At the doc again, it seemed like he remembered my case a bit. It’s been about a year since my last visit. He won’t say I’m crazy, but I believe I am.
I used to be a regular there, so everyone that works there knows me. I never expect much from treatment anymore, but today I guess I got more than I expected.
The regular doc is the funniest visit, right along with the crazy doctor — it never lasts more than five minutes. It’s like going through some fast-food drive-thru you can’t be late to.
I do as the old folk, pull some cookies out from my girl’s bag and start feeding the pigeons. I break the cookies into little pieces and watch them fly over, looking for a bite. Some of them eat the whole piece, others just grab what they can.
There’s one I toss pieces to multiple times, but the others keep stealing from it, until it finally gets its share.
I daydream about setting up some board games so I can play and talk to the old folk who frequent the plaza. Not much goes on there, not much has in a long time.
I walk around some streets looking at houses, a lot of small ruined, and uninhabitable homes.
What happened to Dori? The lady that used to cut my hair when I was a little kid. Her house lays in ruins, roofless, but someone painted it. I walk some more looking for where one of my high school buddies used to live, but I can’t remember which one it is. A lot of the houses are now converted to murals. There’s a lot of old Spanish architecture if you look close enough.
I decide to go find my dead uncle’s house again, as I am unconvinced, I found the right one the last time I walked this street. I find it, as a man stares at me from a distance. I tell him who I am, and he confirms that that is my uncle’s home. It’s blue with a white metal door.
As I leave, I find some writing on the wall telling me there’s a book box I can take from three feet away.
Surprising, books in this town are rare. It’s even more rare to find someone with a book in their hand. I search the box and find some Brontë and Hemingway, and some others. I walk away with a handful of books before entering the ruins of this beautiful brick home I would buy if I had the money.
I start my long walk towards the funeral home. The sun scorches me until a trolly picks me up. I thought they no longer existed. The AC blasting cold; a much-needed relief from the unrelenting heat.
I kneel on the cushioned kneeler, and I pay my respects to BRM, Hector’s mother. She looks peaceful, almost like she’s smiling. Hector is there, he’s got the shirt and pants he was telling me about. He tells me how much he misses his mother, and I tell him how much I miss my father.
“My sadness is something that will never go away,” he tells me…