his friends. He looked at them, one at a time. They sat there, shivering before a cold fire. He opened his wallet. “I have to go now,” he said. “I’ll see you all later.” “Say, what the hell?” Barney said. “Don’t worry about it,” Frank said. “I’m all right.” Outside, he decided that this year, even without Ed, he was going to Montana. In Montana, in the summer, the streams were clear and bright. The trout waited, down behind the stones and boulders. The hills were without snow. The valleys were green. In Montana, late in the afternoon, after a storm, there was always a rainbow.
Richard Dokey | Rainbow
“When’s the last time you slept eight hours straight through,” Barney said. “Listen, we’re old, that’s what it is. So we think old.” “Cut it out,” Frank said. “Well, for chrissake,” Barney said, surprised. “Look at you. You eat that crap, and every time it’s the same crap. You want it all to come right up some day and slap you in the face? You want it to embarrass you on the toilet before you can wipe your goddamn ass? So we’re old, Frank. So it’s that time. We think old because we are old. You’ve made a will, haven’t you?” “Of course I’ve made a will. I made one a long time ago.” “So there you are, then,” Barney said. “What’s that about, if not thinking old? We all have our wills. Any of you guys don’t have a will?” He looked around and patted the table. “So you let go.” He patted his head. “Or you get torn away. Why hold on to something that’s not holding on to you?” Frank stood. The chair clattered to the floor. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he said. Inside the bathroom Frank washed his face. He looked into the mirror. This is how it is, he concluded. This is how the trees go bare. He returned to the table. He looked at his friends. They were good friends. He had known them a long time. They would always be
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