The Last Stoic Read Online Free

to the right of the Phoenix and played the
same game.  And so it went, every half hour or so, for the rest of the night.
    The tawdry parade began to
depress him and his earlier élan subsided. He hadn’t been gone twenty four
hours and now he wondered: what am I doing here?
    “Change is the only constant,”
that’s what Mark’s grandfather, so fond of aphorisms, always said.  It was the
consolation Vincent had offered when one of the chickens that followed
six-year-old Mark around the farmyard all summer, the one Mark had named
Gordon, was slaughtered and roasted for dinner.
    He’s the reason I’m here.  To be
an engineer.  To be like him.
    “I don’t really want to go.” 
Mark caught his breath at the stark truth and futility of it, spoken out loud
for the first time.  He wandered back into the truck stop to the pay phone next
to the restrooms.  Though it was late, he couldn’t resist. 
    “Will you accept a long-distance
call from Mark?”
    “Yes.”
    “Ok, please go ahead.”
    “Hello Mark?”
    “Mom?”
    “My beautiful heron.”
    Mark had always recalled to her
the elegant creature.  His slow, deliberate movements were at the same time
ungainly and full of grace.  There was the abrupt tuft of hair that forever
lifted up from the crown of his narrow, protracted head, despite the endless
patting and combing.  Even at an early age he could stand perfectly still, to
inspect and study whatever had captured his interest, as he had that one early
morning at the beaver dam, when he was six, and Paulina had thrilled to see an
actual great blue heron stalking breakfast just a few yards away.
     “Where are you?”
    “New Jersey I think.”
    “How are you doing?  Is
everything ok?”
    “Yes Mom, fine.  I’m fine.”
    “I’m glad you called.  It’s good
to hear your voice.”
    “Oh Mom, it hasn’t even been twenty
four hours.”
    “I know, but we miss you
already.  Are you staying the night there?  Is it a nice place?”
    Mark paused.  He looked around at
the mostly empty truck stop and the rows of semis beyond.
    “It will do.”
    “When is your meeting?  Are you
excited?”
    “4:00 PM.  I’m a little nervous.”
    “You’ll do fine, I’m sure you
will.”
    They were both quiet.  Mark half
hoped that Paulina would implore him to come home and tell him that it wasn’t
all that important to Vincent after all that he intern at the old firm. 
Paulina half hoped that Mark would say he no longer wanted to go, that he
really wanted to come home. 
    “Well, I’d better go.  Just
wanted to let you know everything was ok,” Mark said, finally.
    “Ok, please call when you get
settled in the city.  Let us know how the meeting goes and where you are
staying.”
    “I will.”
    “And tell us as soon as you get
an address.  You left behind your grandfather’s gift.  The book.”
    “Yes, I know.”
    “I’ll send it down as soon as you
get settled.”
    “Thanks. I love you.”
    “I love you too.  Be careful
kiddo.”
    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
    Patrick Jr. continued to loiter
in the deserted truck stop, with no-one to call.  No-one he wanted to call.  He
was satisfied to slouch over a soda in his booth.  It beat the alternative. 
    Just about now, he predicted,
Patrick Sr. will have finished his sixth rye and ginger and would soon be
cooking up a rage.  It might be because the Steelers lost.  It might be because
the house is a mess.  It might be because the anxious terrier next door won’t
stop barking. 
    But it won’t be because my music
is too loud or because I’ve been smoking his cigarettes or because I’m fighting
with Michelle again.  It won’t be any of those things because I’m long gone. 
Out of New Ravenna.  Finally.  He’ll have to find someone else he can smack
with his cane.  It will be the potted palm that he flattens, or he’ll give Jock
a kick in the ribs, or he’ll backhand Tammy.  I wonder if they even realize I’m
gone .
    Patrick didn’t linger