Ramblings

The old man sat beneath the porch light, rocking softly back and forth. He held his .44 caliber rifle in his lap, the creaking of his rocking chair lolling him back and forth into a state of Midwestern contentment. He let the doctors play their game inside, trying to revive the softly fading heartbeat of his aged wife. He felt very little inside, a small pit where his heart once beat steady and strong. He knew this was their last night together but he kept himself silent. He rocked back and forth. Waiting. The sky was unusually clear this warm August night, the crickets singing their rhythmic song, carried on a dusty breeze. He sat and waited, knowing nothing except that if he kept moving, her heart would keeping beating. His dinner was still on the table, untouched from their regular evening meal. He thought of all that they had shared together and would share no more. He thought of their children, grown and gone. He sat alone on this night, as he had so many evenings before. But tonight was different. There would be no hum of the refrigerator as he climbed the stairs, waiting for the cool sheets of his bed. He would not hear the soft sigh of his wife as he climbed into bed. He would only hear the beating of his own heart, beating alone.

Waiting.