An Electrician Died

An electrician that I know died.  His obituary, when written, will most likely say that he died of natural causes, which is not wholly accurate.

My electrician friend had a name that will mean nothing to you and he had bad blood—not the strain of bad blood that made him punch strangers in the nose and steal cars, but rather the kind that thins readily and dawdles around aimlessly when it is supposed to fight off toxins.  And he had a really flat nose because he once went ragdoll while riding a bull in a rodeo and smacked his face square on the bull’s hump.

He came from North Dakota and rode quite a few bulls.  My electrician friend often rafted whitewater, occasionally clung to somebody’s cousin late in the night, and sometimes walked right up to women and sang love songs to them.

He couldn’t sing worth a damn, that guy.

I think my friend died from trying too hard.  In his last great act, living on too much blood and borrowed time, he attempted to work sense into a rank horse.  The horse kicked him in the groin, opening a mouth in his body where none should be.  His body couldn’t remember how to stop bleeding.

Several doctors tried to make his body remember how to stop bleeding, but my friend had such a stupid, dying body.  He actually used to laugh about it, saying he should have waved goodbye and stepped off the edge years ago.

--Mitchell Hegman

Note: This is not a recent event.