by Charlie Neibel

Created on: June 15, 2008

In 2 seconds, Herbert Wilson's life had changed, one could say in a good way. His son disapproved of Herb even driving at all let alone on a pitch-black mountain road. And this just proved his point. The 84 year old hated electronics and did not understand one thing about them. When his new cellular phone began to ring, he tried to keep his eyes on the road as he ran his fingers across the seam of the passenger seat. He became frustrated and took a short glance looked over, ignoring the road, and spotted it right where he had placed it an hour before. But in that short two second glance Herb heard a thud and a squeal from under his car.

Three minutes later, squatting against the open trunk of his old Chevy van, Herb was covered in little blotches of dark red stains on his rolled up corduroy shirt. The one he only wore on Sundays. The light from his car seemed to soak into his surroundings and the wall of the shear cliff and dense forest became imbedded into his mind. He could not blink, his eyes were peeled open. And he knew he should get going. The dog needed to be sewn up and maybe eve given a cast. She might have broken some bones.

Herb had no one in his life. Except for his son, if you would even count that. His son owned a convenience store in a suburb of Chicago. He hardly ever had a good time. He never visited Herb and only looked forward to his out of town business "extravaganza" as he liked to call them. Betty, Herb's wife, had died unexpectedly of a heart attack when she was 42. Herb knew it was a sob story but he never cried. Not once. Not until this moment. He fell apart at the steering wheel. He had realized that his life had amounted to a pile of nothing. A pile of tear soaked nothing. No one knew or cared for Herb. He had celebrated his last birthday with a bag of stale Cheetos and Law & Order reruns. His pension had been terminated when he had been forced to resign as fire chief. He lived off Welfare and Medicare. But he was happy, most of the time. At least he wasn't dead.

All this happened 3 years ago. Herb now lay on his deathbed with his trusty girlfriend, Kyra, by his side. In the past 3 years they had many adventures. But Herb had turned 87 and Kyra 16, which was very very old for a greyhound. They could feel each other dying. For them it was a happy moment. They faded away peacefully, full of joy and love. And they were both, finally, happy.

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