Early Breakfast

I was a young man, just starting my career.  Back then, I traveled back roads three weeks out of four.  My life consisted of motels and early breakfasts...and way too many cigarettes.

All those miles, the motels and cheap, expense account meals, have faded to fog, except this one:

I was offered a seat at a table for two one row from the window wall.  To my left were plush window booths.  To my immediate left was a booth occupied by two.

One man wore a suit and tie.  Across that table sat a man in denim.

The odd pairing caught my attention.  I strained to listen in.

The man in plain denim, albeit silver hair, silver bracelet and silver Rolex, stated he was going to Mexico to begin life anew.  His starched shirt-and-suited companion sputtered: “Why!?!”

“I can’t take it any more.  I’m spent.  Done.  Finished.”

“But, your wife?”

“She’ll be fine.  She’s well taken care of.”

I poked at my eggs distracted.  There was something momentous happening immediately on my left.  I couldn’t catch the complete conversation, but I caught the drift:

Man who had it all gives up all.

I was young then.  Slurping caffeine and runny yolks to gird myself for the future, I could not understand.

Decades later...

I do.

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