I went to an estate sale today. It felt odd to sort through the remnants of someone gone. It was an old house in a historic part of town. The walls were once painted a bright pink, now faded and cracked. There was water damage, fissures like spiderwebs along the walls, and floorspace which threatened to open up and eat me alive. The old woman had passed. There were items older than my own parents in that house; silverware with real silver, a baby grand piano, men’s aftershave in the shape of a car, dried up mink furs. Sprinkled in were more modern items, including hints of a child from my own era. I meandered about the house, picking at the corpse like a vulture with a fickle tongue. A little bit here, a little bit there. Tasting and sampling the eras of another life lived. Life is a complicated companion. You could spend your entire time with life having no idea how to spend it, only to have an epiphany of thought just as it leaves you. By definition, it stays with us all for a lifetime, merely the perception of the duration varying from person to person.
Most of the items were outside my depth, be it by price or use. I found a crockpot for one in the kitchen, something I’d intended to purchase in the near future. A room at the back of the house was filled with cloth items, varying from the size of a small infant to full adult. She had had a son who adopted a son of his own with his partner 20 years ago. This didn’t phase me much, other than enjoying a few items that appealed to me like an orange jumpsuit from my favourite video game and a collection of children’s books. As I turned to leave, a small jacket hanging on the back of the doorframe caught my eye.
Blue denim. Metal buttons with cream quilted arms and matching striped collar and trim. A recognisable crest on the chest reading “Canyon River Blues.” I become still, like a deer pausing at the potential threat of company, staring at the coat as a flood of recollection crashes in waves over my consciousness. I don’t know how long I stood there, slowly realising I’ve shuffled my way over to the jacket. I raise my hand to touch the aged denim. Soft. There’s light wear and tear in the forms of small bits of ragged edges and corners, but denim is a resilient material. My brow furrows, my fingers move to a sleeve and curl around the plane as if grasping an arm that would still be inside. They slide down the short distance, pausing at the cuff then moving back to circle a button. It’s small. Meant for a young boy, around four or five.
I pull away quickly, shaken from the moment. I glare at the jacket, as if it an inanimate object is to blame for the feelings it induces. The anger burns out quickly, which has been a common feeling for the past six months. They would be the same age, this boy just happened to make it to his 20th birthday. I feel jealousy, anger, guilt, embarrassment, discomfort and finally shame in a rainbow of grief as I turn my eyes down and make my way to anywhere but next to this jacket.
He was a 19-year-old kid who went drinking with his friends and expected to take a cab home. It was 3 AM in a small town. It was raining that night and the side of the road there is all mud. Like most 19-year-olds, he had some silly sneakers that he probably didn't want to get dirty. He was wearing a bright red jacket, the same one he had been wearing the last time I saw him. Another driver, who came across him before the taxi, commented on seeing him and his friend on the road. There are four lanes on that road, if the driver had been paying attention and not speeding, he should not have hit my brother.
19-year-olds are dumb. They think they are invincible. He wasn't drunk, he was just being a kid who thinks he is the centre of the universe and that the world will bend around him. He was smart, kind, and fucking hilarious. You wouldn't believe how many people came to his funeral, all of them expressing how fucking wonderful he was. He may not have been slotted to change the world, but it sure as hell wasn't "natural selection." It was hubris, which is something we all share as a member of the human race. We're imperfections that live life to hopefully fix some of our flaws, and he didn't even get the chance to try.
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