The Dishes

Page 5 of 5

"I'm not saying you need to believe my story--half the time I don't even believe it myself.  But let's just say I'm not making it up, and I'm not crazy.  Let's say there are ET's out there.  Could be hundreds, thousands, maybe even millions of other civilizations out there, not just the one whose ambassadors I met that night.  

"Take how petty doing the laundry is compared to just the problems of the six billion other people on this planet, and hold that in comparison with a thousand other planets.  Is it worth fighting over?"  I said nothing; it seemed rhetorical.  "How old are you Mike, twenty-four?"

"Twenty-three."

"Twenty-three.  I remember being that young.  You think you're the cream of the crop.  Thirty's still old, forty ancient.  You can't even imagine a world before you yet.  You know how old I am, right?"

"No."  I had my guesses, but figured it'd be best to keep quiet rather than guess wrong.

"Seventy-two.  I've been around for more than three of you.  Think about that.  I'm not trying to be condescending, but think about how your experience measures to a six year old.  When you're six, you can't imagine being twenty-three.  When you're twenty-three, you can't imagine being seventy-two.  Believe me, I've been all three."  I took a drink from my almost-empty mug, waiting for him to get to his point.

"For forty-two of those seventy-two years, Chrissie and I were together, married for forty-one of those years.  In that time we still fought--you can't completely stop being human, I don't care what happens to you--but that night, seeing those three things in that clearing put everything in a different perspective.  I started to see what mattered.

"It wasn't the dishes.  It wasn't that the bathroom needed to be cleaned or the bed needed to be made.  It wasn't even that bills needed to get paid and we needed a roof over our heads.

"What mattered was that, in this universe that may be filled with life--hell, even just this planet if you don't want to believe me--I had a person that I loved more than anything else.  And she loved me.  One person out of billions.  That's all that matters."  I said nothing, just sat there, smoking the last of my cigarette.  The jingle of the bell on the door announced a visitor.

"Aw crap, I got a customer."  He stood up and greeted a middle aged man carrying a leather cue case.  I downed the last of my beer and put a five on the bar as I walked towards the door.

"Think about what I said Mike," he called after me from behind the bar.  I turned and nodded and walked out the door.

Then I went home and did the dishes.

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