Wednesday, September 14, 2005

Wednesday, September 14, 2005

Wednesday, September 14, 2005

The sky is spectacularly blue, and the coffee smells like morning, and Jim is coming over to help me side the guest bedroom, and Tim is still dying this morning.

Its sinking in, but still not quite registering where I believe it. The feeling of knowing is lurking in the corners of my mind and is attacked ferociously each time its sticks it head out to sniff the air.

I’m not ready.

Here is a story about Tim.

When he was 18 he bought a blue Datsun pickup. He taught me how to drive in that truck. We would drive up and down the farm roads in the fields, and then when I was a little more comfortable, up and down the logging road on our property.

But I still didn’t quite grasp the concept of the clutch, so I started it one day when it was in reverse. It lurched backwards just as Tim was coming down the stairs from the porch. I pinned his leg between the bumper and the bottom stair and then panicked, and punched the gas.

And yet, he still talks to me!

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