Mr. Dominick

It seems like only yesterday you and I would sit in your garage and just…talk. The memories are so vivid, so real, yet at the same time so regretfully distant. For some reason, whenever I think back on our discussions, it’s always raining. The soothing cacophony of the relentless drops pattering on your old tin roof would perfectly, and sullenly, harmonize with the melancholy tune of your rusty windchime. The mood is a muddy shade of dark blue, so mysterious and introspective. I distinctly recall the steam as it rose off the thirsty concrete of your driveway, and the mildewy smell of your pair of amazingly comfortable, mismatching, thrift-store recliners. You’d tell me stories of when you were a kid and your time in the war. Some of these tales were true; while others were tall(to my 8-year-old mind they were all larger than life though). I remember once you told me about your stay in South America, I think you were stationed there briefly in the navy. You spoke of the native peoples and their odd traditions, and of the 20-foot snake you and your crew killed with machetes, and the exotic foods that stimulated your palette and wreaked havoc on your stomache. Another time, for a good four hours, you spoke of your childhood in Italy. You’d tell me about your “Nona” and your mother and your boyhood friends, and the odd circumstances that finally brought you to the states. Although your body was very old, your mind was quick and your senses acute and quite nimble. You recalled, with tears in your eyes, the bittersweet regret you felt when you landed on Ellis Island, all by yourself, alone and confused, so many long years ago.

Every summer when I’d come out to Long Island to see my family I’d look forward to seeing you most. Whenever I’d leave, as I’d sit on the plane, all by myself trying to act tough but really fucking scared, I’d try to hide my tears, and fail. I thought that perhaps I’d never get to see you again. Either you would pass away, as you were up there in age, or my annual trips would finally end. As fate would have it, that day arrived and I never got to properly say goodbye. Our last meeting was so fleeting and ended much too abruptly. I jumped on my bike and waved, rode away and never once looked to see if you waved back. Had I of know this was the last time I’d get to see you I would have hugged you and told you “thank you” and that I was grateful for you taking the time out to talk to some dumb kid full of dumb dreams who wasn’t even related. I would have thanked you for filling my heart with your larger than life adventures. I heard from my grandma years later you passed away, but up until that day, you’d always inquire about me, she said. I inquired about you too, continuously, and I pray my grandparents didn’t fail to tell you. Anyhow, the day I heard you died I cried and went off by myself and sat in a tree I used to climb when I wanted to be alone. Ironically, it was raining that day as well. Now that I’m older I realize, although you didn’t have much, you were wealthier than any man I have ever known. The people you’ve met and the places you’ve seen are more precious than gold.

I still miss you.