A Man Named Dave

away, I was kinda hoping you and I could maybe build it together.”
    “No!” His voice cracked as he clasped my hands with his. “What is it you really want?”
    Our eyes locked, just as my father’s and mine had before he passed away. I bent closer to his ear. “No matter where I’m at, or what I have, or what I’m doing, I just want to be happy.”
    “Yes,” Harold said. His grip intensified. “You’ve found it. You make a difference. Do good, do your best, and do it now.”
    Suddenly his grip loosened. His head rolled back. For a fleeting moment I panicked. By the time Alice and Patsy raced onto the porch, Harold had regained consciousness, snapped his neck back up, and smiled before drifting off to sleep. I was never able to speak to him again.
    Days later, Alice called on the verge of tears to say Harold was near death. Patsy and I jumped into my tiny Toyota Celica, weaving through the Bay Area rush-hour traffic until I came to a screeching halt in front of my old home. As I stepped through the front door, I knew I was too late by the look that was etched on everyone’s face. Alice came over and simply said, “David, I’m sorry … he just passed away.”
    At the funeral, I received the American flag, then walked over to present it to Alice. Standing above her, I stated, “Of all the men I have known, Harold’s had the most profound effect on me.” During the eulogy I tried to remain strong, but completely lost control after Harold’s light oak casket was lowered. As scores of people shuffled back to their cars, I found myself standing alone filled with rage. My body shuddered as I looked up at the deep blue sky. All I could think of was: why? Why Harold? He was a man who had spent a lifetime living the theme of a “good day’s work for a good day’s pay,” was so close to retiring, to just lose it all? While someone like my mother, a cold, vindictive person who hated everyone and everything, whose passion seemed to be destroying anything close to her as if it were some kind of sport, lived on while never having to lift a finger. This was beyond any form of reasoning for me. Harold didn’t drink, he wasn’t abusive, he never even raised his voice. He led a clean life; he took in kids that other families turned away. Why? As I felt myself slump to my knees, Alice’s son-in-law, Del, a man I highly respected, embraced me until my anger dissipated.
    Weeks after Harold’s passing, I still made a point of calling Alice several times a week. Whenever possible during the weekends, I’d make the trip down to see her. I felt drawn to Alice and wanted to be there for her. We spent time strolling through malls, or when I took her to dinner I’d make her laugh by confessing some of my wild stories she had never known while I was a teenager under her care. My motives weren’t entirely altruistic, though. Being there for Alice was a way for me to hide from some of my own problems.
    “You look tired,” Alice said, rubbing my head during one visit. “Are you losing weight?”
    “It’s the flying. It’s dehydration,” I lied. “Sometimes it’s just hard for me to get some rest before a flight, that’s all.”
    “And how are things with you and Patsy?” Alice pressed.
    “Fine,” I nodded, “just fine.”
    “You’ve been with someone for … not even a year and things are just fine? I’m not so sure of that,” she replied.
    While she was still mourning the loss of her husband, there was no way I could tell her that during that time I had discovered how vastly different Patsy and I were. Even after eleven months together, I didn’t feel for her what she did me. For the life of me, I could not understand why I felt closed in. Part of me didn’t trust her as much as I thought I should. I found myself becoming irritated over the smallest things. Yet when I was overseas for weeks at a time, I longed for Patsy. The question was, did I miss her for the right reasons?
    Whenever I came home from my extended assignments, the first couple of days were great. We’d go out to dinner, have a few beers at her favorite bar, or see the latest movie. But within a week the elation wore off and frustrations grew. While I was away, Patsy always claimed to have just gotten a job. Yet upon my return Patsy not only “suddenly lost her job” for no apparent reason, but was never paid. I was never able to find out what was happening with her jobs. Several times when I offered to assist Patsy by approaching her employers about the money owed to her, she somehow