This the part the sensitive man and woman hate: going away, the last evening, the goodbye. His nephew wanted to climb the stairs all day. When did uncle’s strength fade, when did he call it quits, when will he see his nephew again? There are discussions about setting the alarm, who will wake whom, who’s driving to the airport and who will take the youngest brother’s girlfriend to the train; and who will pick them up at the airport clear across the country when family and friends out of town for the new year, visiting family and friends elsewhere; they discuss the Super Shuttle, pick up the car parked at the friend’s keys under the mat. Some say they’ll wake for hugs. One says to himself before sleep that he’ll rise extra special early to play with the cute two-year-old in footy pajamas. The wife of one and the wife of the other spent a few hours packing, suitcases with wheels, carry-ons, backpacks, duffel bag, tote bag for the plane, to go through security, gifts released carried one way and gifts received lugged the other, while the dramatic dead tolled, though famine-stricken or desert war not counted, not recounted, not shared with us. Tall man razor-and-cream must decide what to do with the electric gift, still humorous as the dead wash ashore, brown mud tides, smear, the sad end.
