Society got the drop on me.
I don’t understand.
It’s like everybody knew to pay attention
when I decided I was going to doze off
and take a nap.
Maybe it’s more like tying shoelaces.
I hate tying shoelaces.
I never tie shoelaces.
When possible, if I have shoes that have laces,
I put the shoes on and tie them,
and leave them tied,
and just kick them off at the back of the heel,
and then use elaborate long shoe horns
to put them back on again.
This way, I don’t have to tie them.
I hate tying them so much
because it was a struggle to learn how to tie my shoes.
I couldn’t figure out what I was being shown.
My father’s hands were always in the way
of the knots that he was tying.
One of the last things my father ever said to me
was about shoes.
As he was dying
and his mind started to slip
in and out of rational and irrational thought,
he would complain that he couldn’t find his shoes,
and I would go get him his shoes
and show them to him,
and he would say, “No, I need to call my sister,”
who had been dead for a long time by this point.
“She’ll go get me my shoes.
I’m going to wait here.
It’s very dark, and I’m very scared.”
By this point, his words were coming out
in both English and Italian, mostly Italian.
They were weaving in and out of different languages.
I had to record them sometimes
just to listen to what he was saying
and fully try and understand them,
sometimes using Google Translate
to translate what he was saying.
Always looking for his shoes,
always looking for his sister,
calling to his sister,
waiting for his sister.
His last thoughts weaving in and out,
just like the laces
on a pair of shoes.
6/11/26