Don Vicente Moreno

By Eric L. Moreno

Stale smoke fills my mind

And I am 8 years old again.

Memories coat me, warm

And sadness fades.

I remember the pilot in his mirrored aviator glasses.

Looking so damn cool.

I remember the fisherman.

A beer in one hand, tying off his line with the other,

And snapping off the excess with his teeth.

So cool.

I see him sitting on a barstool

Talking. Joking. Laughing.

Stories come back to me long forgotten but well-worn.

Stories of him playing pool like a shark,

I wish he could have shown me how to make that shot

The one where the cue ball hops over the shot glass

Knocking the eight into the corner.

Damn he was cool.

He was not perfect and far from a saint.

The cerveza and the cigarettes …

Don Vicente had a few reasons to say his Hail Marys.

But it didn’t matter.

I loved him. Everyone did.

Everyone.

The years go by

And the real memories start to fade.

I have stories.

He was a comet in my life.

Burning bright and awe-inspiring.

The time I got to know him

Is but a flicker to how long he’s been gone.

Too short a life lived.

He had so much left to do.

It was long enough for his mark

To be permanently etched on my soul … on all our souls.

He was my Grandpa and my Hero.

And damn was he cool!