Norm Died
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Norm was a tall, elegant black gentleman, with that slow, low voice and easy style you see in some folks down here. He reminded me a lot of Morgan Freeman, although Norm was more handsome.
He worked for the same sporting goods store in town for 50 years, all for the same family. Norm ran the gun counter and I have spent too many hours of my life, smudging the top of the glass counter and having Norm hand me guns I had no intention of buying. Never bothered him, though. He'd tell you he was there until five o'clock, and he wasn't going anywhere until then.
He did sell me something occasionally...I bought my first handgun from Norm. I bought a shotgun from him on credit, when I didn't have two dimes to rub together. I bought the most expensive rifle I own from Norm and that rifle has made many thousands of miles with me. If Norm said a gun was good, it was, no matter if it was inexpensive or $10,000 worth of art.
Norm retired last year. And even though he had retired, you'd still catch him behind the gun counter, armed with a cup of coffee, watching the counter guys work and just visiting with whoever walked in.
Norm came down with the virus about a week and a half ago. Funny, you can say "the virus" and everybody knows what you are talking about...Anyway, the hospital is almost within rock throwing distance of the sporting goods store. It's just catty-cornered down the street. The ambulance took almost the same drive Norm had been making most of his life.
Norm died Friday, sedated and hooked up to a vent. They buried him today, although just a few of the family were there. Can't have more than ten people in one place, even at the graveside.
Next time I walk into the sporting goods store, I'll probably saunter by the gun counter. Wouldn't surprise me at all to see Norm out of the corner of my eye, sipping his coffee. That is, until I turn to look and he's not there.
I'm going to miss that tall, elegant gentleman.
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Indeed. A worthy eulogy.
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You know, it's funny. I don't know Norm's family. I'm not sure exactly where he lives. He was just one of those constants in life, always there, always working the same job at the same place. I don't even know his last name and you could have held a gun to his head and he couldn't have told you my first name.
But we'd interacted so much in life, we'd instantly recognize each other. I don't know that it's so much a loss, as a void. Just another immutable constant that suddenly changed.
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Sad to lose someone like that.
