Sit Silently and Dream...

At night the bears would come down to the dump in search of food. My father and I would sit in his Fairlane and watch them in the glare of its headlights. The bear cubs would stare straight into the lights. Often they would make for the lights in a waddling gait, straight, transfixed.

My father would sit quietly, his cigarette smoke forming small clouds against the windshield. He knew the cubs were dangerous, walking into the lights, they knew no fear. They were always followed by the huge mother bears anxious to protect their cubs.

My father would sit silently and dream of shooting a she-bear. I dreamed of walking with the cubs into the diamond white light.

My father reached over and grasped by wrist with his huge hand, lined with veins, stained with tobacco.

"Son, this thing between your mother and I...", he grasped harder as he paused to inhale deeply.

"Dad," I said "Dad, you're hurting!"