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The Money: A Parable of Sorts (Part 2 of 8): The Crash

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Hector Laborde/Unsplash

Hector Laborde/Unsplash

 

 

 

 

 

 

Death was in the air. Every step felt heavier than the last. The dew was soaking my shoes. Looking up, I saw the little mountain cabin. I didn’t want to go in. I hesitated. The old cabin door swung open with a loud creak. The room was so familiar and not familiar at all. It’d been so long. I didn’t know what to do.

 

Mom rushed over. Her warm embrace made me forget about everything…for a second. Looking up, I was brought back to reality. I could see the bed. I could see the people gathered every corner. I’m sure that they cared more about him than I did. I just didn’t know him. He was so old when he had me and I was so young when I left the house. Life pulled me to the corner. I didn’t want to have anything to death will any of it. Eventually, mom came over and pulled me to the bed. I was surprised that he recognized me. I was so hard. I was so…

 

The tears broke my heart. I didn’t know he cared so much. He smelled like shit. The mountains always smell like shit. He pulled me close. In as loud of a voice as he could, he said, “Love everybody. Don’t chase the money. Fight for what is right!” He took two more deep breaths and died. Chester Drillard was no more.

 

Now that he was gone, everybody in town felt like they could now talk shit about him openly. He was a traitor. He was vile. He was a piece of shit. He was a… The little American flag waved in the breeze next to all of the Confederate ones. The stark contrast illustrated the stark contrast of his life. He was truly willing to fight for what was right.

 

After getting spit on and beat up a time or two for being his son, I left again. It didn’t matter…

 

The moment was in me. The factory buzzed those words. The ocean crashed those words. The engine roared those words. The moment was in me.

 

I didn’t give a shit. I had to make money. If I didn’t, I knew I would end up like him…dead and smelling like shit.

 

Mary never left me either. Through letters and occasional visits, the fire of our love continued to burn. She didn’t want to come and I didn’t want to go back. We met halfway. In that small tent, we made passionate love. It was devastating when she had to go. I wept. A couple of months later, I received a letter that would change my life. “I’m pregnant and it won’t be long.”

 

Arthur Drillard raced to a friend’s room. “I need your bike.” Within minutes, Drillard was racing through the hills and in to the mountains. Daydreaming about having a family with Mary and trying to get there to make it happen, Arthur lost control of the back tire. The slick roads didn’t help. The bike catapulted Arthur over the railing. Death came quickly. There was only one question remaining, “Where was God?”

 

Three weeks later, Mary gave birth to Zack. When people came to visit the young child, they would mutter under their breaths, “Your daddy was a great man…but your granddaddy was the biggest piece of shit this town has ever known.” Even in the midst of life and death, the dark side ruled the day. Zack couldn’t hear his grandfather. Zack Drillard could only hear the racists.

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