Christmas lights were still up. They shined in the nighttime, making the trailer home glow in green and red. People drove by on the highway just to see the colors in mid-May. Some laughed. Others cursed at the old man’s laziness.

He sat inside most of the time. Drinking cans of Old Style and eating bologna sandwiches. Sometimes, the old man would just eat it right out of the package. He’d sit there in front of the television, eating cold bologna and downing it with beer. Watching The Price Is Right, or Wheel Of Fortune. Never watched the news. Said it depressed him.

The plants needed water. They hadn’t been touched since his wife passed away back at Thanksgiving. It was her idea to put the Christmas lights on the trailer. She wanted to see them one more time.

Sometimes, he feels her presence in the front room; hears her voice. She told him never to take those lights down. Said she didn’t care what people thought or talked about. He nodded his head and plugged them in every night.

Her ashes sat on the mantle. Sometimes, he’d touch the white vase with her initials on it and talk to it when he heard her voice. Garbage can overflowed, dishes piled up in the sink. He told her we’re getting there, dear. One day at a time. We’re getting there, he said. He’d smile and go back to watching TV. Thinking that one day, he’d see her again.