1 Corinthians 13:13
And now these three remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love.
I awoke at 2 am, absolutely and insanely pissed. My best friends toxic ex blowing up my phone. What could she possibly want from me. I answered the 12th FaceTime call I was receiving and she was hysterically weeping. It wasn't very odd of her. She claimed I needed to check on Tyler. See Tyler was my best friend. Everything you'd ever want in a buddy, One of the most blunt and honest men I've ever met. This is the highest degree of compliment I can offer. She claimed he was missing. More than likely he was avoiding her, as was I shorty after. Just in case, I had messaged him through my blurry contacts, slept in for weeks at this point, " hey buddy just shoot me text and let me know you're okay." 2 hours later I went to work as usual. Shift work at a steel pipe mill is easy. The manual labor allowed my brain to turn off for long periods of time, a blessing. At 2 pm I had another call from his ex, this was a horrible omen. My heart wretched. I foolishly answered the call amidst a breakroom full of blue collar colleagues. The room had the air thrust from it. Every ear drum present rang with her hysterical grieving travail. He's dead. He's dead. The words had thrown the taste from my tongue, the color from my eyes, and the skin from my bones. My soul rattling like my grandfathers logging truck. Laid bare in shock I ended the call and sat silently, unable to react. Messages and calls began to render my phone into a cockroach vibrating across the table and reassuring the filth and depravity of life. The cruelty of life for breaking my kindred soul. Suddenly I became the embodiment of man's hatred. The rage I felt that day lingers eternally. He left me. He brought my loneliness to heal, and my conscience new morality, then he left. Betrayal is a pit without hope.
Governed out at 96, my truck threw rocks out of the plant headed towards my hometown. No music, no thinking, just numbly laying on the pedal. When I approached his mothers home, she fell in my arms. The sound of a mothers cry who had lost her child. It needs no exaggeration. The definition of despair. Unable to speak or think I only felt more anger holding her. I left briefly. I'm not very fond of the uncomfortable, but pulling into my driveway I was hit with an emotion beyond my depth. There was no way I was going into my bedroom. I knew it contained the taco wrappers from the previous Monday. A long movie night of Japanese horror and four lokos cheap acrid scent. A scent that now is a daydream. I called my older brother and told him to make room for me in his apartment for now. I'm often misunderstood but his voice stretched into a calm yes sir. Upon arriving, the Texas concrete in June and the warm breeze blew a wind into my lungs that unplugged a dam of distress. For the third time in memory I hugged both of my brothers and cried in broad daylight.
