Thinks

Cal wasn't ever any good at goodbyes.

He just grins awkwardly, tosses some half-baked cliche over his shoulder, and scoots away as quickly as he can. Goodbyes are painful, no matter how long the ensuing absence.

Deep inside, he thinks that maybe there is a chance that this will be the last goodbye, that something might go terribly wrong.

He also thinks that maybe he reads the paper a little too much.

But he knows that there are infinitely more things that could go wrong than the things that needed to go right.

Cal thinks about Captain Ed Murphy and his law.

He wonders what would happen if he died. How many people had he forgotten to kiss goodbye? Oops.

In his mind, Cal remembers that goodbyes are always permanent because time doesn't stop changing people just because they've gone away, and since they're away and time passes, they change, but you're not there to see it, so the next time you see them, no matter how long it's been, they're not the same people you said goodbye to.

Those people are dead.

Cal wonders how many times he's died.

Sometimes, he thinks he's always dying.

He's too busy dying to live.

How about that?