...on airing out

wake up.

groggy.

nose stuffed up.

it's been a bad allergy day.

is that my knee popping?

yeah. it sure is. i get off the train and wade through the swarm on periphery alone. i can't see so good when i wake up. one night i waltzed out of bed to use the can and on the way back i had started to fall asleep and i hit the doorjam to the boy's room with a loud thud. i might have woken the boy up.

wait.

that was before the boy. either way it hurt. but i digress. i woke up, i mean when i really woke up this evening, i had a cup of coffee in my hand and i was walking out of the store and as the door swung open, that really good part of the who's a quick one while he's away is in my ears. you know the part with the bee's in bill murray's room in rushmore. everything slows down for me when i hear that part. it's one of the bastard's more favorite who songs.

but that wasn't in my head. i was thinking about the dearth of bobs in my life these days. over the weekend, the nice lady informed me that bobby had died. but, i'll get to that.

bob was my father in law. he's been gone a couple years and i never eulogized him because, well, i don't know. i was dealing with alot of other shit at the time. but bob was a good man. every now and again, and i don't confess this to anyone i roll with at all that when i roll out of a bar downtown, i half expect to see him leaning against a utility pole like the first time i saw old bob (he'd fucking kill me if i ever used the word old anything with him) asking me if i see anything i like. he was the first actual adult i ever grubbed a cigarette off of. he was the first person i ever felt comfortable discussing politics with. he was the first person i ever felt cursing at the dinner table around (and my family must love me for that) and i miss that. he loved life and he never even let death see him scared as he stood out there on northern blvd dying of lung cancer, smoking with me at his niece's sweet 16 party knowing it might be his last but, who the fuck cared. coincidentally, he always fell asleep on furniture and since he was asleep the last time i saw him, i didn't feel right waking him up.

bobby on the other hand was a big drinker, and a big liar. and while he was a likable guy, he also wasn't. he left a trail of bodies in his wake in the form of ex's and kids (not that many kids to be completely fair). bobby smoked like a chimney, like berber carpet and loved cars. whenever he fell in love with someone new, he would get a far away look in his eye and speak as poetically as an high school educated auto mechanic with marbles in his mouth could. sometimes, i thought he was the kind of relative that people in his family loved but, didn't really like. but i liked him. hell, i'm sure some people liked him some of the time and some people liked him all of the time but he made it hard on himself. the drink puts a strain on your family and breaks you body slowly. and it broke him. he had been in and out of the hospital for a while since my divorce and i hadn't seen him in a bit. but i found myself thinking about him on the way home tonight. i think about how he set me up with my first decent cup of espresso. i think about his ugly ass house in staten island that he always opened up to me and what a decent guy he was when he was sober. i wonder if he's out of pain now.

in the front door, sme crappy liz phair song that i like is on and i'm sorting the mail and trying to finish up my day and i don't want this anymore. i go into the liquor cabinet. well actually it's also where i keep my cereal. and my napkins. and probably some rats too. who knows? but i find hte whiskey and a brand new shot glass that old school brought me from st louis and i pour once.

to bob.

i pour twice

to bobby.

good night bobs, i don't have anymore of you in my life and i won't be getting that back and i'm a little less for it.

—the bastard