On June 19th a Man Called My Dad to Borrow His Truck
As I got my water bottle ready to take with me to the gym the phone rang, it was for Greg, Greg was my dad, we called him Greg, not dad, because he didn’t want to be called dad, so we called him Greg, Somebody needed Greg to bring the truck around, something about needing to move a couch, I don’t know who, but they wanted Greg to bring the truck around, they said they’d pay him, That’s Greg, always trying to make a quick dime instead of a hard buck, So I opened the door to Greg’s room and there he was on the floor, must have fallen out of bed again, He’s been sleeping a lot lately, he needs to get up off his fat ass and work out more, he’s gotten so fat since mom died, “Greg!” I yelled, “Greg!” I yelled louder, Surely he could hear me, I kicked his feet and still no movement, His head was resting on the radiator, I lifted his head, a fly flew up, his eyes were closed, Greg was dead.
—Lisa McDougal, Cross Plains, WI
