193
" There are two types of kindnesses in the world. The first type of kindness is what some people are born with: an innocent, inherent joy to be alive. It’s nurtured with the right family. It laughs and it dances, on playgrounds and nightclubs, girlish and boyish. The second type of kindness is realized. It is born after countless heartbreaks, traumas, and molded by the darkest thoughts the brain can juggle. Add some life experience and a few good people gone, and you’ve got yourself a person who decides to be kind. Margo was the second. And you could tell by the way she spoke—an attentive politeness, a pain in between her blinks, and a tranquil surrender to how pathetic and beautiful we all are. You could feel all the people she carried with her. It was as if you were somehow meeting them all. And if we want to talk instincts, I could sense there was a quiet battle inside her. She wasn’t a saint. Her kindness wasn’t wholly pure, but it tried. It can be like a veil of effort to almost convince ourselves a person can be good, and I think “almost” is as far as we get. In some way, the same as completely good. "
― Karl Kristian Flores , The Goodbye Song
198
" After finishing his breakfast, Charlie decided to clean the kitchen, but wanted to do it entirely with one leg. He laughed his way through the cabinets, inside the sink, on the floor, under the table, and against the walls like a kid who gets a kick out of making things harder for themself. It was none other than the heart of sport, for what was a sport but a project made to be harder for a player? To pass the ball but only with your feet. To have three chances to bat. To play catch with a friend, but without gloves. The fun was to see if you could do it. But when non-athletic hardships come, the adults mysteriously run. "
― Karl Kristian Flores , The Goodbye Song
199
" There was a car in the back of the lot, under a fruitful tree. Feet on the steering wheel was a beautiful woman who sought and received harmony. She didn’t measure time by hours or minutes. She measured it by phrases like, “After this glass of red.” She never stopped the car until “the right final song plays.” She didn’t count her days Monday–Friday, but existence to her was checkpointed by the names of people she met last. She didn’t listen to rules about when it was okay to fuck—the first date or third—because when the moments asked for love, she had it. She didn’t sleep when it was dark, she slept when she was fully exhausted, and so worked until drainage, trusting her body was smart enough to solve itself during sleep. She was sleeping right now—aged with the kind of thin wrinkles that told you resveratrol gave a good fight. This was a woman embracing the wild, various interests of the heart. You may have thought freedom was attained by irresponsibility, by the immature seeking the easy, but it took great discipline to be free. You could call her homeless or you could call her earthbound, indecisive or multi-talented, unemployed or honest, spacey or intelligent. What good were words to describe a kind of radiant harmony best explained by her accomplished snoring? "
― Karl Kristian Flores , The Goodbye Song
200
" Bennett was quite the stronghold. He was absolutely fit from head to toe. This was probably because every time he told jokes, he always got up and demonstrated the story by moving his body so. He ate well and his body was fasted longer than most because when in groups, he politely ate after everyone else had been served. He was handsome, not because he had any traditionally handsome features, but because he was always laughing at something, even at himself, and joy was an incredibly attractive feature for a face. He wore the most lavish hand- me-down clothing a fellow could get his hands on because he volunteered to play piano at special dinners for some of the richest folks in town and those folks were always cleaning out their wardrobes after special dinners. He drank plenty enough water in the day because his entertainment made his throat dry. It seemed that a good life would trickle down, somehow, in some natural, rewarding way. That was the case for Bennett Bumblebee. "
― Karl Kristian Flores , The Goodbye Song