Kathy was never part of the plan.
Then one day, thirty-odd years ago, I’d noticed Kathy noticing me. A year or so later we married in Texas. That was not part of the plan.
Then one day, ten-odd years ago, I stopped my slow, passive suicide. Kathy and some friends saw me through it, in Missouri. That was never a part of the plan.
Then one day, not that long ago, Kathy let me know it was time to go home. By then, there was no plan. So, I called our friends. We hauled our aging bodies onto our aging Harleys and headed south.
Then, that night, we stayed in a cheap hotel, just south of Dallas. My Dallas friends had all executed their plans.
Then, the next day, we headed both south and east, to Port Aransas. Kathy never did like my Harley, but this time, she didn’t complain. We were old and very tired by then and stayed in another cheap hotel. That was the plan.
I stayed awake that night, and as false dawn approached, I got everybody back on their bikes and we rode out to the South Jetty.
Then, we slowly made our way out to the end of the Jetty. Broken, jagged rocks tried to snap aging ankles and threatened to return us to the sea. The wind came up with the sun. A couple of fishermen glared at us for disturbing their meditations.
Then, careful to keep the wind to my back, I took Kathy in both hands, and shook her ashes into the Gulf of Mexico. Then I smashed her urn on the rocks. That was not a part of the plan.
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