Countenance of Man
Page 28
We dry and whither without.
Stay with God, he is our water and sustenance.
If my tree is still around when you read this
My branches will have fewer leaves than I desire
And my branches will have become less flexible,
Less capable to shield young trees from the wind,
But my roots will be strong for you
If I am gone, remember me as I once was.
I hope I was good for you, providing shade and protection,
But, also room to grow into your own wonderful tree
. . . and always remembering the water
. . . and if I wasn’t good, hopefully, I made a good fire.
For Randall, something I could never say
Dad
I was numb. Dad and I had slowly developed a relation, but one that I had always thought of as being almost entirely professional. I know it sounds funny now, but Dad and I never really talked of anything even remotely smelling of emotions; but we would talk for hours about our business. Up until this past year, he had remained my primary resource when I felt like consulting with someone on a business decision we were facing with PW Simmons. I felt guilty reading Dad’s poem; I have no doubt he meant this as something I would only see after he had passed from my life. That said, I don’t think he can ever pass from my life really.
I got up from my chair, needing to give myself a break before returning to the book. I was shocked that my eyes had begun to mist, something that I was unaccustomed to. In the living room, Dad had kept his old stereo intact, an esoteric assortment from a by gone era. The pride and joy of his stereo was the large, tube McIntosh amplifier and preamplifier that he swore provided a superior sound to anything on the market today. In reality, I had to agree with him. They were beautiful both in sound and in looks. I can remember laying on the floor at night listening to these beasts pump out the music. I would flip out all the lights so the only illumination would that that came from the tubes. They were gorgeous. They oozed class. Beside the amplifier, Dad still had his old turntable, a huge monster from Thorens.
I thought it comical that his old turntable and vinyl records had once again become popular and valuable; not just as collector items, but for real audiophiles. I have no doubt his hundreds of old records still stacked by his stereo system would be just one more of Dad’s investments that paid off. I suspect they were already worth more than he paid for them. For me, I dumped all of my vinyl albums years ago.
Idly looking through his albums, looking for what? Who knows. I guess I would know it when I saw it. It had been years since I had last flipped through Dad’s records. It was like stepping back in time, a time when I was still back in college. I had always been surprised at the range of music Dad had. His tastes ranged from the driving rock that I had enjoyed as a high school student to orchestral pieces that included both classical and dissonant composers and his favorite, jazz. His jazz collection was extensive but he had had his favorites. Like my uncle, Dad had always been mesmerized by the smooth, bossa nova of Stan Getz. His favorite was now in my hands. It was a record from the early 60’s that Getz had recorded with a Brazilian guitarist by the name of Joao Gilberto. The album was merely titled Getz/Gilberto and I can remember Dad playing this evenings with all the lights turned off in the sitting room, closing his eyes to hear all the nuances of the music. I imagined the music carried Dad away to a place where worry was no more; no more business challenges, no more responsibilities, just the floating melodies of Getz and Gilberto. Dad’s favorite song was a piece that had eventually became my favorite, too - “The Girl from Impanema.”
I turned on the stereo, enjoying watching the tubes come to life with their green glow. Turning down the volume so as not to wake the house up, I placed the album on Dad’s old turntable, dropping the stylus on Dad’s favorite track. Instantaneously, I felt the warmth and beauty come through Dad’s stereo speakers. I returned to his room to sit with him a little longer and maybe enjoy our song together.
Dad’s eyes were open and looking at me as I entered the room. He smiled, I swear it was a smile, and spoke. “Randall, thank you for putting that on. I needed that to take me on to my next home.” He stopped to let his words sink in.
“Randall, it is time.” He held out his feeble arm and motioned to his pain killing opiate.
“Dad, are you hurting?”
Dad nodded yes.
I opened the bottle and removed the dropper and placed a small droplet under Dad’s tongue. Dad looked to me and motioned again to the bottle.
* * *
Dad’s eyes are still open. They are glassy and lifeless now, but I know he is not really gone. He is just done with the pain. Now, I think he is talking with Johnny, Granddad, Lyle, and Orley, figuring out how to get to San Diego.
I turned out the bureau lamp and went to bed.
Author’s Note
Although the town of Fort Collins is real as are the many places and historical figures referenced in in this book, it is important to note Countenance of Man is purely a work of fiction. The characters and situations are all make believe. True, Colorado A&M, Colorado State University, the Northern Hotel, the Linden Street Mall, College Boulevard are all real and are located in Fort Collins, the situations involving them in this book are all made up. In fact, I have to admit I had never even set foot in the Northern Hotel even after living in the town for more than a decade. Likewise, Fort Collins High is real and has a proud history dating back to 1890’s; however, any references to the school in these pages are only part of a story.
Fort Collins represents a backdrop for one family’s life and growth in these pages. The story might just as well have been situated in a number of wonderful towns dotting our country’s heartland, but Fort Collins happened to be a town I was familiar with. So, it became home to the Simmons and their lives. Suffice it to say, that this is merely the story of a man rediscovering and appreciating his family roots.