Moments Do Not Vanish Into the Past
- Feb 1
- 2 min read
By Salvatore Difalco
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Moments Do Not Vanish Into the Past
The distinction between past, present and future may be just a stubborn illusion. I’m not prepared to argue with Albert Einstein. Maybe time is more like a mist than a river. Johnny is picking me up at seven. We’re going to Glinski’s to play some Omaha. Not everyone likes Omaha. But tonight we’re playing it. Anyone who doesn’t want to play Omaha has been told not to bother coming. We’ll play other games some other night, but tonight we’re all in with Omaha. Johnny wants to know if we’re playing pot limit or no limit. Probably pot limit, I say. Unless the boys decide they have a little gamble in them tonight. I have a little gamble in me tonight. What about you, Johnny? You know me, he says, I go with the flow. This is true about Johnny. He’s a mellow dude. Never raises his voice. Always agreeable. He’s driving with two hands on the steering wheel, his jaw clenched. The roads are wet from melting snow. Unseasonably warm today. January is usually brutal in these parts. We drive on the Allen Expressway and exit at Wilson. Johnny glances at me. What is it? I ask. I just had a wave of deja vu, Johnny says. Well, I say, we have made this trip about a hundred times in the last few years, so in a way it is deja vu. I mean stronger than that, he says. I feel like we’ve had this conversation before. You know, I say, Albert Einstein believed that the past, the present and the future are all like one big blob. Johnny glances at me again. You’ve said that to me before, he says. We drive in silence up to Glinski’s house. A number of cars are parked in his driveway and in front of his house. Looks like everyone’s here early, Johnny says. He parks the car a few doors down and gets out. I hesitate before exiting and watch him walk up the stone path to the house. I’ve known Johnny for twenty years. Lots of memories. Memories create continuity. He turns and looks to see what I’m doing. I hold a finger up as if to say I’ll just be a sec. He heads up to the front door and knocks. Glinski answers and after an exchange of words they both turn and look to see what I’m doing.
Author Bio: Salvatore Difalco writes from Toronto Canada. |
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