memories. some good. some bad.

Jack Tait sat beside his old rundown mattress on his bedroom floor in his rundown farmhouse in the middle of nowhere and prayed.  he hadn’t prayed for over fifty years.  he hadn’t prayed since his Dad suddenly died one cold night in February.  but Jack Tait couldn’t take life anymore.  life had become so dull.  so predictable.  politics and the housing market and the incessant wars were constant topics of discussion with the sheep who inhabited this once beautiful world.  Trump supporters and Hillary supporters and Trudeau supporters and Harper supporters.  “all entitled rich cunts who do nothing for the good of this world except look after their rich friends in high places.”  Jack blurted out without fear of judgement.  Jack Tait didn’t give a flying fuck what people thought of him.  he was a free thinker in an unfree world.  “Most peasants pretend they are free but they live in fear and live by following dumb rules that are in place to keep the sheep down and keep the fearful under control.  NOBODY CONTROLS A FREE THINKER.  A FREE THINKER IS NOT A CREATURE OF HABIT.  NOR IS HE A FOLLOWER OF RULES OR ANCIENT TRADITIONS.  I DON’T RESPECT AUTHORITY JUST BECAUSE THEY ARE AUTHORITY.  THAT IS FUCKING LUDICROUS!!!”
Jack Tait kneeled down beside his mattress and prayed.  “Please Father we need help on earth.  I am surrounded by fearful people who pretend to not be fearful but they are unhappy people living unhappy lives and working shit jobs and wish their weekdays away to get to the weekends so they can mow their lawns and go on useless shopping sprees to buy useless items that they do not need and then feel guilty and shameful and then bitch and moan about all of their struggles and bitch about men and bitch that they do not see their family enough and then bitch about their shitty jobs and bitch about taxes and bitch about politics and bitch about their sisters and their exes and generally bitch about every fucking single thing they can possibly bitch about all the while doing sweet fucking nothing to fix their lives.  in twenty years these sick depressed fuckers will be on their deathbeds and FINALLY look in the mirror and wonder why they never looked in their motherfucking mirror before and attempted to change things.  they will wonder why they ALWAYS blamed everyone else for their sad and pathetic lives.  they will wonder why they focused on useless elections about useless topics.  they will wonder why they NEVER read a book or NEVER exercised.  they will wonder why they ate shitty foods and, then, periodically went on useless diets or drank fake ISOGENIX drinks and looked to some fucking thing called facebook for approvals and affirmations.  these people NEED help as they are all sad and pathetic and if they only looked in their motherfucking mirror…just ONCE…they might get better.  but they don’t father.  they get more depressed and more depressed and then they claim that they have clinical depression but how does anyone know that they have clinical depression when they refuse to visit doctors?  refuse to visit psychiatrists?  these people watch shitty shows and eat shitty foods and then they get fat and then they go on a diet and then they go off of their diet and then they sit in shame and then they go upstairs and CRY.  they CRY Father.  cry.  cry.  cry.  but these people refuse help father.  they say that they are fine and they say that they are happy and they say that they want to be alone when everyone on this motherfucking earth knows that these type of people who don’t read and don’t go on adventures NEED a “partner” to be happy.  a fake happiness but a happiness nonetheless.  Please Father pray for these sad and pathetic souls as I have lost all patience and empathy for them.  I have my own motherfucking troubled life to figure out.  Pray for me Father.  Pray for them too.  In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.”
Jack Tait then jumped up and ran out of his shitty house.  he jumped on his blue tricycle and rode down the long narrow dirt road driveway.  he rode as fast as he could.  he rode right and then he rode left.  he rode down hills and then rode up hills.  he was clearly on a mission to find someone or find something.  he was sweating.  he was panting.  he was not going to be stopped today the way he had been stopped many times before.  he rode and rode and rode.  through stop signs and red lights.  he rode until he finally could not possibly ride anymore as his inner thighs were bleeding from chafing skin.  he jumped off of his tricycle and nakedly walked up to 11 Lindaway.  a townhome where he grew up in Unionville.  a townhome where he lived when his Dad died.  a townhome filled with many memories.  some good.  some bad.  “isn’t that what life is all about?”
Jack Tait opened the front door and walked in.  he walked up the front stairs and into the kitchen.  he looked left and saw his Mom smoking a cigarette out the kitchen window.
“hi Mom.”
his Mom turned around.  “Oh hi Jack.  what brings you here?  I haven’t seen you in twenty years.”
“I just wanted to tell you that I love you.  I miss you.  I wish we could bring back Dad and I wish we could start over again and I wish that life wasn’t so hard on you and I wish that we could all live forever and I just want you to know that I really appreciate everything you have done for me.  you are an amazing woman and I don’t ever want you to die.”
Jack Tait then ran over to his Mom the way he ran to her when he was four years old.  unconditional love not conditional at that time.  a time when love and innocence had not been scarred by life.  they held each other tightly and both cried.  the clock was ticking.
“I love you Mom.”
“I love you Jack.”
“Where have all your friends gone Mom?  Where are they?”
“They have all died Jack.  They have all died.”
Jack Tait and his Mom continued to hug and continued to cry.
Life slowing down one last time.
memories.  some good.  some bad.