Something About the Brain I Can't Explain

The brain is a funny creature encased in me,

one which I will never fully understand. That’s

why many of us choose to go on day after day,

as the years add and subtract from our state of

being. Here’s a case in point: Back in 1966, I

was in the Army stationed in Germany. It was

August and I was to be married. I had nothing

fit to wear for the occasion. And even though it

was to be only a brief and casual ceremony with

the town Justice of the Peace, I needed to dress

appropriately for what was to be a life-changing

commitment. In explaining my situation to a fellow

soldier I knew at the time, he offered to loan me

a suit he had hanging in his locker. It was a very

fine suit, an expensive one, I am sure, a Botany

500 as I recall, made of a smooth and lustrous gray

material, perfect for most any formal affair. And it

happened to fit my slender frame perfectly, as if it

been tailored for me personally. Earl was the man’s

name who graciously offered to loan me his suit for

the day. Earl, I recall, although some fifty-three years

later, his last name escapes me. That isn’t so unusual

for over time the brain tends to forget last names. I

suppose I should be grateful that I even remember his

first name. What’s weird to me is that months prior to

my wedding another military acquaintance of mine

borrowed a pair of jeans from me because he had

nothing clean to wear on a date which came up on

the spur of the moment. He was slightly larger than

I in the waist, and the fit was a bit tight for him, but

it would have to do. (The “Beggars Can’t Be Choosers”

rule applied.) He was grateful in any case. Funny though,

to this day, I still remember his full name, Wayne L. Terry.

Poor Wayne, months later he was killed in an unfortunate

work accident. And I am pretty sure that is why his first

and last name, even his middle initial, remain memorial-

ized forever in my brain. I suppose death leaves a perma-

nent mark on us more so than more pleasant-seeming

situations. Anyway, I wound up divorcing my first wife

after seventeen years of marriage. We had a rocky rela-

tionship for the most part. However, I still fondly recall

the gray, Botany 500 suit and that fine fellow, Earl, who

graciouly loaned it to me on my wedding day. But I’ll be

damned that to this day, his last name escapes me. Why

is that, I often wonder? I suppose in my mind’s eye,

somewhere out there, and buried here deep inside, Earl

is still alive.

Chris Hanch 7-23-19