Gregory Allen

Gregory Allan disassembles his little sisters disposable razor -
Five lines thick of dull, soap stained steal.
To hoard away in box
in his bottom dresser drawer.
He trims his beard with some scissors he keeps in the medicine cabinet.

Gregory Allan has been looking for a studio apartment for three years and sixty two days.
His mother is "impatient" for his departure.
He works 9-5 in a mailroom and 6-2 in a bar.
He's never at home, but he's never that far.

Gregory Allan pulls a note from his box, in the bottom drawer, and reads it to himself, and brushes his fingers round the edge.
He fold the note carefully,
And places it back.
His bottom drawer sticks.
His heart feels thick.

As he walks to work each city slab of sidewalk cement looks less and less familiar, each mossy crack looks more symmetrical, and his feet almost trip on their toes as Gregory Allan's focus moves inside of his head. He remembers his father’s voice, its deep vibrations running through his mind like a 100 meter dash of whispers.
The steps down to the basement mail room creek and wobble under Gregory Allan's weight. His co-worker Mark doesn't have this problem; he only weighs about 95 pounds. - Gregory Allan's work is melodic, shuffle, shift, sort, and send. Delivery had daydreams.
Eight hours on and Gregory Allan pours a Richards for a man who can't laugh without frowning. The next eight on his feet will feel lacking and long.
Pouring himself a shot of whiskey Gregory Allan clocks out and begins his march home in the dark mourning mist.
He works again in 6 hours.
He looks forward to sleeping for four of them, but when he arrives home he finds his mother waiting for him, sitting on the stairs, black stains on her cheeks, with his box on her lap, and his note in her hand, crumpled and torn.
The box lid is dripped with saline solution from his mother’s eyes. She must have seen all of the blades inside.
Gregory Allan tries to tell his mother about his motivation, to clarify his actions, his collecting and hiding is each and every sharp blade from each and every razor discarded by the two women for three and a half years, since Allan Well took his own life.
But in doing so Gregory Allan Wells becomes angry; he grows in rage as the crumpled note in his mother’s hand grabs his attention.
The eruption of argument brings out truth and conclusion. His father’s suicide finds resolution.
My dear Gregory, I love you my boy, be strong, live long, but it is also good to die. Pain has a way of living in large hearts, they make large homes. Please forgive me, don't leave your mother alone.
Mr. Allan Wells had lived a life too short, his wrists never healed, and he broke his son’s heart.


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