"Hey, Jonesy, what if the Hokie Pokey is really what it's all about?" Harold asked while twirling the ice in his bourbon with a red swizzle stick. The cubes clinked against the glass sounding like a cheap wind chime.

  "You’re an idiot, Harold," Jonesy said without looking up from the newspaper he had neatly folded so he could read one section at a time.

  "No, really.  I’m serious."

  Jonesy put the paper down on the bar and looked at Harold.

  "Hey, man, you look like you dragged yourself out of a garbage can. What’s the matter with you?"

  Harold twirled the ice cubes a few more times and Jonesy noticed that Harold's hands were shaking.

  "I've been looking for a job for 3 months, man. It don't matter that I had twenty-two years under my belt of almost perfect attendance and good production numbers. Shit! All they see is a middle-aged man with graying hair and a beer belly. It's like anyone over thirty is considered useless."

  "Damn, don't give up. If you need some bucks to tide you over, just ask, man."

  "Edith left me this morning. Just upped and walked out. Said she can't take any more. Take what? The bills are paid. There's a nice house over her head. She said that I changed. That I turned into a man she doesn't know."

  Harold laughed bitterly and finished his drink in one swallow. Jonesy didn't know what to say. How much could a man take? No wonder Harold was talking about the Hokie Pokey. Jonesy figured that Harold was standing on a crumbling edge in his life.

  "Look, maybe Edith just needs time by herself. She'll be back. You two have been through some rough stuff and always survived. Don't lose faith. Hell, this is small compared to when Mack died in that car crash."

  "Yea, wasn't anything as bad as that. We almost split after that. Edith blamed herself for our son's death. Said she shouldn't have let him use her car."

  Harold stared at the ice in his glass.

  "Why is everything going to shit? I mean, I worked hard all my life, was a good husband, or thought I was and I've always tried to do the right thing. Why is everything falling apart?" Harold's voice cracked and he put his head down on his arms and started to sob.

  Jonesy felt out of his element and uncomfortable, but he knew Harold needed a friend. God! Where was a woman when you needed her?

  "Harold! Listen to me! I have that fishing camp up in the mountains not too far from here. You need to get out of town and get your head together. Make a plan, you know? We'll do some fishing, some drinking, maybe a little weed and we'll come up with a plan. What do you say, huh?"

  Harold's sobbing stopped and he raised his head off of the bar and wiped his face
with a bar napkin.

  "What about your job? I mean, it's the middle of the week."

  "No sweat. I have lots of time coming and production is moving at a snail's pace. So, you up for a trip to the mountains?"

  Harold thought on it for a few minutes and then nodded his head.

  "Great. You head on home and I'll pick you up in an hour."

  Jonesy and Harold left the bar. An hour later, after Jonesy had packed the car with fishing gear and supplies, he drove to Harold's house and beeped the horn. He waited a few minutes then, decided to walk to the front door. The door was ajar so Jonesy walked into the house calling Harold's name. He waited in the living room for a few moments until he heard muffled crying coming from the bedroom.

  Jonesy called out to Harold again and then followed the sound of the crying and stood at the open bedroom door. His heart dropped in his chest when he saw Harold kneeling over Edith's body on the floor. A dark red puddle of blood surrounded Edith's head.

  "Oh, God, oh God, oh God," Harold said over and over as he knelt with his face in his hands.

  "Harold, what happened?" Jonesy asked as he fought off nausea.

  "I found her like this. Oh my God. Why? Why did she have to do this?" Harold sobbed and his whole body shook.

  Jonesy walked to the phone in the living room and dialed 911. He gave the information and address to the dispatcher, hung up and walked back to the bedroom.

  "Harold, come on. Let's go into the other room. The ambulance is on the way."

  "No! I can't leave her! It's all my fault! She was so sad all the time. If I hadn't of lost my job, she's be okay. I can't leave her, man. She's my wife! I should have been there for her! Damn it!"

  Jonesy stood helpless as he watched his friend become totally unglued. Harold's body started to shake so bad it looked as if he was being electrocuted.

  The sirens announced the ambulance and police arriving. Crews rushed into the house and two police officers helped Harold into the living room so the EMTs could do their job, but Edith was dead. She had put the gun to her temple and had died immediately after pulling the trigger.

  Harold suffered a massive heart attack while the ambulance was taking him to the hospital to treat him for shock. Despite their valiant efforts to save him, he died soon after arriving at the Emergency room.

  When the police questioned Jonesy, he responded calmly as to what had transpired in the time before the final tragedy had come into Harold's life. He was numb at the turn of events. Edith and Harold had left behind two grown children and several grandchildren. Who would possibly be able to explain what had happened? How does one explain suicide to children? How does one explain it to anyone?

  Jonesy drove to his fishing camp that night, his mind going over and over what had happened. He asked himself if he could have prevented the tragedy. Maybe he should have driven Harold home, but, no, he realized that when Edith decided to end her life, she had set the pendulum in motion for everything to play out. She had taken the coward's way out and had dragged Harold along for the ride. Now, their children would be left to carry the heavy burden of guilt and constant second guessing themselves. It was as if someone had dropped a huge boulder into the pond of their lives and the ripples would keep moving on and on disrupting their lives.

  As Jonesy stood on the porch of his fishing cabin watching the sun sink behind the mountains, he swore to himself that he would appreciate every moment of his life down to the most mundane thing. He knew that it didn't take courage to give up and end life, it took courage to live each day, hour and minute to its fullest, no matter how difficult it seemed.

  Till his death fifty years later, Jonesy kept that promise to himself and in the process, was the best suicide counselor at the Emergency Center.  Because of his courage and outlook on life,  many people who had chosen to give up on living, decided to embrace Jonesy's philosophy. They learned the true meaning of courage and they discovered how wonderful life truly can be.