The Difference

Kurt was a peace-maker and a good one at that. He was a simple man. His only motive to win was to acquire money for his wife’s funeral bill, just sitting there alone in obligation. The way he hustled his money was undoubtedly his most ashamed skill, aside from his hidden fascination to the game of billiards itself. If you were to play him on first meeting him, you would most definitely become the victor. However, there is one catch. Kurt himself was all too good to just play one game with you. He would badger you and heckle you until you gave in to him. He even threatened someone with a knife a year or two back just for attempting to walk away from a second game. One thing this man never parts with is his blade. Sherry, he calls it, would be hidden in his sock under his pant-leg at all occasions. He would ask you one simple question if you tried to walk away: Would you at least like to face my wife in a game? Of course we all know that his wife died in a car accident a while back, so you definitely do not want to meet his wife at this point, if you get the picture. Despite the distraught look on his face, Kurt was determined, fully, to win the game after the first. Pretending wasn’t Kurt’s only immorality; he also loved to cheat and steal—only to make a quick dollar though. He reeled the stick back slowly like the head of a turtle slipping carefully into its shell. Next, at the last minute, he shutters and shifts his aim slightly sabotaging his own shot. This wasn’t his only tactic because once a week ago he claimed that he wasn’t too familiar with the ins and outs of the game and, playing dumb, pretended to be a beginner. One of these days in the billiards room in a small bar in Reading, Pennsylvania is destined to be his last. Now of days, people are ruthless, aggressive, dim-witted or just plain blind to any sort of civility. Kurt made almost seventy-five dollars today and was happy to return that next morning to his beloved wife’s resting place to place flowers as he does every morning. Mornings were dedicated to her. And nights were for paying off those hefty funeral costs. Within the limits, Kurt will go as far as the eye can see and maybe farther just to pay off his debts and hope that Sherry is in a better place. Perhaps she is in a paradise, a heaven of some sort, wishing the night of that mid-spring, rainy, gloom-filled day never happened. Her and Kurt could, then live their dream of helping the world with their unique ideas and innovations, they would have been remembered in prosperity. Well, the end of Sherry was the end of Kurt’s dreams as well. He swore he would find the person who cut her off that Tuesday night. Oh, the things he could say, let alone do, to him but ever since they had that misadventure, Kurt made a personal vendetta against the world, exclaiming that there could not be any possible hope in this world. With that he meant to avenge her and never forgive a living soul ever again. Late one night coming home, Kurt doing about eighty, with a drink half empty in his left hand and his other on the stick shift of his old shabby pickup, and his car began to just edge to the right. He was picking up speed but headed for the shoulder of the road. At the last minute he grasps the wheel just to bravely straighten himself out. No more than a split second later a small German shepherd puppy inches toward the center of the road. By the glory of God this man happens to chuck his beer can out the window while braking. He turns the wheel rapidly toward the right and heads away from the poor animal but, in an attempt to save another soul, plummets down the mountain side. Being in the country there was not enough effort to install bumpers on the side of the road that were strong enough to withstand Kurt in his pick-up. Lying lethargic on a cloud-like material, Kurt could not regain his consciousness. Bliss overcame Kurt and he saw her face, “Sherry?” he asks. No answer. “Is that you?” Still no answer, however, his vision began to improve yet his memory hindered. “Who are you?” He questioned. “I am no angel, if that what you’re thinking.” She had an innocent voice. “You’re lucky I was coming home from my late night walk because I happen to have had a first-aid kit in my house and a vacant bed too.”    He was a bit disgruntled by her voice since it reminded him solely of someone dear to him. The voice was so familiar but he could not put a face to it in reality. Who did this woman remind him of? Why was he so terribly injured? When and how did he get in her house and where was he? Lastly, what was his name? He, honestly couldn’t remember anything and worst of all, as he put his hand on his face why was his left eye stinging and dripping a trail of blood down his face? It was a lucky fate for such a corrupt-minded person. Will he ever remember the horrible life he had before or will he turn a new chapter in life forgetting all about Sherry? Ultimately, What’s the difference?