Salt & Pepper

 

When looking back through the pages of my life, I noticed a pattern.  I was never without Pepper.  At an early age I acquired a best friend.  We were a matched set, we had adventures together, battled monsters’ side-by-side, and even played hooky together.  It was a wonderful time.

In later years we were told we had to join the military; it was our duty.  He went one way and I another, but our connection remained.

Marriage drew me to a different Pepper.  Now it was her and I.  Together we traveled through society, went head-first into obligations and we learned as we went.  Our monsters were bosses and time schedules, but we survived it all.

Recently, I selected two books from the library.  I enjoy the author’s sense of humor, even though the subject matter creeps me out a little.  She is a mortician and writes about all aspects of death.  I kept finding it harder and harder to get through her tales, and suddenly realized why.  I will be going through that door alone.  For the first time in my life there won’t be a Pepper, no pal, no best friend, just me stepping into the unknown.

The thought of my internal system shutting down, for me anyway, doesn’t seem to be the issue.  It will be my first time standing alone.  No one next to me to nudge and say, “Hey, look at that, or check that out, what’s going on over there?”  I’m not sure why, but that comes across as the scary part.  Aloneness.

Maybe what I’ll do is get a tin can and a very long string.  I’ll leave a second can behind with instructions to whoever finds it.

Pull it tight and hold the can up to your ear.  I'll tell you what I see.