The Truth About Life

-Chase: Chapter Fourteen-

I wake up to the amazing smell of orange rolls wafting up to my room.

I roll over in bed, stack my hands under my head as I stare at my ceiling fan, the blades whirring around and around. The gentle breeze it creates feels good, my room feels hot and stuffy.

I get out of bed and shuffle over to open my window. I press my forehead against the screen, breathe in the summer morning.

It's then I notice something strange in the garden. It's a mattress, of all things. Not sure where it came from, but it did put the poor tomato plants out of their misery. Hmm, weird.

I grab a quick shower, get dressed in a ratty pair of shorts and an old ripped up Van Halen t-shirt, my Adidas.

I head downstairs to find freshly made orange rolls sitting on the kitchen counter. I grab a couple and head out the door, calling to my mom, wherever she may be, that I'm headed to the junkyard.

I'm cleaning the carburetor of the Panther Stroud when Milton comes walking over, a mug of coffee in hand. I hand him one of the orange rolls and take a bite of my own.

"Mmm, your mama sure knows how to bake 'em." Milton licks the last of the cream cheese frosting off of his fingers then swipes his hands down his coveralls.

The sun is just cresting over the tree line and it makes the leaves shimmer. Milton takes a swig of his coffee and sighs, staring at the rising sun. I stare at him, worry about him.

I had a hard time sleeping last night, I've switched from reading about addicts and the percentage of them staying clean, to reading about lung cancer and the havoc it wreaks on a person's body. I scrolled through page after page, and picture after heartbreaking picture.

I set my rag and the carburetor down, wipe my hands with an old oil-stained cloth.

"Milton, do you really think there's a heaven? Like, a God just sitting up there in the sky, watching all the shit that goes on down here?"

Milton studies the sky, the rising sun.
Oranges and pinks streak across the morning sky, painting a pretty picture.

He turns, his piercing blue eyes study me. "Where else would my wife and daughter be but heaven? They were both so good, so perfect, the only place for them would be heaven. Did I believe there was a heaven before they died? No, I didn't. I didn't even think about stuff like that."

He stops to clear his throat and starts coughing, hard. He can't seem to stop. I walk over to him, patting his back gently, scared out of my mind that he won't be able to catch his breath. He coughs up phlegm, wiping his mouth with a bandana from his pocket. I notice it comes away stained with blood. My heart does a flip, should I call 911?

Milton takes a couple of deep breaths and continues, "I was a young, cocky kid. I thought I was invincible, son. Until the day my family was taken from me, that is. That day will be etched in my memory forever. I needed something to believe in, I didn't have anything else." He pats my shoulder. "As for God just sitting up there watching all the shit this world dishes out, I'm not sure about any of that. Maybe my wife will know some about that, she's been gone up there an awful long time."

Milton pushes his fingers through his painfully thin, white hair. Over the course of the summer, I've noticed that it gets thinner every day. He has to roll up the legs and sleeves of his coveralls for them to even partially fit. He seems to be shrinking before my eyes. His appearance makes me want to cry.

"When I'm gone, Chase, you need to promise me that you'll keep coming out here, that you'll keep rebuilding bikes, rebuilding your life." His eyes are so intense, I have to look away.