Wrenches

It was Dad’s private space. Why this was a secret was baffling to a little boy. With sneaking, innocent eyes he understood it in a literal way. As an adult he saw the true myriad meanings of his time spent here, why he needed to get away. For his father, this was enough to temper his soul. He had inherited it now and he knew just what he’d do.

Lakeview

Breathe. This was universally easy, a mantra, he had been told. Carted up here to relax, forced into it, he sat in the proper position and tried to do so. The surroundings were appropriate, picture book some might say, but it belied his noisy mind. The mental cacophony drowned out the calm his eyes took in. He gripped the bottle pressing on his palm with its dewy coolness and took a swig. That helped.