The night the Rhymer went whack

65

Death just transplants energy; bad and good, they both seek new shelter.

Nick awakened caked in dried blood. At first he thought he was injured, checking his arms, face and hands then he quickly remembered the infliction. He must’ve stumbled outside as he had awakened from a fetal position, in the vestibule for who knows how long. He laid there remembering what he had witnessed. First came the tears followed by the sobbing. Rascal was at his feet, also covered in blood and licking Nick’s ankles. He sat up against the door, semi-smiling while reminiscing about his mom. The noise outdoors was deafening and Rascal barked, attempting for quiet but to no avail.

Nick stroked Rascal’s head. It didn’t matter, his quiet was now internal as he continued remembering his mom’s soulful embraces, her gentle touch, warm smile, dedicated demeanor, giving love and encouraging actions. For hours, as the sun arched through the sky, he sat there smiling through gentle tears masking the noise of the chaotic world that surrounded him. All that was positive, he thought, was the warmth of her existence.

He thought of their piano, the tuba, the clarinet and the congas. Her singing, her laughing, her crying and her breathing. He remembered how, when he last hugged her, their heartbeats were in sync, even their breaths and movements had a rhythmic connection. He continued sitting there trying to see the neighborhood through her eyes, feel what she felt and be who she was or who she had hoped for him to be. And with that, he rose, faced the outside and stepped himself into a new light. The sun shone brightly upon his face as he lifted up toward it, embracing it and welcoming it.