“Is there nothing left?” I inquire of the old man atop the hill. “Is all lost?”
“No,”came the reply.
I turned away. It was too much to bear.
“Is that bad?”
The old mad must have no idea who I am, I thought. He surely recognizes me?
“This is not what I wanted. I thought it would be destroyed!”
“I know.”
“How?”
“You must not know who I am.”
“Who are you ?”
I finally turned around. The old man was crying, but his faced was cracked into a smile.
“I'm so proud of you.”
“What are you, my father?”
“Close enough.”
The old man hung his head. I could tell he was tired. So was I.
“What do you mean?”
“Go away. Leave me.”
“Is something wrong?”
The man stood up. His long beard was wet and dripping. The sun gleamed off of it and hurt my eyes.
“Get a life, jerk.”
“Oh. Hi Roofeez.”
“Wazzup ma' homie?”
“Nuthin'”
“Luke be drinkin some WEIRD suff back at da' place.”
“Fine.”
The silence was so loud, it almost crushed my eardrums.
“Get out of your head! Sit down! Stay awhile! Get moving! James Baxter!”
I told Roofeez what direction I would like him to shut in, which happened to be up. Surprisingly, it worked. We walked down the hill.
When we arived at the house, Luke was asleep. We quietly ascended the staircase into the attic. Or at least, I did. Roofeez stayed about three steps from the top and stared into space while humming a song that I could recognize as a jingle for a cigarette ad.
This was basically life, except for the part with the old man on the hill.
