It’s 2pm on a Sunday afternoon, the sun is bright and there are wisps of smoke that curl up from the ashtray, catching the suns light. The smell of the smoke, dirt and raw wood that permeates the trucks cabin sink into my clothes as my Dad goes over the checklist once again. Tires, mirrors, seat, steering wheel. Gotta check each one before you get in to drive.
4 pm on a Thursday, sitting in the basement with him as I look at treasures he’s collected while we talk about life and what comes next. That same cologne, the wood stove burning brightly and I know my coat will carry it home for me.
Decades later, when our lessons in the empty lot are long gone and I’m sitting here alone on a dark patio in the small town you once lived, I catch that scent in the breeze. I savor it like a fine wine and try to carry it with me, hold it just a moment longer to warm me, pretending everything is going to be alright.
If I believe it hard enough it’ll come true. If I hold onto good that’s what will come, that’s what you always said.
So I’ll keep holding on.