The afternoon light cuts through the Mayflower tree – clothed in reddish-brown- and gleefully rockets towards two children poking an ant-hill with twigs.
He does not notice the small station with its board sign wearing off. He does not spot the old man waving the flag. The old man is my father. I am trailing behind him, barefooted, squinting to glimpse the passengers.
The train does not stop here.
In the year 2040, we will eat money, and in the night, we will hear the clink of coins and ruffle of notes inside of us.
All night long, she whimpered and squirmed on the cold floor,
and twice she slumped against the nothingness on her way to the front door.
The wind rammed the windows, swirls of leaves swept outside,
While the moon’s presence grew scarce,
Leaning against the bed, I burst into a flood of tears.
To read John William’s “Stoner” is to regard a decrepit building by the sidewalk, falling into disrepair. It is a study of slow decay, sometimes propelled by external forces in its neighborhood until it collapses under its weight. We are, with our hands tied, forced to witness an act of destruction upon a man who remains undeterred until the very end, characterized by his endurance, faith, and extraordinary grace.