My Cousin, Milton

My cousin, Milton, worked for a cable company. The boy I knew when we were children had fists that were often clenched, his face set like an old man whose life had been so hard, it hardened him. But the man's hands opened to let more of the world in. He sent the funniest cards to family and friends at Christmas, laid down cable so others could connect. Yet, he lived alone, kept to himself much of the time, so when his sister found his body, he'd been gone a good while. He died young at fifty-seven, without fuss or bother. No sitting by the bedside or feeding him soup. He just laid himself down like a trunk line and let the signal pass through.