Bernie had been a plumber since he was a kid, lugging toolboxes for his dad. Now he had his own truck, own company, own helper. But lately, copper and black pipe weren’t thrilling him. Some days he’d be on a job and forget what he was doing in the middle of it. He’d wander off, go sit in the truck while his helper finished up.
Things drifted on until one morning he got in the truck and drove. Not to the worksite, just drove. He did the same thing the next day, and the day after that.
When Bernie finally made it to work three or four afternoons later, his helper gave him notice. Bernie said he was sorry to lose him, paid him off with a bonus, and took him to lunch at Burger King.
For a few weeks, Bernie was back to his old self, up early, working late, on top of his job. But then one day on his way back home Bernie put on the radio and heard a song he’d listened to when he was sixteen or seventeen, a Bruce Springsteen song, something from Darkness on the Edge of Town.
He remembered hearing it for the first time. He thought of that the whole way home, how it had felt like it had changed his life, had set him on a different course from his father.
He thought of how that hadn’t come true.
He thought of what he should have done, would have done, could have done.
It was a long drive home.
(more to come)
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