Bob Cuervo

That was a good danish.

I thought you’d might like it.

How have I never had a danish from here?

Hard to say.

This must be life.

Well, it is only a danish.

No. This. Right here, a danish and a friend.

Yeah, yes. This is life.

How I came to know him, Old Bob Cuervo, “Uncle Bob” as he was known to be called, was simple enough. I worked a terrible job at a bank. Uncle Bob would come in every week, clad in flannel and a hand-made cowboy hat he said was fashioned from leather and love. He was an older man, perpetually tan and Indian in origin, or so he said. Old Bob Cuervo, who worked for NASA in his time, building rockets, building the things that were made for stars. We became good friends. 

Bob!

Kevin!

What’s the story?

Same old thing. Going out to the reservation this week.

Selling drums?

Drums and flutes.

You make flutes?

Oh, yes! Hand made. Sell them for fifty a piece.

I don’t believe you.

I do! I’ll bring you one sometime.

Please! That would be amazing.

The rain came down one day. I was at work, counting and zoning and being all the things that define a robot devoid of feeling and actual life. The gutters drown, the sidewalks held no feet. It was a suburban ghost town. As a man in his twenties, working a listless job, any and every random thing that comes to pass is ripe for false excitement. But, as always Old Bob, Uncle Bob, was there to save the day.

Kevin! Do you have a minute?

Of course! 

I brought you something?

Really?

Well, I just wanted to show you this. I thought you’d might enjoy it.

I’ll take my break now.

Old Bob produces a scrapbook, a collection of photos and clippings and history that read to the heart of me. Pictures of Old Bob in his prime, building rockets. Pictures of Old Bob in front of the Space Shuttle Columbia with various crew folk. Clips of Old Bob as he riveted and wrenched and whatever it was he did in front of massive vessels that would take to the sky. These special things, woven into a cow-skin cover made of his own hand, things that seemed to not seem the light of day as enough as they rightly should.

Jesus, Bob. This is amazing.

I thought you might like it.

It’s…God. I can’t believe-

This was the main rocket booster for Endeavor.

What?

Yeah, we would work and work and then sometimes, if the day was long, just go and have drinks after.

I know how that goes.

Jim Stenson, right here, he was a good man. We were something of rascals. Kind of like you and Jose.

I don’t believe you!

We were!

This really is amazing.

I left the job four months later. I didn’t see Old Bob after that, but came to understand that he only had a wife. She passed years prior. He never had kids. Never had grandkids. It was only Old Bob and his wife. I never got to see him before I left. I think of him often. I think of his hand-made cowboy hat, his scrapbook of a life I could only dream to live, his flutes and drums I never got to see - only hoped that I could selfishly have. Old Bob is somewhere and I miss him, the family I could never properly have.

Bob!

Kevin! What’s the story?

Same old thing. How are you?

I’m good. Going to this reservation. Going to try and sell a drum or two.

When are you going to show me these drums and flutes?!

I’ll bring one it. I promise!

I’m looking forward to it.

Here…this is my card. You should come by sometime. It’s just me and Anna.

I’d love to.

We’d love to have you. I can show you this piccolo, it is really amazing. 

That sounds great.

That’s great. Well, I’ll see you soon then?

You can count on it, Bob.