Every man in the room listened to Regis. There was silence. A man spoke,
I was sixteen that day, and I was on the trestle until the cops chased us off. And I can tell you they weren’t messing around. They were angry and wanted us off that trestle like we would see something we weren’t supposed to. If the plane went under us, we could see who was in the cockpit, and I’ve wondered if that was it. The cops say it was for our safety and maybe that’s it, but I know there are people who don’t think Bronson would have been sober enough to have flown the plane that day. So I don’t know.
The men were silent.
It was Bronson, said Regis quietly. He raised his glass and all the men, except Claude, did the same.
Jack Coey is a seventy-two year old grandfather of two who has experienced most of life’s events, and survived them not only, but without hurting anyone else which he would say was a good life. Writing satisfies him like nothing else and he works as a cashier to eat and writes to love. Jack lives in Keene, New Hampshire, USA.