Dying

Leonard Horton died three weeks ago and is surprised that nobody has noticed. He is sitting on a metal fold-out chair in a purple guest room on the second floor of his granddaughter’s house in a developing suburb of St. Louis. His right hand is shaking. It has been shaking for the last three weeks.

He jumps to a misunderstanding in the supermarket two days earlier. A mispriced loaf of bread has caused him to break into tears in front of the cashier. He doesn’t have enough money to pay the young lady. He doesn’t have a credit card. He doesn’t understand them. She doesn’t quite know what to say. Everyone is staring at him.

He is sitting in a bar in Arizona fifty years ago. He’s tired from the day’s work and his associates commiserate. It was a good day, but it was a long one. He recalls the steer that split from the herd and spotted Ernie, sending him up a tree. Ernie turns red. Everyone laughs. He’s funny. They order another round.

He is on the phone with his daughter. She is telling him about the rising cost of gas and how it just isn’t economically feasible to keep the house in Arizona. He tells her that without it he won’t have a place to live. She tells him not to be silly. He doesn’t respond. She tells him about St. Louis and the mild weather and the arch and the steamboats. He tells her to go to hell. He slams the phone down. His right hand is shaking. It has never done that before.

He is twenty-three and in the barn at the end of the day. Janice is there too. She says she has something to show him. She takes off her necklace. She says she has thought about it for a long time. He unbuttons her blouse.

It doesn’t take long.

She says he’s the strongest man she’s ever known. He believes her.

He is back in the purple room. He is looking out the window. There are four identical houses in a row. There are no trees. There is a gas station that is also a restaurant that is also a coffee hut. He closes his eyes.

He can see it. There is an endless field of dusty orange and tumbleweed. There are red rock walls and burnt stone pillars stronger than were ever built. There is a blue sky, sweet Christ, is there a blue sky. It is a hell of a view.

There are memories in that place. There is a soul that speaks to its people. It is home.

He opens his eyes. He can’t believe it is taking death this long to kill him.