The sign is propped against the back wall of my garage. Leo painted it himself, crooked block letters on a scrap of plywood. 'Leo's Hardware — Best Prices in Town.' He went under in '03.
I kept it because he made it with his own hands. I'm an electrician. I know what it costs to put your name on something.
On the workbench, my phone charger only works if you bend the cord just so. I've been meaning to fix it for six months. The angle is the same every time — a little left, a little up. I've got it memorized.
My niece called yesterday. She got her learner's permit and asked if I'd teach her to drive. She's seventeen. I'm seventy-nine. I told her I'd have to brush up on my patience.
I'll clear a spot in the garage for her to practice parking. Move the sign out of the way. Leo would have liked that — a kid learning to steer, a man learning to teach.
I'm not sure what I'm starting over. But I'm still here. Still bending the cord just right. Still holding onto things that matter.