Obituary

Her mom was talking to her and the T.V. was on in the background when she first scanned the obit. Then her eyes returned to the picture and she felt the wind rush out of her lungs.

Him.

He had finally died. And she had never gone back to see him. She had stopped answering his phone calls. Not that there had been many. He called twice. Once he left a message, a quiet, "Hey, it's me," then a deep exhale through his mustache, "just wondering what you were up to." The second time there had been no message.

They had met over a game of pool on a quiet Wednesday night. She was too lonely to go straight home. They had played a few games, no pressure. He was far more expert than she but patient. After a few games he asked to buy her a drink and she accepted. He asked for her number at the end of the night and kissed her very softly and sweetly on the corner of the mouth. His beard was incredibly soft and it made a tickle through her whole body.

They saw each other a few times; quiet evenings over home cooked dinners at his tidy house. He had two dogs, they were easy going and her favorite part of those nights was holding his hand in the brisk early spring night, walking the dogs to the park. She stayed the night. He was warm and gentle and had a body of someone who had been fit and active his whole life. But he was older.

She didn't know what to think about it. She didn't know if it was OK to care about him,; she didn't want to have "daddy issues".

And then one night, they were laying in bed and without looking at her, he told her he was sick. Very sick. He said, given the newness of their dating, that it would be best if he could just be with his family at this time. There was a deep, long moment of quiet.

Was she meant to say otherwise? To tell him "No", that she cared about him and wanted to be there for him? That's what her heart and soul said. Her head said that he was right and that moreover, he didn't want to have to manage her existence in his life. So they spooned the night away and talked about how everything was going to be O.K.

But she knew it wasn't; he was sick. She asked along about him through a friend of a friend of a friend, who didn't really know. She dialed his number a few times, then hung up.

As her mother continued with her story and on T.V. some chubby man with spiked blond hair engorged himself on fried food, she thought of his soft hands, that first kiss. The sound of the exhale of his voice in the last message he left. She closed her eyes for a moment, and remembered.