Joe's Black T-Shirt by Joe Schwartz Read Free Book Online Page A

him sir and expected the same of men younger than him (damn their rank). When the food pantry was asking for donations, you raided the cabinets. Men held doors open for women and waited their turn. It was a nice way to live.
    Mike kissed Mother on the cheek. She was happy to see him and knew Father would be pleased with him as well. As he stood next to her, Mike placed his hand over theirs.
    “Have you eaten, Mike?” Mother asked.
    “A little. Some burgers, a few gas-station hot dogs. Mostly just coffee.”
    “Go home. Take a shower. Fix yourself something from the icebox,” she ordered maternally. “There’s more food going to rot in there than is going to get eaten. Then get some rest. Uncle Henry needs you to be here on time.”
    “Yes, Mother,” Mike said kissing her cheek again.
    Father hadn’t moved except for his deep breaths. A tube went to his stomach that pumped in a nutritional mush. Another, thankfully hidden beneath the hospital blankets, collected his waste.
    The prone body was his Fathers, but without the towering six-foot-six frame erect and his ‘aw, shucks’ smile, he looked different. Not like he was sleeping or deceased, more empty than anything. As if his soul was wandering confused, far away from his body, not entirely certain it should come back to visit.
     
     
    ***
     
     
    Mike came to the hospital quarter after ten. He had disobeyed his mother’s order to go directly home and raided the meager resources of the local Library. He blindly pulled books until he had collected a full armload from the shelves. Some he knew by author, others he chose solely by their cover. The librarian seemed frustrated to be checking out so many books at once. He tried to reassure her using his best imitation of Father’s smile. She had no use for such conveyances.
    Uncle Henry sat where Mother had been before when Mike came into the room. Unlike Mother, however, his uncle had his boots propped up on the bed, watching the Rams offensive line get trounced by the visiting Forty-Niners.
    He bounced to his feet upon seeing his nephew and gave him an unusually long hug. The big man pushed away first. He was a five-year younger carbon copy of Father and seemed all to ready to cry. He changed the subject to avoid it.
    “Dang, boy! I ain’t seen you since Cindy got married. How’s life down there in the middle of God’s country?”
    “Pretty good. The village has three horses now, but there is talk of getting a fourth.”
    “Why do all good lawyers have to be such smarty pants?” Uncle Henry asked loving every minute. Mike may have looked like his Mother, but it was a disguise. Inside, he was every bit quick as his father.
    Not much for small talk, Uncle Henry shook his nephew’s hand and wished him well, then left.
    In the still warm chair, Mike sat next to his Father. With nothing to distract him, he randomly chose one of the books he had brought. The story was vaguely familiar and it was likely he had already read it years ago. It offered him a comfort, an escape, he gladly accepted to defy reality.
     
     
    ***
     
     
    At one a.m., a nurse came into the room. She smiled toward him and wordlessly changed Father’s IV’s. Methodically, she charted her duties on an aluminum clipboard. Mike was grateful for her silence.
    This was the hospice ward. The patients cared for here were not going to become well. The staff and the families who shared these sanitary rooms moved among each other with delicacy. No one wanted to be here but made the best of things if they had to be.
Mike’s head was bobbing up and down, trying to resist the natural urge to sleep, when Father awoke.
“What the hell is going on here?” his Father’s voice barked.
“Dad,” Mike answered.
“I asked a question, boy, and I expect an answer.”
The stern response made Mike wonder.
“You’re in the hospital, Dad. Mother will be here soon,” he said.
“Don’t you hand me that hogwash,” Father said. “You’re in a heap of