What is real? he asked. We think we can tell the difference of real and unreal, but we can’t, he sat by the fire stirring the coals. I’ll tell you one thing. Love is not real. It’s a figment of our imaginations. Young men, mere boys, fall in love five or six times from grade school crushes to high school sweethearts. They think it’s love. But it’s not. Just fooling around until someone gets hurt, he said to his friend. Least, that’s my experience.

Did you love your wife?

Sure. Whatever that means, they both laughed and opened another beer.

How many times did you tell her you loved her?

Not many. I rarely felt it. I didn’t know if it was real or not. Was never sure, he lit a cigarette. 

Never felt it? Not even on your wedding day?

I was smashed on my wedding day.  Drunk as a skunk. Started with bloody Marys, and by noon, I was drinking gin and tonics. Maybe I was preparing for the worst. I don’t know, he smiled. Made up my own vows right there at the altar. She had hers all memorized. I pulled it off. That’s what people said. But, was it real? I couldn’t tell you.