[ WP ] The sky is falling , and you are an old man

`` To think, I used to *worry* about such small things, Spike.'' 
 
 The little pug poked his head up as if to acknowledge the old man. With two paws over the front of the porch, it was in its usual evening position -- facing away while the old man rocked in his wicker chair and gave his weather forecasts. When Spike was young, he used to sit facing the old man, but he soon learned that there was more to watch on the old country down the slight hill. Occasionally there would even be a truck. 
 
 The old man smacked his lips over his pipe and cackled pleasantly. `` To *worry*, Spike. About what? Death? Ha! Ha, I say! Ha ha ha!'' 
 
 Spike rested back on the porch and wiggles his butt a little bit. The old man liked that. It meant he was listening, but he was smart enough to sit back and watch the weather, just as the old man did. 
 
 But Spike's ears puckered up when a truck came down the road. It was n't that Spike was a particularly protective dog; it was that trucks never came down this road. This one was bright and blue, cutting a stark contrast against the grey cloud-filled late afternoon sky behind, and when it pulled into the old man's driveway the ground was so wet with the remnants of the noon rain that it did n't even kick up dust. 
 
 The old man squinted at the truck, trying to surmise who was driving. His knees were bad, and he'd had back surgery ten years back that he could still feel, but his eyes were sharp his ever. That was the best part about him. But even so, the person behind the wheel was just a shadow. 
 
 The truck came right up to the porch and the old man's son Ben walked up to pat Spike on the head. Spike barely seemed to notice. 
 
 `` Dad,'' Ben said. 
 
 `` Ben,'' said the old man. It was how they said hello. 
 
 `` It's getting cold and windy.'' 
 
 `` Sure is,'' the old man admitted. He leaned forward in his rocking chair and went to scratch Spike's back, but he did n't realize how far the little dog was. Sighing, he retreated back to the rocking chair. `` That's why I wore my warm sweater.'' 
 
 `` What are you doing here, dad?'' Ben said. `` You should n't be out on your porch. You should be seeking shelter. Like us.'' 
 
 The old man let out that cackle again. `` Ha! Shelter. To avoid -- what do you think you can avoid, precisely?'' 
 
 `` We're going down into the basement. Minister Bartlett's going to be there, and Sandy's family. Our two girls. We want you with us.'' 
 
 `` You want me to *die* with you, you mean.'' 
 
 Ben put his hands on his hips and went to the windowsill to lean. `` That's not guaranteed. * 
 
 `` *Death* is always guaranteed, Ben. And now there's this big report of a storm, the storm of a millen -- no, a storm that's never been so much as seen on this earth. The sky is going to fall, they say, the sky's been wrecked to hell and it's dragging us all with it. I'm here to watch the weather change, that's all. Just like every night. Mmm-hmm. I watch the sun go down if its clear and I watch the rain clouds roll in from the west -- right over those distant trees -- and I do it every day. One day, I always knew, I was going to die doing it. I say it's good to go out watching a real *show*.'' 
 
 Ben nodded, tucking a lip behind his top teeth. He did that when he had something to say but did n't want to say it; it was the look he got on his face half a dozen times each time he came to visit with that wife of his. `` Fine. Dad. I wo n't fault you for accepting your fate --'' 
 
 `` And why should you? Every expert on the radio says the same. Certain death. The end of humanity. I'm not alone in this, son --'' 
 
 `` -- No, but there are those of us who still believe in hope.'' 
 
 `` Hope?'' The old man spit. `` That's just the opposite side of worry. You think you can change things by thinking about them, do n't you?'' 
 
 `` No,'' Ben said. `` But maybe if we pray for them --'' 
 
 `` And you think your prayers have the power to hold back the skies?'' 
 
 `` God's power does.'' 
 
 `` Yeah, and it's God's power you all refuse to acknowledge. I'm just here, rocking in my chair, acknowledging it.'' 
 
 Thunder crackled in the western horizon. The wind had picked up, and Spike looked ill at ease, but the old man seemed to settle back into his rocking chair as if it had suddenly given way to his weight. He looked calm. 
 
 `` The kids would like you there. Cheryl, she painted you something --'' 
 
 `` That a fact?'' 
 
 `` Yeah. And she'd like to give it to her grandpa.'' 
 
 The old man pulled the pipe out of his mouth and gave it a tap to shake some ash to the bottom. `` Well, shit, son. You did n't have to go and tell me that.'' 
 
 Ben stood from the windowsill and found the northwestern corner of the porch, leaning on the pole. He cut a long lanky silhouette against that big grey sky, the old man saw, like the personification of death himself. Yet there was nothing in those big gentle eyes that looked anything like death. And the old man figured that death did n't wear jeans so faded they were nearly white. 
 
 `` Sit a while,'' said the old man. `` The sky is falling, but that does n't mean you ca n't share a smoke with your old man.'' 
 
 `` I have to get back,'' Ben said unhappily. `` Sandy did n't even want me to come.'' 
 
 The old man smiled at that. `` Well, it was good of you to come, Ben. You're the only one who visited me today. Everyone else is going to town for toilet paper and bottles of water in packages of sixty. Imagine that. The sky will rain endless shit upon them but they think *bottled* water will save them.'' 
 
 `` You do n't have to be so grim.'' 
 
 `` Grim?'' The old man shuddered in a sudden gust, and he pinched his sweater tight over his chest. `` Is that how you think me? A man enjoying his final moments --'' 
 
 `` You've given up hope.'' 
 
 `` No,'' said the old man. `` I've given up worrying.'' 
 
 Spike finally sat up and walked to the foot of the old man's chair, careful to give the rocking some distance. More than once, Spike had found himself under the old man's rocker and let out a whelp. Now he was wary. But he sat down anyway. He seemed to say to Ben that he would be staying, too. 
 
 `` Stay a while,'' the old man said, but he had to repeat it over the distant thunder. 
 
 `` Okay,'' Ben said. He sat against the white cedar siding of the house and wrapped his arms around his big scrawny legs. `` Okay, dad.'' 
 
 The dark grey clouds to the west thundered, and death approached.
