At Least They're Committed

He told me so. I was on the bus this morning and I was slightly weary from my last-minute-stayed-longer-than-I’d-planned happy hour yesterday afternoon to send Christine to California in style (see earlier posting on Tigger). But, I was upbeat this a.m. and I couldn’t help say to myself, like, hey, today’s going to be OK. But Gabriel flashed next to me, his presence dark and his voice a wave pulsating like black oil in water through bright lights in my head. “It’s going to be bad,” he said. “Really?” I didn’t trust what I had sensed. “Very bad,” he said and was gone and I felt fear but I pushed it back. Soon after I got to work we were informed someone here I truly cared about, the only person who asks me to lunch, was no longer here and I still don’t understand why and the final scene from The Sand Pebbles keeps ricochetting through my mind — Steve McQueen slumped against the base of a tree, rifle in his hands, wounded. “What happened? What the hell happened?!” Another shot rings out and silences him.

Yesterday was a good day.