The Picture

This morning I think of that picture. We were sitting on the roof of the car, cigarettes dangling, having surreptitiously wandered from school in mid-day. Teenagers with testosterone, at least our private school version.

This morning he is in a hospital. Waiting for a doctor to advise how severe his stroke. Uncertain of so many things these days. The world having lost its clarity. The harsh reality of the moment omnipresent. Suffocating out the sun.

These past years having treated him in a manner unimaginable when he  looked out on the world from his perch that high school afternoon. Then there was an invincibility radiating. A universe of opportunity palpable in his eyes. Possibility as far as the mind could imagine.

These past years have slowed him to a crawl. Each step an effort. Each word escaping his immediate grasp. Each hour vastly more a question mark than a statement.

I await word of what it all means now. Of what to expect in the tomorrow's ahead. Of how much more is irretrievably gone.

This morning I think of that picture.