Quitting

We like to quit when things get hard and the fun runs out and we run aground and look around and see no reason for going on. He called her from a hotel phone to ask how she was doing and all. “Why hell no I didn’t walk all the way from Salinas! I got on a plane and into a cab, guitar and all. I sang my way here just like I said I would.” “That’s nice,” she said, “But it won’t do you no good, cause you’re still drinking. You had one before you called. Some people quit the wrong things, but I quit the right one. I wish you well and love you, too, but we’re always leaving something and I left you when you ran out of chances and I ran out of rebounds. And now you’re in a hotel and I’m in a home with a son in the backyard and a daughter due in May, and I hope they grow up to always get themselves walked outta there when it’s time to go and don’t look back wondering how happy they might have been if they’d stayed through one more night of being treated like you treated me.” “I should’ve had another one,” he said. “You should’ve squared yourself up to how it is and known what’s what and that is you can’t get things back like you wish they were. Let it go and go on with it, with wherever it’s going and what happens next. Whatever that is, I hope it’s good for you, but it won’t be me because I had enough when I said I had and walked away.” “Have enough when you say you have and walk away. Could be a song in there,” he said. “If anybody could write it, you could,” she said before wishing him well forever again for the last time.