Saturday, November 7, 2015


Saturday mornings are usually my favorite time to write. I usually wake up at about 5:30am and sneak out of bed (makes my wife love me more).

I usually make coffee while wearing my nightshirt, robe and slippers and in the quiet I crank out a chapter or two in my next novel.

Not today.

I heard last night that one of my friends from school had died. He was 57. Kevin was my brother Eric's best friend. We were a pack of knuckleheads back in the day. We all learned about girls, smoking, drinking, cars, music, movies, work and life together.

I had not seen Kevin in a decade. We emailed infrequently. His health had been failing for year so he didn't travel much anymore. He never seemed to get over my brothers death.

In my short story, The Outer Ring, there is a character based on him. The deep space survey ship The Ventura had a bar on it called Peck's Halfway. Peck was the owner and operator of the place.

I regret not stopping in to visit him my last time visiting home. You always think there will be more time.

Today, I am going to visit a friend. I'm going to hold a baby. I am going to skip ahead and write a sad chapter about loss of a friend, but mostly I'm going to think about Peck. Think about his stupid laugh and his enormous capacity for whiskey and bacon. Think about his face on the other side of the campfire. Think about how scared he was of ghost stories. Think about sitting with him and my brother waiting for trains to just watch them go by.

-- Rest in Peace, Peck. Say hi to Eric for me.

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