Albert & Jennie

                Some people’s lives are a straight line running from birth to death.  They live in a way that is self-evident.  Good and bad times come and go in waves.  But as these waves pass the clarity of their identity resurfaces and catches the sunlight of a new day.  Their existence is in the open—a book whose pages could be looked at and read by any literate mind.

            My own live has been a mystery.  I have lived in shadows—hidden in corners.  In many ways I have lived as if all of life was one long masquerade ball.  For some folks dressing up is a childhood game.  The act of wearing mommy or daddy’s clothes becomes a ritual to try to be someone you are not but might some day be.  In many ways my life was one continuous game of this sort.  Some folks will always wonder why I did what I did.  In many ways, I really do not know.  It almost seemed that life was a card game I played and then forgot the rules that would allow me to fold and take a new hand. 

            I have no regrets about my life but I sometimes wonder.  If I hadn’t met Royal would I have done what I did?  Was it easier to carry on my disguise than admit it was a mistake?  Could I have been more honest even at the price of letting down my comrades in the regiment?  Is life simply habit that we talk about changing, but never get around to?  I do not know the answers to any of these questions, but I do know that what I did really happened.  This is my story, nobody else’s, and I make no excuses for what I did. 

            These were the thoughts of the old man as he sat at his wooden table preparing for work.  Lately, his mind had turned more and more to these types of reflections.  “I must be getting soft in the head,” he thought to himself.  Pushing the philosophical side of his mind back down into the shadows of pragmatism, he quickly finished off his meager breakfast.

            Times were hard for the old man.  For years he had lived in the little rural Illinois town named Saunemin.  He worked at odd jobs—clearing trash, mending fences, painting, and general labor.  It had been forty-six years since he had finished his service in the Civil War.  Time had passed in unbelievably short order.  Sometimes it amazed the old veteran when he stopped and looked back at his long gone days of youth.

            There had been a time, years ago, when he had been a slight youngster.  The war had come and all his friends were bent and determined to join up.  One particular lad had meant so much to the old soldier that he almost always teared up when he thought of him.  He did not like that sad feeling so he seldom let his mind meander back to those summer days in ’62.  Life was hard enough for him in little Saunemin without dredging up old wounds.  Besides, he was already late for work.  Senator Lish who employed him would not take it well if he got to work late. He owed much to Mr. Lish and generally did fine work for him.  So, wolfing down his dry bread and coffee the old man set out for work.

            It was a beautiful Illinois morning.  The sun had been up for about a half-hour.  Its rising left a tracery of blue and pink in the eastern sky.  The man always had to stop and look when the sun came up in a noteworthy way.  In fact, throughout his life, the man had always been amazed at Nature’s ability to create beauty.  The simple sounds of the day—birdcalls, squirrels chattering in the trees, or a morning dove’s plaintive song—were enough to cause the man to stop and pause in wonderment.  His friends who also grew up in farm country sometimes made fun of him and called him softhearted or mush headed.  It did not matter to him—nothing anyone could say would convince him that loving nature and all the amazing elements of it was anything but worthwhile.