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106 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 1982
There is just this one other thing. There is the matter of what to do about the current condition of my second heart. We all have two. One to lub-dub and carry on the actual function of life. Another, to skip and flutter and occasionally break with the bitter and sweet that living life inevitably brings.
They don’t write songs about the first heart, the one that can be repaired by surgical brilliance. “I Love You Sorta, Way Down in My Aorta.” That would never fly. They write songs about the second heart, the one that fills up and runs over when you hug her close and kiss her and she hugs you and kisses you back and the seat covers nearly catch on fire. The one she stomps flat and empty when she runs off six months later with somebody named Junior Ledbetter.
There are a lot of songs that have been written about situations like that. If somebody hasn’t written one called, “If My Heart Was a Pick-Up Truck, It Would Be a Quart Low,” then they should.
I lost my first love. I lost my second. I’ve hurt for my mama. I’ve missed my daddy, and I’ll even admit to crying over a good dog long gone to dog heaven where they never run out of raw wienies and the creeks are always cool.
And a couple of months after my surgery, my third attempt at being married fell hard and quick, for reasons I’ll probably be years trying to figure out. The only thing I’m absolutely certain about is nobody named Junior Ledbetter was involved.
“How’s your heart?” they ask me now.
Too few probably even understand my answer.
“One’s better than ever,” I reply, “but danged if that other sucker still doesn’t have a ways to go.”