He sat and talked to me. Without my permission, without the slightest indication from me that I was interested. He talked to me about subjects I had zero interest in. He talked fervently and long.
I busied myself doing things that I only wanted to do because I knew I should. If I did not, there would be dirty dishes and trash everywhere.
I was happy to help. Then I was happy to interact and listen to this man.
In the back of my mind I thought, this man is dying. He's talking so much because he knows his time is short, his days are numbered and closer to the end than the beginning.
I interacted enthusiastically with him, but inside my head I was in quite a dark place. I started tunnel-visioning... My limbs were restless. I couldn't stop thinking about mortality, about what is the use? I felt I might forget how to talk and just started grunting responses to him, responses he did not acknowledge as he talked on and on...
Then my guy showed up. I hugged him and I said "now I understand how you know so much about everything. You were raised by a man who talked and talked and filled all the space up between your ears."
He laughed and said "yeah, and I also learned how to listen from him. I learned to sit still and listen to people when I had really no interest to do so. That's why I can endure shitty situations where I am not comfortable."
I was relieved when he took over talking to his dad, and I was able to slink away and breathe.
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