off his sunglasses, carefully placing them in the basket that has always sat upon the counter, always there for him to put his things into. But he knows that the basket is stuffed in closet somewhere. He empties the change from his pocket into the Harley ashtray and takes of his watch, dropping it and his keys in there as well. Putting on his prescription glasses he pushes them further up his nose and turns on the light over the dining room table, making sure that the ceiling fan is set to the right speed. He then goes to the coat closet, where he carefully hangs up his worn leather jacket. He remembers getting a new one, but can’t seem to find it.

Going into the bathroom with its familiar green towels he goes piss and stares at the pictures that his wife has hung above the toilet. Those pictures change periodically, and he knows that different ones are supposed to hang there now, but the pictures that he sees are the ones the always liked the best. He zips up his fly and washes his hands, staring at his face in the mirror. His beard is neatly trimmed and the flesh is darkly tanned, vaguely he recalls himself thinner and almost gaunt, with a scraggly beard hanging down to his chest, his hair longer and more white than it appears. But the face that greets him every time he looks into the mirror is the one he should have, it’s the right face. Shaking his head he dries his hands and the familiar sound of the wooden towel holder bouncing around is like a salve to his feelings of incompleteness.

Re-entering the kitchen he goes to the fridge and pulls out a can of cold Bud Light. Something tells him that he shouldn’t drink it, that he can’t drink it, but he always enjoys a cold beer after a ride. Sitting at the dining room table he pulls an ashtray closer and lights up a cigarette.

He sits there and smokes, drinks his beer and things about what he’ll do next. Little White jumps onto the table and sits across from him, staring at him from half-closed eyes, his purr loud enough to hear.

He can do anything he wants to do, clean the bike, spend some time online, go for a walk…. But he can’t seem to make up his mind. Stubbing out his cigarette he finishes his beer and pushes the chair away from the table. He bends down and begins to unlace is Redwings, removing them and shoving his dirty socks inside he tucks them away in the corner, knowing that if he just leaves them sitting around his wife will trip over them. Standing up he grabs the empty can and crushes it in his hands as he walks to the far side of the kitchen counter. Setting it down to be taken out to the recycling bin later he pauses for a moment and reviews his familiar surroundings. Shrugging his shoulders at the feeling that although things are as they should be it’s not how they truly are he opens the curtains over the sink and ties them back. He opens the window and looks out at the front of the house, the flowers his wife lovingly tends are all in bloom and the lawn is lush and green, the ivy well trimmed and the truck sitting in the driveway. He shakes his head as he looks at that old Dodge, something tells him that it’s not supposed to be there anymore.

Turning he goes back into the bathroom and turns on the shower, washing the grime from the road from his body all thoughts of wrongness are washed down the drain.

Putting on his bathrobe he wanders into the master bedroom and pulls his sweats out of the dresser. Drying off he gets dressed, pulls on a clean pair of socks and pulls his slippers from the cubby beneath his nightstand. His wife’s cat is sitting on the bed glaring at him and the memory of her crying over the loss of that cat strikes him, clear as the fact that the cat sits there before him. He reaches over and pets it, once, twice, the animal has never liked him much. Back in the front bathroom he hangs up his towel and runs his brush through his hair, once again struck by the difference of the face in the mirror from the one that he remembers.

Back in the kitchen he pulls out another beer and cracks it open as he retrieves his book from the small table in the family room and turns on the light. Making sure he has an ashtray and his smokes he sits down and covers his legs with his black and orange Harley blanket. Little White jumps up as he lights his cigarette and makes himself at home on the man’s lap. Smiling he spends a few moments petting his cat before picking up his book and losing himself in the life of FDR.

Time passes, measured only by the number of cigarette butts that accumulate in the ashtray. He tires of reading and turns on the television, watching Mythbusters and Trading Spaces. When the phone rings he is shaken, he can’t remember the last time it rang.

Lowering the foot rest he disturbs the cat from its slumber and stands up, leaving his blanket piled on the floor at his feet. He steps into the kitchen and picks up the phone, the caller ID reads Private Number and he answers, knowing that many of his wife’s family members have blocked numbers.

“Hello?” His voice is gruff and strong.

An unfamiliar voice comes over the telephone, telling him that Joel is on his way and that he should be ready for him.

Nodding the man hangs up the phone and everything comes flashing back to him. Tears begin to fall from his eyes, never a man given to showing much emotion he is disturbed by this, but does not wipe them away.

The doorbell rings as he pulls out a tissue and blows his nose. Looking through the kitchen window he sees a familiar face smiling at him, he hasn’t seen her for over a decade and the sight of her fills him with joy. He opens the door and lets his sister-in-law come in. They hug and she kisses him on the cheek, “I’m sorry that I haven’t been by to see you yet, but I heard that Dad is on his way.”

He nods and steps back to allow her entry to the house.

They sit together at the dining room table, talking about the people they love, how they remember them and how they see them now. Pride shines as she talks about her son and his impending wedding, only to be matched by his own as he talks about his grandchildren.

When the grandfather clock strikes four they stop and stare at each other for a moment, before tears begin to fall from her eyes. “I can’t wait to see him again, but I still wish he wasn’t coming.”

“I know Claudia, I feel the same way. Our family still needs him, and as much as I miss him I know that our family needs him more than we do.”

With that he stands and makes his way to the linen closet, opening the door he bends over and retrieves the cribbage board and a deck of playing cards. Returning to the kitchen he sets the board and cards down onto the table and goes to get another beer for himself and his sister-in-law.

He sits down again and they open their beers. Silently they both light up their cigarettes and wait, knowing that the moment is at hand.

When the doorbell rings they stare into each others eyes for a moment, smiling through the fresh barrage of tears. The man stands up and answers the door, letting his father-in-law into the house. The man before him is not the man he remembers, but at the same time, he’s just the way he’s supposed to be. Robust and healthy, his blue eyes sparkling beneath his glasses.

Claudia stands and hugs her father, their tears mingle as they hold fast to each other, separated too soon and for too long. The new arrival asks for a beer and takes a long drink from the cold can.

“I haven’t had a beer in almost twenty years.”

They all laugh and he sits down, picking up the cards he begins to shuffle them. Claudia pulls out a word search book and a pen, losing herself in the mindless, time-killing activity while her dad and brother-in-law begin their game.