Taxes and death

I’m turning seventy.

I’ve been dodging taxes my whole life. It’s been easy to do. People want to buy things and show off their possessions, they pay the Government. Me? I got nothing to show. Nothing’s in my name. My pal Kona Dave holds my titles. I’m Judgement proof. All the pansy ass Government can do to me is gripe. I figured that out a long time ago.

Dodging Death could be a challenge.

Tax people send me letters demanding money.

I never hear from Death.

I could get warnings. A mild stroke or a heart attack. Crippling but not fatal. A warning that old Death is coming around–sooner than later.

What does the man want?

The Tax Man, he wants a pound of my flesh.

Death, he wants me out of the way…I know that much. I’m pushing seventy. I need to make room for a fresh punk. Give him a chance to screw up the works.

But what does Death really want?

He wants to weigh my heart against a feather.

Old Anubis, he’s gonna weigh my heart

The jackal-headed god of embalming is calm and precise.

My heart is balanced with a feather.

Okay. I’m not gonna argue the probability. It makes perfect sense to me. Life gave me options. I chose what I chose. What have I done with my life? Have I been a burden to anybody? I don’t know anybody I hurt so bad they didn’t shrug it off seeing me for what I am. I don’t owe anybody more than what they gained. How light is my heart?

Heavy like that pound of flesh?

I’m betting against hard odds.

Betty and Stan

Those I let down, I’ve done what I can to make up for it. They need me for anything, I’m here. I don’t have much to offer. But I’m willing to pay attention. Offer my weak apologies.

My Mother and Brother. Those are the two I let down the most. I ignored my chances to make amends. It’s too late now. They’re dead. I’m holding their ashes.

How did I end up with their ashes?

My Sister had them. I took them from her. She was okay with that. “Take them,” she said. I don’t know exactly why I wanted them.

Recently my Sister asked, “Did you throw away their ashes?”

I didn’t understand what she was saying.

“You disposed of them. Mom and Stan’s ashes.”

I disposed of them?

She really thought so. Maybe because I’ve been throwing away stuff all my life. Shedding my junk and other things. Losing things. Like I do my responsibilities. Getting rid of things as if they have no value just as I value nothing.

It’s not true I value nothing.

I have a pair of Binoculars my adoptive dad Wayne gave me. These spyglasses saw duty at Iwo Jima. I have a photograph of my Daughter holding my Grand Daughter. I have a faded photocopy of my birth certificate, born at two a.m. on Wednesday the 27th of August 1953. I have a dozen white t-shirts with Stan’s name stenciled on the back collar and a camouflaged jacket of his I could use to rob a small neighborhood bank. I have a wooden box that contained the ashes of my Dog, Red. I have a cup with a photograph of Red as a puppy embossed beside the handle. This cup broke and I glued it back together. It holds a toothbrush. I have a red coffee can that during the pandemic held fifty thousand dollars in Ben Franklins. That stash has been sorely depleted. I have other things I might list. I have the Ashes of Betty and Stan.

It’s not true I value nothing.

Betty and Stan are Family

I like having them with me because, well, because they’re family.

They don’t haunt my dreams. I wish they would. We could talk. Not too much talk. Because they irritate me. Especially my Mother. My Brother not so much. He mainly just asked for money and cigarettes. When he died, dozens, maybe over a hundred people mourned. They wept for him.

All of them, the residents of The Group Home. They loved him.

My Mother was not so loved. She irritated people. But she was the kind that was hurt more than she hurt. Few people saw her worth. Old Anubis weighed her heart. Not long after he weighed Stan’s.

He found their hearts light as a feather.

Old Thoth roams my dock

Hermes is his equivalent in Greek Mythology. I like the Egyptian model. He was the god of the moon, wisdom, knowledge, writing, hieroglyphs, science, magic, art and judgment. All things noble and shimmering Light. I like Thoth because he has the head of an Ibis.

His form appeals to me.

Mainly because he roams my dock.

He flutters down onto the dock in the cool evening like a great butterfly. He stands at my bow. Gazing at the water. The dock is his Ghost Town.

He knows I safeguard the ashes.

The point of it all is so simple.

We’re all just waiting around

Nothing will happen in a storm.

It’ll be cool and quiet. Like a still room on a summer’s day.

All that matters is the weight of a feather.

Those Egyptians had it all worked out.

It’ll be just a little while longer.

My heart?

It’ll be weighed.

It just seems perfectly right to me.