To Ease the Passing of Time

In a little town of the Bible belt, after the end of their evening shift in one of the few remaining factories in the county, George and Henry went for a beer or two at a club. A guy with an electric guitar and a synthesizer was singing old country songs. He was singing love songs but there was no emotions in his voice. He kept looking at his watch. When he took a break, he would turn on the radio that was always tuned to a local station that played mostly country music. People would phone in and ask for a song for someone special in their lives.

George: So what do you think about all that, Henry?

Henry: About what, George?

George: About life, the whole frigging universe, about us being here on this planet?

Henry: I see life as us and everybody else on this frigging planet as being part of an experiment for which there doesn’t seem to be any frigging purpose.

George: I see what you mean. For me, life is like walking on a road without knowing where the hell it leads, or if it leads somewhere.

Henry: You are born, you are brought up in a certain way by your parents, you go to school to learn a trade, you find a job, you get married, you have kids, you grow older, you get sick, and then you frigging die.

George: Yeah! That’s about it…or is it?

Henry: What do you mean, or is it?

George: Maybe there is more to it.

Henry: Like what? What religions tell us about afterlife, heaven and hell and all that?

George: Yes and no. I’m talking more about what you feel inside about all that instead of the stuff others told us to believe.

Henry: What I feel inside! You know damn well how I feel inside, George. I feel like shit!  Why do you think I get drunk every fucking night?

George: I know, Henry. I know about your little girl.

Henry: Her name was Emily. She died from cancer when she was only eight years old. Can you imagine that, George, eight fucking years old?

George: No, I cannot imagine that, Henry. It’s too hard for me to imagine.

Henry: And we prayed and we prayed, and we took her to see that preacher in Kansas City who told us that she was going to be okay in a couple of days. And she died in the car on the way back from Kansas City. That was all bullshit, George, all bullshit. And you know what: that preacher is raising money to buy himself a jet plane that costs 65 million dollars. And people are sending him money because they think he’s able to save them, because they think he’s able to heal them, like he said he was able to heal my little Emily.

George: What about you wife? Have you heard from her lately?

Henry: She’s getting married for the third time, but I know it won’t last. She’s too fucked up.

George: Do you still love her.

Henry: Yes, and I think she still loves me. It’s just that it was too painful for us to live together after what happened. I’m alone like I never knew how alone someone could be. But she came to see me the other night.

George: Who? Your wife?

Henry: No, Emily. She came to talk to me in a dream.

George: What did she say?

Henry: She said that she's okay where she is, and that one day we'll be together again as a family...like before, but not in this life.

George: Do you believe it's true?

Henry: I don't know, George. Maybe it was just a frigging dream.

The singer finished his song and said that he was going to take a short brake. He turned on the radio. They heard: “And now we have a special request. It’s from Emily and the song is for Henry.”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K2ectGXKxyo