By Ed Makowski
Ben Clark would
sit at the bar all afternoon
drinking amber on tap
with a little whiskey alongside.
He weighed about 108 pounds, maybe.
Usually, you had to wake up Ben
three or four times
before he’d realize
where he was, who you were,
and that he should walk home. At least
he didn’t drool.
I saw the other day
that Ben died. The inevitable
complications of epilepsy. We all
knew that would happen
sooner than most, so
nobody hassled him
about his drinking. It was all
very matter-of-fact—let the guy
enjoy his little time.
One day Ben’s employer
called the bar, explaining
that Ben was having a seizure.
My coworker stood listening,
uncertain what was expected of him.
Ben’s employer explained
that she was calling the
In Case of Emergency
phone number
on his job application.
Ben probably thought that was funny,
planting a joke that might never pay off.
Maybe there wasn’t
any place else he’d rather be
in case of an emergency.
