Andrew Riutta
He Who Knows Nothing Lasts
It’s his Indian name, my sponsor in A.A., and some recent unusual behaviors have had me concerned. Saying he can’t make it tomorrow—truck is running poorly—only to call later in the day to ask if I want some trout he caught on Bear Lake. Skipping our coffee get-togethers because of the stomach flu, but then hours later sending me pictures of the gutted buck he shot, hanging from the rafters in his garage. Its eyes black. Just black. I can’t blame him. After all, two of his daughters were murdered in a single decade, and now his oldest doesn’t speak with him. And so, if what I suspect turns out to be true . . . well, then . . . He’s my old buddy, though as I type this, autocorrect keeps insisting that he is my old “buddha.”
black leafless trees—
smoking a cigarette
I inhale snowflakes
About the Author
Andrew Riutta was born and raised in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. He is a father, chef, and Zamboni operator. His essay “The Myths of Manhood,” from the collection This I Believe: On Fatherhood (Jossey-Bass), was featured on Public Radio International’s Bob Edwards Show in 2012.