After Albert Camus,

“One must imagine Sisyphus happy.”

Sisyphus; forever condemned to a life of fruitless struggle. Greek mythology tells us Hades punished Sisyphus for cheating death more than once. He could be seen rolling a giant boulder up a hill in Hell only to have it roll back down every. single. time. .Sisyphus, great cheater of death, of fate, would ultimately spend his eternity doing the same thing over and over again. Did Sisyphus hope against the weight of his fate? Did he sometimes think if he just placed his foot this way or perhaps shifted his hips a bit would it produce a different outcome? Was he as exhausted on the inside as surely he was on the outside? 

Singing to him, his modern day Sirens Heroin, Suboxone, Oxy. Their melodic lies promised one-last-good- time. Again and again he’d cheat the odds. Statistically speaking, he was a god. Immortal in his ability to make unbelievable comebacks. Turn nickels into thousands and empty words into promises you’d bet your first born on. His heart stopped four times the week before the last time.  It rang out that day,  I know Adrian hoped. I saw it in the colored pencil drawings, bookmarks made for the hope of needing them. Scenes like an open landscape with an apple tree and a brook pop away from the concentrated blue lines sky. He was exhausted from the inside out. He pushed the boulder up the hill, still facing that near-impossible outcome.

His death becomes the second act of mere mortals. I no longer see a doomed life, pushing towards nowhere. Adrian, no doubt a favorite in the land beyond–    resting now under the Ponderosas. Not thirsty nor hungry or ashamed. His is a quiet spot, safe enough for a midday nap.  What was once a  boulder at last–milled to dust.