12+ Between you and me, Lenny, there are more mourners at your funeral with the COVID restrictions than would have been graveside had you died before the pandemic. Streaming it over Zoom helps boost your numbers.
Mind you, most of the faces on my computer screen are strangers, or I haven't seen for ages. I recognise your ex-wife, and your adult kids, vaguely. And a couple of old work colleagues.
* * *
The last time I saw Lenny, he was tanned and healthy-looking, which he attributed to playing golf. "You gotta take up golf, Bob," he advised me during our lunch. "Chasing a ball on the fairways will get you back into shape."
I chuckled and chewed my steak.
"And you gotta give up red meat," he went on, waving about a slice of salmon on his fork. "Cows graze and get fat. Fish are always swimming, so they don't drown. That's why eating fish is better for you. They're fit!"
Lenny and I had worked together in advertising. He thought up funny lines, and I wrote body copy. We made a good team and had many good times and laughs. But Lenny got greedy and moved on, and without him, my copy lacked a punch line. The firm let me go, and I blamed Lenny for it. We cut our ties, and I lost track of him.
Two years ago, out of the blue, Lenny called me. "Hey, Bob, long time, no hear. How's retirement? We should do lunch again."
And so we did, regularly, for the next year and a half. As always, Lenny did all the talking, waxing lyrical about golf and life. Like me, he had retired — unlike me, his long-suffering wife had left him. He rarely saw his kids and grandkids, and old friends didn't return his calls. Except for me.
"You know, Bob, sometimes I wonder where I went wrong?" Lenny ruminated during that last lunch. "Perhaps I was too focused on work and money and having a good time. I burned too many bridges."
I opened my mouth and was about to explain to him how I felt he had betrayed me, too. But before I could speak, Lenny laughed and added, "Thank God for golf, I say!"
Six months ago, Lenny called with the shock news he had cancer. "It's inoperable," he told me, his voice suddenly croaky on the phone. "You know what I said to the doc, Bob? Bugger!"
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I meant to visit Lenny, but with COVID and lockdown, I couldn't leave the house. We spoke a few times on the phone until he got too sick. Lenny said he was reaching out to family and friends, trying to make amends. "But no one wants to talk to a dying man, Bob. That's why I like calling you."
* * *
There and then, Lenny, I wanted to tell you how much you'd hurt me. But I didn't. And now you're six-feet under on Zoom.
It's too late, Lenny. But I forgive you.
© 2020 Robert Fairhead
I wrote Too Late, Lenny for the Australian Writers' Centre's monthly #FuriousFiction short story competition. The criteria for July 2020 was that the 500-word story had to take place at either a WEDDING or a FUNERAL, something had to be CUT, and it had to include the words UNDER, OVER and BETWEEN. Once again, I didn't win (or make the short-long lists!), but I thoroughly enjoyed writing the story. You might like to read another of my #FuriousFiction short stories on Tall And True, A Jittery Journey.
A middle-aged dad and dog owner, Robert Fairhead is an editor and writer at Tall And True, and blogs on his eponymous website, RobertFairhead.com.
His favourite pastimes include reading and writing, walking his dog, and watching Aussie Rules Football with his son. He is also a part-time dog trainer and runs classes at his local dog training club and through Robert's Responsible Dog Training.
Robert has worked as an electrician, a computer programmer, and a sales and marketing consultant, and he is the principal copywriter at Rocher Communications.
His book reviews and writing on dogs have appeared in newspapers and online. And in 2020, he published a collection of short stories, Both Sides of the Story.
Robert has also enjoyed a one-night stand as a stand-up comic.