“So you’ve come home, then.”
He’s not changed in the slightest as he stands behind the bar in the selfsame dimness common to all my memories of this place, this very place, my home.
But a shaft of pale sunlight catches the side of his face and I can see that yes, he has changed, he who always seemed to me a man of stone, granite hair and obsidian eyes, marble fingers and few if any words.
Many an hour have I sat my New York desk with closed eyes trying to picture him as he stands now, striving to summon words that might capture the wool of his collar, the muscles of his jaw shifting beneath the skin like a foot beneath the bedclothes.
In this shaft I see him as he is, see him as though for the first time, an old man alone in an empty bar.
l really love this one, Josh. Such evocative, emotional imagery, especially all the stony references to the father’s image in the son’s mind. And how true it rings, that people do change, even those who seem as immutable as rock, or that when you go home you realize perhaps they never really were who you thought they were.
Glad you liked it. Memory changes things, for sure. Thanks for commenting!
Your story and my thoughts on it have given me an idea for a related (and yet of course completely different) story on the “you can’t go home again” theme. Ahh, if only I had more time to write!
Sometimes the curtain lifts and the star of the show is revealed to be simply human. Beautifully written!
~Cie from Naughty Netherworld Press~
thanks!
Nice twist at the end. The obsidian concrete hard image revealed in the reality. I love your use of the words obsidian eyes.
Thanks, John!
Memory changes things. Time changes things. Life changes things. Sometimes the vectors of change make the distance too much to accommodate. Well done.
That’s a beautiful story, Josh, top quality. I’m so glad I read it.
Thank you, Penny!