Conflagration

Part Three

...I was alone for a good while before they gave me my diagnosis. I remember that the hospital room was warm and I sat still and stared at the doorhandle, waiting for it to turn. Fiddled with some of the diagrams on the countertop every now and then. Different organs in hard plastic that show all the places things can go wrong. When the doctor finally came in I knew what he was going to say before he had a chance to open his mouth. Knew it before I'd even driven over. The information was printed on a single sheet of paper and he had to point to the name of the cancer for me to find it. I read it three times before I was able to pronounce it. I only quit trying because he gave me a nod as if to say that the last one was correct. He could have been humoring me though I suppose, although I didn't see much humor in anything else he said.

Driving home it was tough not to draw parallels. The paperwork said that the tumor had spread to a central location in the brain and before long there would be neurological side effects to go with the headaches. One doesn't need a medical degree to know that it wouldn't stop there neither. If I stuck around for long enough it would find its way to every corner. Every cell infected until I became the disease itself. But no one ever lasts that long.

I wasn't alive when the last mine shut down. My Pa would talk about it from time to time but he was too young to work in it himself. After that there were still a handful of manufacturing jobs and I do remember when they left. There was this wild eyed look in some of the older folks faces for a year or two after. Like the last thread of a carpet had been pulled out from under their feet. There was this man I sat next to at the bar once. About my Pa's age. He told me that he heard the town's back break that day. Said it snapped just like a bent twig. I guess I bring this up to say that it was right about then that things began to turn south. The foundation had already been there for years, but when people are left vulnerable, that's when you see a disease of its own spread. I wish I could say that it was just drugs. One could make the argument that it's the source and all else trickles down from it, but I think there's something above even that. I think it's the absence of hope. Not even for money. For purpose. If your life won't amount to nothing then what harm is there in destroying it? I dare you to come up with a sensible answer. Lord knows I've tried.

There was a time when you and I use to talk about our future and where we saw ourselves. Maybe we'd head downstate. Maybe out west. Time seems to move like a machine and if you don't keep a steady enough eye on it you're liable to get caught up inside. I remember when you told me that you could deliver mail just about anywhere. All you'd need were people to bring it to. I guess that goes for a carpenter too. That narrows our prospects to anywhere that has people and wood and I'd venture to say that we wouldn't have a hard time checking those boxes. I used to lay in bed at night and picture us finding a patch of land where I'd build us a house, not that I'd ever done such a thing on my own, but I can imagine that I'd do a good enough job. I was always good at building things. Taking my time. Understanding the craft. They say what we're doing is building a family and I figured that I'd do an okay job at that too. But it's a hard thing to know that all of it will be taken from us just after we've laid the foundation. It's difficult to know that this disease doesn't pay any mind to what you're doing or how you're doing it. You can be well on your way and then you blink and its over. Just like that. And when it comes to this town it ain't any different. There may be a few people here that can get things turned around but who knows how long it will be until the disease gets to them. Makes you think that there's no way to stop it. This thing. Whatever it is, Patty, it's moving downhill. And if you and Billy choose to stay I can only pray that you'll get out of its way before it's too late...