As Jack headed toward the door, he glanced up at the yellow, faded sign and took in the gaudy light blue paint. The Cali Cafe had been one of his haunts since high school. He had a lot of fond memories of the place.
He had met his first high school girlfriend here, and he had finally lost her here as well. He had counseled friends and sought advice at the Cafe. But mostly, he had spent a lot of good times here; laughing, joking, and having fun with his buddies.
After having spent plenty of time there over the last 14 years, it almost felt like a second home to him. He took comfort in the slow service and the delicious food, and in its jumble of pop culture decoration, starving artist paintings, photographs, and varying degrees of crafts.
Mostly though, he loved the fact that it was a great place to sit for a time while enjoying a good cup of coffee and even better conversation. And while the cafe was many things to him, it was his favorite place to get therapy from his friend Alex.
He couldn't remember when he met Alex. At times, it seemed as though he'd known him his whole life. He'd been there during good and bad times, and was the epitome of what Jack thought a good friend should be.
He was patient, thoughtful, and kind. Alex didn't talk over him. Rather, he listened intently to what Jack had to say. He didn't give advice so much as ask the kind of questions that would lead Jack to his own answers.
Given his current crisis, Jack needed his help more than ever. He needed his reasoning mind and hoped Alex would be able to ask the questions that would make everything fall into place.
With a small smile to himself, Jack opened the door and walked in. The Cafe was a "seat yourself" kind of place, and as usual, there was no one to greet him as he stepped inside. He stole a quick glance around and spotted Alex sitting in the corner by the windows. It was where they'd always sat, if it was available, since high school.
It was a Saturday afternoon and it looked like business was a bit slow. Four tables were taken on their side of the cafe. Because of the large display racks at the entrance, he couldn't tell if anyone was sitting on the other side.
Jack wasn't sure why it even should matter, decided that it didn't, then began to make his way toward Alex. Some of the people sitting at the tables glanced toward him. He smiled and gave them a polite nod. A few smiled at him as they continued their own conversations.
Alex was looking out the window, sipping his cup of coffee when Jack pulled out a chair. He looked over at him with a smile on his face. Alex always seemed to either be smiling or had the hint of one on his lips.
"Hey, bud," said Alex in his ever friendly tone. He rarely called him Jack unless he was preparing to fire off one of his revelatory questions.
"Hey, Alex," Jack replied as he curled up a leg on the seat and got comfortable. "Thanks for meeting me on such short notice."
"Not a problem, dude. Always happy to be there for an old friend," he said as he reached out a hand.
Jack clasped the hand and shook it.
"I hear tell that you're having problems of the female variety."
Jack chuckled a bit. "Do I ever have any other kind?"
Alex looked out the window, appearing to be very deep in thought. "Hmm. Well," he finally said. "I think that there might have been one time..."
He emphasized the word "one", then trailed off with a big grin on his face.
"Ha ha," said Jack, clearly not amused.
"I'm just messing with you, bud," said Alex. "It doesn't matter what the problem is. I'm just glad I can be here for you."
He smiled as he took a sip of his coffee. His eyes glanced to the right as the waitress approached the table.
"Me,too," said Jack.
As the waitress stepped to the table, Alex placed his hand over his cup and let his gaze venture back out the window. Jack looked at him for a moment, smiled, then turned his attention to the girl.
"Hello," she said with a big smile on her face. "What can I get for you today?"
"I think I'll get a Mega Cup," said Jack. It was his usual drink. Three shots of espresso, hot chocolate, and topped in whipped cream. It probably wasn't the most heart healthy drink, but damn was it good.
"A Mega Cup," she repeated. "Anything else?"
"I think that'll do for now."
She smiled and gave him a nod. "I'll be right back with it."
Jack turned his attention back to Alex as the waitress walked back to the counter. He saw that his eyes were following the girl, silently taking in her every move. Alex always seemed to soak in his surroundings, be it the people or simply the decor. His attention to the details was one of the things that seemed to make him such a good listener.
"So," said Alex, bringing Jack out of his contemplations. "What can you tell me?"
Jack heaved a sigh, preparing himself mentally for what he knew would be a difficult conversation. He wasn't entirely sure of where to begin.
"Dude, just take it from the top," Alex said, seeming to sense his inner struggle. Damn, but he was good at that.
Jack collected his thoughts for a moment longer while Alex sipped his coffee and smiled patiently. When he set down his cup, he placed his right arm on the table and leaned in.
He was in listening mode now. His eyes bore into Jack, who knew that that was his cue to get on with it.
"Well," Jack began with a sigh. "You know about the break up."
Alex gave a small nod. "I heard."
"The thing is, I love Anne. I don't want to give up on her yet. But I did something that really pissed her off now and I'm afraid that my chance is completely ruined."
"I see," said Alex. His face was utterly calm, a complete opposite of the look etched on Jack's visage. "Why don't you tell me exactly what happened, and don't leave out any details."
Jack slowly nodded and began to tell his story. After a few minutes the waitress came by with his drink. She smiled at him as he briefly paused his story to thank her. She seemed to be looking at him with some concern.
"Are you alright?" Her tone was friendly.
"Yeah, I'm good," Jack smiled. "Thanks."
She returned the smile. "You're welcome," she said as she turned to walk away.
Jack sipped his Mega Cup. It was perfection and warmed him inside. He smiled for a moment, in thought. As he began to remember where he was at in his story, the smile faded.
He continued giving the details of everything that had happened over the last six months or so. Alex listened attentively. Not once did he speak, except to ask for clarification or more details when he knew Jack was holding back.
It was something Alex had always been good at. He could sense when there was more to a story than Jack was giving him. Knowing he had such a good friend made it a lot easier for Jack to dish out the details.
He told Alex everything, from the first night when they'd discussed breaking up, and how it felt wrong from the moment he'd stepped out the door, all the way up to the present situation. He told him about his emotional ups and downs. Jack told Alex everything, knowing that his old friend would digest it all with sound reasoning.
Sound reasoning was exactly what Jack needed. He was driven by his emotions, and he knew it. Alex had once told him that while it was important to listen to his heart, it was even more important that his heart listen to his head. He hadn't come close to mastering this lesson, but with Alex to listen to him, Jack wasn't concerned about it.
"Would you like a refill?"
The sudden question startled Jack and he quickly turned his attention to the blonde haired waitress. He then noticed Alex had his hand over his cup and a big smile on his face. He also noticed that his Mega Cup was empty.
"Wow," he said with a self deprecating chuckle. "I guess I got a bit carried away."
He looked at the waitress who continued to smile brightly. "I think I'll have another Mega Cup," he said.
"Sure thing." She started to turn away, paused and looked back at him. "Are you sure you're alright? I mean, two Mega Cups is a lot of caffeine."
Jack nodded, and with a smile tinged by what Jack could only interpret as concern, she headed back to the counter to make his drink.
Jack gave Alex a questioning look.
"Yes," said Alex. "It's that obvious."
They both laughed at the truth of those words. One thing Jack had never been good at was hiding his emotions. It was a side effect of the way they seemed to control him.
"Yeah, well," Jack chuckled in acknowledgement, as though it was the way things were and couldn't be changed. The shrug of his shoulders said it all.
They shared a brief silence. Alex smiled and looked back out the window. Jack glanced around the cafe. A few of the people made eye contact. He smiled and raised his eyebrows, which garnered him a few smiles in return. Then the others quickly turned back to their conversations, only occasionally glancing in his direction.
He knew that he could get carried away when talking to Alex. He hoped that he wasn't getting too loud. It happened now and then, but it was still kind of embarrassing.
"So," said Alex, hunkering down to listen once again. "Back to your story."
"Of course," Jack said with a small chuckle. "Where was I?"
Alex laughed. "Leave it to you, bud. You were explaining the current situation and why you believe she's so angry with you."
"Ah. Well..."
Jack continued with his tale of woe, explaining what he thought Anne must be thinking and why. He told him how hurt the tone of he last letter was. But mostly, he wondered what he might be able to do or say to get her to understand his reasons for doing as he had done.
The waitress brought him his drink, her ever present smile a contrast the the angst that was etching into Jack's heart. He gave her a not, a brief smile, and thanked her.
"No problem," she said. "Just happy to put a smile on your face."
Jack beamed. "It's very much appreciated."
As she headed off to check on the other customers, Jack turned back to Alex. He seemed to be mulling over the details of Jack's story.
When he had a certain look on his face, Jack knew it was no time to talk. Alex seemed as though he were staring off at something far away that only he could see. It was as if time simply stopped for him.
Or perhaps, thought Jack, he stops. Perhaps when Alex was like this nothing mattered to him other than the topic at hand. He seemed to shut everything out and was alone with his thoughts. That he could do this anywhere, no matter how loud or crowded, still amazed Jack.
After what seemed like a small eternity, Alex came back from wherever it was he'd gone off to. He looked at Jack with a face blank of expression.
"Jack," he said. "It's been nearly six months. What exactly do you want?"
For the first time since he'd known him, Jack was a bit disappointed by one of his questions. Especially since it pertained to something that was so important to him. He wasn't sure what to say.
"Wha..." he stammered. "What do you mean? I told you what I want."
Now Alex was all business. His face took on the likeness of an attorney, firing off details at a witness that he knew was holding back.
"You told me she was angry and that you don't want her to be. You told me she was hurt by what you'd done and that if you could make her understand she might not be."
Jack just stared at him. He wanted to say something, but what?
"You told me that you miss her, and that you love her and that you don't want to give up," Alex continued. "You even told me that, even though it hurts, you don't want to stop loving her because you know that she loves you. You think that she is afraid or worried about what the future might bring, and that you don't want her to worry. You don't want her to be afraid."
"Exactly," Jack finally managed.
Alex's eyes bore into his. There was no malice there, thought the tone of his speech seemed a bit harsh. He seemed to be looking into Jack; into the depths of his heart.
Jack wanted to look away. His eyes seemed to be glued on Alex, who just sat there. For a moment, it reminded him of those times he would wake from a nightmare. He would go into the bathroom and stare into the mirror, as if to reassure himself that it had all just been a bad dream.
With his calm, unchanging facial expression, Alex finally spoke.
"Jack." His voice was soft, consoling. "Jack, you've told me much of what is, and of what you don't want."
He let the thought linger for a moment before continuing.
"But you've left out something that is infinitely more important."
"What do you mean," asked Jack. "I've told you everything I can think of."
Alex responded with a smile, but he looked somewhat sad. He gazed compassionately into his friend's eyes.
"Jack," he said softly. "What do you want? And more importantly, why?"
The gentle smile didn't leave his lips, but his eyes glanced to the right and he slowly brought his hand up over the top of his coffee mug. He shifted his gaze back out the window as the waitress approached.
"Finished another one? Would you like some water?"
For a moment, Jack just stared at Alex, unsure of how to respond to his question. It wasn't something he'd really thought about before. At least, when he had, it had never been something he had to think hard about.
"Um. Are you okay," the waitress asked. "Do you want me to come back in a bit?"
Jack finally looked up at her ash though he'd come out of a trance. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'll take another Mega Cup."
The waitress looked at him with surprise on her face. "Wow," she said. "I've never seen someone drink three in a row before. You're gonna have to go running or something."
"Why," asked Jack, completely oblivious to the joke.
She shook her head. "Never mind. I'll go grab one for you. Just don't go having a heart attack on me from all that caffeine."
Jack had already looked away from her. He was staring down at the table, wondering how to answer Alex's question.
"I'll be alright," he finally droned. "I'm always alright."
The softness of his voice, the way his shoulders slumped, and the way his gaze had settled on the decorated tabletop told the waitress otherwise.
"I'll just be a moment," she said softly while giving him a gentle touch on the arm.
Jack gave a small nod but continued to stare at the tabletop. Eventually, he looked up and thought to say something to Alex. Once again, his friend was gazing out the window, that far away look in his eyes.
What was he looking at? Where did his mind wander off to and why did it bring such a smile to his face. how was it that he always seemed so at peace with himself and the world at large?
And now, a new thought came to his mind. Why had his stomach suddenly become so uncomfortable? What was causing this shaking in his legs and this overall discomfort.
"Jack?"
He brought his eyes up to give Alex his attention. Now he would get the advice that he needed. Alex would say something profound and everything would be cleared up.
"Jack, I don't expect you to answer me right now."
What? This wasn't what he expected at all. The look on his face showed it.
"Don't give me that look," said Alex with a smile. "You need to give this some real thought.
"I know that I've been someone you turn to for advice for a long time. This time, it's up to you. I can't tell you what you want."
"But how am I supposed to figure it out?" The desperation in Jack's voice was evident. Alex sat silently for a moment, choosing his words.
"My suggestion is that you go for a hike. Bring a notebook along with you. Find a quiet spot, sit down and think about my question. Then don't come back until you find the answers.
"I can't be there to help because I don't want to have any sway over your answers.
"Now, go to the bathroom already!"
"What?"
Alex laughed. "You've had what? 3 or 4 Mega Cups now? You keep shifting around and your legs are shaking. Kind of obvious, isn't it?"
"Oh. Right," said Jack, realization dawning on him. "Be right back."
The waitress came by with his drink, just as he was getting up.
"It finally caught up with you, huh," she said with a giggle. She placed the cup on the table, her eyes still on him. The smile never left her face.
Jack grinned, embarrassed and looked sheepishly away. "Yeah. I guess so."
His face was red, and with the smile still on his face he headed off to take care of business.
*****
When he came back, Alex's seat and place at their table was empty. It'd been awhile since he'd done this, but Jack knew he must have had a good reason for it. He was always coming and going when someone needed him.
He sat and sipped his drink, contemplating. Alex was right. He had a lot to think about. Going on a hike seemed like as good an idea as any. Getting away from all of the noise and distraction would do him good.
Jack looked up as the waitress approached. She smiled her usual smile and said, "Please tell me you're not getting another one. I don't want to have to call an ambulance."
"Not at all," laughed Jack. "I'll just take the check please."
"Sure thing."
"Oh," Jack said, catching her as she began to walk away. "Did my friend pay his before he left? I was planning on picking it up for him."
The waitress slowly turned back toward him, a sly look on her face. She rested a hand on her hip and tapped her foot, mimicking an impatient school teacher. A slight smile crossed her lips as she eyed him.
"Hey," she said. "Are you trying to mess with me?"
"What do you mean." Jack was smiling, but confused.
"You've been sitting at that table for over 2 hours," she said. "By yourself."
Jack's smile melted.
"Don't you mess with me, mister," the waitress continued, a hint of baby talk encroaching on her voice. She gave him a playful, flirtatious poke with her finger and flashed a great big smile. Then she turned and walked back to the counter to get him his bill.
Jack couldn't bring himself to smile back.
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Friday, October 28, 2011
One Last Picture
She lays peacefully in her hospital bed, eyes closed. Her hair, a little thinner, a little whiter than I remember it, frames her quiet face. And the look on that face, one of serenity mixed with pain, helps me remember.
"Everything's better with butter," she used to say. And I have found this to be true in just about every case. Because of her, I refuse to smear my palette with that vile substance known as margarine (though I did dabble in it for awhile). Because of this simple statement, I know that if I bake a cake, or make cookies, or fry chicken it will be heavenly.
Is it the healthiest thing on earth for you? No, not at all. But if you look at more than just fat or cholesterol content and take the time to read the actual ingredients, you'll see that with margarine, you may as well be ingesting embalming fluid.
Plus, it doesn't even compare when it comes to taste.
When she cooked with butter, she didn't go crazy. It was like she had a sense, perhaps developed over the many years of raising a family, of exactly how much to put into something. It was never too heavy or light. It was just right. Every time.
I also remember the holidays, and looking forward to a real treat. Homemade Chex mix (hey look, butter).
Chex, the very people who advertise this recipe, the people who manufacture and SELL Chex Mix, can not even begin to compare to the delicacy that came from her kitchen. They had to resort to varying flavors and gimmicks. But even their own "Bold" flavor pales in comparison.
Peanuts, almonds, pretzel sticks, and of course the various types of Chex went into her recipe. I know I'm leaving some things out, but no matter. The content wasn't what made it so superb, so mouth watering.
I question whether or not she followed the exact recipe. What I am certain of, however, is that she either baked it longer or at a slightly higher temperature than the folks at Chex suggest. And again, her sense of butter content had to have made a difference.
Her Chex mix was browned to perfection. No doubt it came from years of making it, but this browning of the various ingredients simply infused them with flavor. It was like a shotgun blast: seasoned salt, Worcestershire sauce, garlic and onion powders united in a wave of pure decadence that threatened to blow your face through the back of your head.
Even as I am writing this, the simple thought of it is making me salivate like Pavlov's pup. I have not had this particular treat in, I'd say, well over 10 years. At least. But the euphoric flavor still lingers, still maintains it's grip on my taste buds.
I remember eating this same Chex mix as we traversed the zoo at Christmas time. Walking in the chill air, the beauty of the lights and decorations amplified by the snow on the ground. Many of the animals didn't come out, but I don't think that was the point. The point was simply to spend time with people that you loved.
I remember, vaguely, being surrounding outside by the people loved ones and seeing "Seven Brides for Seven Brothers" for the first time. It was cold out and I remember there was a dusting of snow. But we braved it and watched this movie, along with the puffs our breathe made, while drinking hot chocolate.
I remember smiling, that great big smile that so rarely comes to my face anymore. The one that makes my eyes tear up because no matter how big the smile there is still joy aching to burst out.
That smile is elusive, but it's still there. Remembering, even if only in fragmented stills and clips, that day is the reason why I love that movie. It's the reason why, even if I feel like everything is falling to pieces and I can't do anything right, I can watch it and feel a sense of warmth, love, and hope.
I feel these things because the first time I saw this movie it is what I was surrounded by. And no matter how hard life seems, I can think of the lyrics "We ain't met yet but I'm a-willing to bet, you're the gal for me", apply it to the world in general, and have a smile come to my face.
That "gal" could be a new job, or a destination, or a goal, or yes, even an actual girl. When I think of the purity of the joy I felt that day, I don't worry as much about things. After all, we just "ain't met yet", whoever or whatever that meeting will be with.
I've never explained that before. Ever. So while some people consider musicals to be for sissies, or think they're stupid, and can't stand 7B47B, it means so much more to me than I can put into words. That's why you'll still hear me humming the tune from that first song. Because this movie is actually about those feelings for me.
And I remember being loved.
I remember being tucked into a springy, bouncy twin bed. There was one pillow, a sheet, and a yellow blanket.
I remember being cozy and warm and being read to at night. It was usually a short tale from one of the Childcraft books. Often some kind of fairy tale or fable or an adventure of sorts would whisk me off to dreamland. But I never fell asleep until it was over.
She wasn't usually the one who read them. But the one who did made me feel loved, too.
And I feel like I let them down. Not in the sense that my life isn't right or that I'm not living it, but rather because I didn't take enough time to tell them both how I felt.
He died, the one who read to me, a few years ago. I never got another chance to tell him. He is my Grandad, and I love him.
And I had the opportunity to tell her then, but I didn't. And then she moved farther away.
Each year I said the same thing. "I'll get down there when I can." Or: "I'll try to make it there for (insert holiday here)." And even: "I'll definitely get down there this year."
But I didn't.
I always found an excuse not to go. I had too much going on. I couldn't afford the trip.
She looks peaceful, laying in the hospital bed. And I remember why I should have gone. I remember why I should have gone years ago, why I should have made the time and saved the money.
Because she is laying in a hospital bed, her face serene with just a touch pain. She is laying in a hospital bed, holding still for one last picture.
She is my Granny, and I didn't tell her. She is my Granny, and I love her.
"Everything's better with butter," she used to say. And I have found this to be true in just about every case. Because of her, I refuse to smear my palette with that vile substance known as margarine (though I did dabble in it for awhile). Because of this simple statement, I know that if I bake a cake, or make cookies, or fry chicken it will be heavenly.
Is it the healthiest thing on earth for you? No, not at all. But if you look at more than just fat or cholesterol content and take the time to read the actual ingredients, you'll see that with margarine, you may as well be ingesting embalming fluid.
Plus, it doesn't even compare when it comes to taste.
When she cooked with butter, she didn't go crazy. It was like she had a sense, perhaps developed over the many years of raising a family, of exactly how much to put into something. It was never too heavy or light. It was just right. Every time.
I also remember the holidays, and looking forward to a real treat. Homemade Chex mix (hey look, butter).
Chex, the very people who advertise this recipe, the people who manufacture and SELL Chex Mix, can not even begin to compare to the delicacy that came from her kitchen. They had to resort to varying flavors and gimmicks. But even their own "Bold" flavor pales in comparison.
Peanuts, almonds, pretzel sticks, and of course the various types of Chex went into her recipe. I know I'm leaving some things out, but no matter. The content wasn't what made it so superb, so mouth watering.
I question whether or not she followed the exact recipe. What I am certain of, however, is that she either baked it longer or at a slightly higher temperature than the folks at Chex suggest. And again, her sense of butter content had to have made a difference.
Her Chex mix was browned to perfection. No doubt it came from years of making it, but this browning of the various ingredients simply infused them with flavor. It was like a shotgun blast: seasoned salt, Worcestershire sauce, garlic and onion powders united in a wave of pure decadence that threatened to blow your face through the back of your head.
Even as I am writing this, the simple thought of it is making me salivate like Pavlov's pup. I have not had this particular treat in, I'd say, well over 10 years. At least. But the euphoric flavor still lingers, still maintains it's grip on my taste buds.
I remember eating this same Chex mix as we traversed the zoo at Christmas time. Walking in the chill air, the beauty of the lights and decorations amplified by the snow on the ground. Many of the animals didn't come out, but I don't think that was the point. The point was simply to spend time with people that you loved.
I remember, vaguely, being surrounding outside by the people loved ones and seeing "Seven Brides for Seven Brothers" for the first time. It was cold out and I remember there was a dusting of snow. But we braved it and watched this movie, along with the puffs our breathe made, while drinking hot chocolate.
I remember smiling, that great big smile that so rarely comes to my face anymore. The one that makes my eyes tear up because no matter how big the smile there is still joy aching to burst out.
That smile is elusive, but it's still there. Remembering, even if only in fragmented stills and clips, that day is the reason why I love that movie. It's the reason why, even if I feel like everything is falling to pieces and I can't do anything right, I can watch it and feel a sense of warmth, love, and hope.
I feel these things because the first time I saw this movie it is what I was surrounded by. And no matter how hard life seems, I can think of the lyrics "We ain't met yet but I'm a-willing to bet, you're the gal for me", apply it to the world in general, and have a smile come to my face.
That "gal" could be a new job, or a destination, or a goal, or yes, even an actual girl. When I think of the purity of the joy I felt that day, I don't worry as much about things. After all, we just "ain't met yet", whoever or whatever that meeting will be with.
I've never explained that before. Ever. So while some people consider musicals to be for sissies, or think they're stupid, and can't stand 7B47B, it means so much more to me than I can put into words. That's why you'll still hear me humming the tune from that first song. Because this movie is actually about those feelings for me.
And I remember being loved.
I remember being tucked into a springy, bouncy twin bed. There was one pillow, a sheet, and a yellow blanket.
I remember being cozy and warm and being read to at night. It was usually a short tale from one of the Childcraft books. Often some kind of fairy tale or fable or an adventure of sorts would whisk me off to dreamland. But I never fell asleep until it was over.
She wasn't usually the one who read them. But the one who did made me feel loved, too.
And I feel like I let them down. Not in the sense that my life isn't right or that I'm not living it, but rather because I didn't take enough time to tell them both how I felt.
He died, the one who read to me, a few years ago. I never got another chance to tell him. He is my Grandad, and I love him.
And I had the opportunity to tell her then, but I didn't. And then she moved farther away.
Each year I said the same thing. "I'll get down there when I can." Or: "I'll try to make it there for (insert holiday here)." And even: "I'll definitely get down there this year."
But I didn't.
I always found an excuse not to go. I had too much going on. I couldn't afford the trip.
She looks peaceful, laying in the hospital bed. And I remember why I should have gone. I remember why I should have gone years ago, why I should have made the time and saved the money.
Because she is laying in a hospital bed, her face serene with just a touch pain. She is laying in a hospital bed, holding still for one last picture.
She is my Granny, and I didn't tell her. She is my Granny, and I love her.
Thursday, October 27, 2011
I'll Wait. For You.
He looked at the photograph in his trembling hands. Two shadows on a sandy beach, the warm sun giving them life. It reminded him of another place, another time. The seaside, it’s delicate nature, a metaphor for love.
And loss.
The sand between your toes could be warm, comforting. Feeling its massage against the skin of your feet was the soft caress of a lover. And the cool, gentle waves lapping against the shore sent a shiver, like a tender kiss, shuddering through your body.
On the cool days, the sand could be hard. Its feel was a cold shoulder from a scorned lover. The icy water, sharp as dagger against the skin, hurt. The pain gave you goose bumps and came so quickly that you thought your heart would stop.
Love could be like that. One day, it was sunshine and warmth. The next, it was cloudy and cold.
And then the day came when his heart stopped. The day he got the call that she was gone. He had held out hope. Prayed. But it wasn’t meant to be.
The news hadn’t just stopped his heart. It froze it over, winter’s touch as cold her body now must be. She had been a fighter, but even the strongest fighters can lose.
And when the news came, like a hammer blow from an unseen assailant, his icy heart shattered.
He looked at the photograph in his trembling hand. Two shadows on a sandy beach, the warm sun mocking him with the life it had given them.
In his other hand, a modeling knife. A white knuckled grip shook violently, as though the strain of it could hold back his tears.
But much like a handful of sand gripped tightly will spill through your fingers, the tears began to sneak out. Their descent down his stubbled cheeks made no sound. Neither did he.
He raised the knife toward his wrist, toward the arm that held the hand that held the picture that held his heart.
When it touched his skin the metal's icy touch stopped him. It made him think of all the warm and cool days. He didn’t regret any of them, except for the last one. The final day.
It had been raining and was very cold.. He knew there had been tears in her eyes then, when she said her last “I love you”. Shortly thereafter, she was gone.
And he hadn’t been there.
He wondered about where she was now. If she was warm, happy. Was she smiling that special smile of hers? The one that melted his heart.
Like the one in the picture he held. The one that only he could see, when he closed his eyes.
Would she greet him there? Would she embrace him? She wanted him to move on. She wanted him to live his life and be happy. Would she want this?
No.
He looked at the photograph in his trembling hand. He looked at the knife, shaking there near his wrist, daring him. And slowly moved it away.
She had asked so little of him, how could he not do this? He would continue his life, though alone. He would find happiness in family and friends. He would imagine her warm smile with every success and her loving embrace with every setback. He would imagine her touch when he lay awake at night and her voice telling him that he could do anything.
“I’ll wait,” he whispered to the empty room. To the photograph. To her. “For you.”
And loss.
The sand between your toes could be warm, comforting. Feeling its massage against the skin of your feet was the soft caress of a lover. And the cool, gentle waves lapping against the shore sent a shiver, like a tender kiss, shuddering through your body.
On the cool days, the sand could be hard. Its feel was a cold shoulder from a scorned lover. The icy water, sharp as dagger against the skin, hurt. The pain gave you goose bumps and came so quickly that you thought your heart would stop.
Love could be like that. One day, it was sunshine and warmth. The next, it was cloudy and cold.
And then the day came when his heart stopped. The day he got the call that she was gone. He had held out hope. Prayed. But it wasn’t meant to be.
The news hadn’t just stopped his heart. It froze it over, winter’s touch as cold her body now must be. She had been a fighter, but even the strongest fighters can lose.
And when the news came, like a hammer blow from an unseen assailant, his icy heart shattered.
He looked at the photograph in his trembling hand. Two shadows on a sandy beach, the warm sun mocking him with the life it had given them.
In his other hand, a modeling knife. A white knuckled grip shook violently, as though the strain of it could hold back his tears.
But much like a handful of sand gripped tightly will spill through your fingers, the tears began to sneak out. Their descent down his stubbled cheeks made no sound. Neither did he.
He raised the knife toward his wrist, toward the arm that held the hand that held the picture that held his heart.
When it touched his skin the metal's icy touch stopped him. It made him think of all the warm and cool days. He didn’t regret any of them, except for the last one. The final day.
It had been raining and was very cold.. He knew there had been tears in her eyes then, when she said her last “I love you”. Shortly thereafter, she was gone.
And he hadn’t been there.
He wondered about where she was now. If she was warm, happy. Was she smiling that special smile of hers? The one that melted his heart.
Like the one in the picture he held. The one that only he could see, when he closed his eyes.
Would she greet him there? Would she embrace him? She wanted him to move on. She wanted him to live his life and be happy. Would she want this?
No.
He looked at the photograph in his trembling hand. He looked at the knife, shaking there near his wrist, daring him. And slowly moved it away.
She had asked so little of him, how could he not do this? He would continue his life, though alone. He would find happiness in family and friends. He would imagine her warm smile with every success and her loving embrace with every setback. He would imagine her touch when he lay awake at night and her voice telling him that he could do anything.
“I’ll wait,” he whispered to the empty room. To the photograph. To her. “For you.”
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
7
There were 7 wonders of the ancient world, but none compared to you.
7 samurai saved a village, but there was nothing that they could do.
A human heart weighs 7 pounds, but mine has disappeared.
7 stars in the big dipper, too, but I don’t care to see them here.
7 Endless in the Sandman’s world, though even they will someday end.
7 notes in the West’s Major Scale, but music is not my friend.
7th Heaven is where my heart once resided, until you went away
It took 7 to create this world, for me it ended in one day.
7 is God’s number and there are 7 deadly sins
I see 7s to hit the jackpot, but I just can’t seem to win.
My hopes, my dreams, my joys, my loves all seem to disappear
And I just wasn’t strong enough to make it last for 7 years.
7 samurai saved a village, but there was nothing that they could do.
A human heart weighs 7 pounds, but mine has disappeared.
7 stars in the big dipper, too, but I don’t care to see them here.
7 Endless in the Sandman’s world, though even they will someday end.
7 notes in the West’s Major Scale, but music is not my friend.
7th Heaven is where my heart once resided, until you went away
It took 7 to create this world, for me it ended in one day.
7 is God’s number and there are 7 deadly sins
I see 7s to hit the jackpot, but I just can’t seem to win.
My hopes, my dreams, my joys, my loves all seem to disappear
And I just wasn’t strong enough to make it last for 7 years.
Saturday, October 22, 2011
Fish Bowls
I went to Towne Square to buy some Oolong Tea from a shop
called Teavana. It's an excellent shop, with a great selection and
knowledgeable employees. Not only did I get a tasty beverage, but I got
enough oolong to last me a few weeks.
The benefits of oolong tea are interesting. According to Chinese folks, it
makes you thin. The people at Teavana tell me that it helps you process
carbs. This isn't true.
In actuality, oolong tea inhibits your body from absorbing fat and
cholesterol. It also produces an interesting side effect. Your body, when
burning energy, will go after your fat stores rather than a more readily
available source - your muscle.
I'll admit, the employees explanation is more marketable. It's a lot easier
to say that something helps you process carbs than all the information I
just gave. So I can't fault them.
But I digress. After receiving my tea, in both drinkable and brewable form,
I sat down with a book and relaxed a bit.
I enjoyed the travel writings of Paul Theroux. I sat tensed, ready to spring as a
small child (maybe 1 or so) nearly walked into the street as her preoccupied
mother chatted with a friend. I breathed a sigh of relief when the mother
grabbed her, the car heading toward her hit its brakes, and a very bad thing
was averted.
Would I have been quick enough if the mother had not been? I don;t know. I'm
not as fast or limber as I used to be. I'm just happy it didn't have to be
tested.
Again, I digress and turn my attention to people watching.
Las Vegas, when you get right down to it, is little more than a barren
desert. We get our water from somewhere else, and the trees we enjoy in Sin
City are usually of the palm variety, which means it's actually a type of
grass (look it up if you don't believe me).
But real grass in this dust bowl is at a premium and many places substitute
AstroTurf. Neighborhoods have this cheap, green fabric, and so does Towne
Square. And the local couples flock to it; it's one of the things I find
interesting in this otherwise cesspool of a town.
Las Vegas, to me and many others, is a place to go to create some sort of a
memory. And while our marketing geniuses will tell you that what happens
here stays here, it makes me wonder about the people who call the town home. What kind of place is this to live if you're young (or old, for that matter) and in love?
What is there to do? Where is there to go? What kind of memories can you
make?
You can go to Mt Charleston for real green, but the average tourist won't be
doing that. You can visit Lake Meade for your water fix, but even that is
man made. So does that mean that all of our potential memories are false?
No. And I debated this with myself for awhile, but the only answer I can
give is no. The memories you'll take back from Vegas, while built on fake
grass or quick drying concrete, are not fake. We are a town of masks; nothing truly fake, but you never really see what's real.
Towne Square has the quaint, pretty little setting. There are light strung up and a small gazebo. Plenty of tables and benches are there for you to relax on. Or you can just lay on the "grass" near the water.
The water is designed to be a like a small brook, complete with a sort of little island. There is a little bridge that goes over it and the rocks are all fake (or at least covered by some kind of sprayed on concrete, which lends them the look). In all, watching the happy couples laying in each others arms, it give a true sense of serenity.
And it reminds me of a fish bowl. Fake plants, rocks and cheap decorations make the fish feel safe and at home. This is what Towne Square is like as well. In fact, much of Vegas is like this.
Think about it. Caesar's Palace is designed to look like something out of Roman history. The Luxor harkens back to ancient Egypt. And the Venetian is meant to whisk you off with its romantic vision of Venice (it fails because the water is much cleaner than the real thing).
And while all of these things are false, it doesn't make the memories you can make here any less real. In our little fishbowl, in the middle of the desert, you can enjoy sites and sounds from around the world.
Here, we have the Eiffel Tower, castles and pirate ships. And while none of these can compare to the real thing, it's a lot cheaper and the pictures are just as lovely.
So back to my point. What does this mean for the people who call Las Vegas home? It's simple.
We have the world at our finger tips. And people from all walks of life, from all over come here just to see what we've managed to carve out. It's a paradise in a wasteland. It's a fishbowl in the bedroom of America.
Plus, we got tons of hookers.
called Teavana. It's an excellent shop, with a great selection and
knowledgeable employees. Not only did I get a tasty beverage, but I got
enough oolong to last me a few weeks.
The benefits of oolong tea are interesting. According to Chinese folks, it
makes you thin. The people at Teavana tell me that it helps you process
carbs. This isn't true.
In actuality, oolong tea inhibits your body from absorbing fat and
cholesterol. It also produces an interesting side effect. Your body, when
burning energy, will go after your fat stores rather than a more readily
available source - your muscle.
I'll admit, the employees explanation is more marketable. It's a lot easier
to say that something helps you process carbs than all the information I
just gave. So I can't fault them.
But I digress. After receiving my tea, in both drinkable and brewable form,
I sat down with a book and relaxed a bit.
I enjoyed the travel writings of Paul Theroux. I sat tensed, ready to spring as a
small child (maybe 1 or so) nearly walked into the street as her preoccupied
mother chatted with a friend. I breathed a sigh of relief when the mother
grabbed her, the car heading toward her hit its brakes, and a very bad thing
was averted.
Would I have been quick enough if the mother had not been? I don;t know. I'm
not as fast or limber as I used to be. I'm just happy it didn't have to be
tested.
Again, I digress and turn my attention to people watching.
Las Vegas, when you get right down to it, is little more than a barren
desert. We get our water from somewhere else, and the trees we enjoy in Sin
City are usually of the palm variety, which means it's actually a type of
grass (look it up if you don't believe me).
But real grass in this dust bowl is at a premium and many places substitute
AstroTurf. Neighborhoods have this cheap, green fabric, and so does Towne
Square. And the local couples flock to it; it's one of the things I find
interesting in this otherwise cesspool of a town.
Las Vegas, to me and many others, is a place to go to create some sort of a
memory. And while our marketing geniuses will tell you that what happens
here stays here, it makes me wonder about the people who call the town home. What kind of place is this to live if you're young (or old, for that matter) and in love?
What is there to do? Where is there to go? What kind of memories can you
make?
You can go to Mt Charleston for real green, but the average tourist won't be
doing that. You can visit Lake Meade for your water fix, but even that is
man made. So does that mean that all of our potential memories are false?
No. And I debated this with myself for awhile, but the only answer I can
give is no. The memories you'll take back from Vegas, while built on fake
grass or quick drying concrete, are not fake. We are a town of masks; nothing truly fake, but you never really see what's real.
Towne Square has the quaint, pretty little setting. There are light strung up and a small gazebo. Plenty of tables and benches are there for you to relax on. Or you can just lay on the "grass" near the water.
The water is designed to be a like a small brook, complete with a sort of little island. There is a little bridge that goes over it and the rocks are all fake (or at least covered by some kind of sprayed on concrete, which lends them the look). In all, watching the happy couples laying in each others arms, it give a true sense of serenity.
And it reminds me of a fish bowl. Fake plants, rocks and cheap decorations make the fish feel safe and at home. This is what Towne Square is like as well. In fact, much of Vegas is like this.
Think about it. Caesar's Palace is designed to look like something out of Roman history. The Luxor harkens back to ancient Egypt. And the Venetian is meant to whisk you off with its romantic vision of Venice (it fails because the water is much cleaner than the real thing).
And while all of these things are false, it doesn't make the memories you can make here any less real. In our little fishbowl, in the middle of the desert, you can enjoy sites and sounds from around the world.
Here, we have the Eiffel Tower, castles and pirate ships. And while none of these can compare to the real thing, it's a lot cheaper and the pictures are just as lovely.
So back to my point. What does this mean for the people who call Las Vegas home? It's simple.
We have the world at our finger tips. And people from all walks of life, from all over come here just to see what we've managed to carve out. It's a paradise in a wasteland. It's a fishbowl in the bedroom of America.
Plus, we got tons of hookers.
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
20111018
Thinking of the grey granite of the mountains; the green and brown of the trees that make me feel at peace. Blue skies and sunshine warm the soul. Thinking of a hand holding and a smile that to wake up to. Thinking of the warmth held close and a thumb touching a small mole on the back of an arm. Getting out of the warm bed to make eggs over easy, and toast with butter, perfect for dipping. Think of long walks down trails, the crunch of gravel under two pairs of feet on a moonlit night in October, breathe coming in little clouds with each spoken word. The smell of fall mixed with shampoo and lily of the valley, the crisp leaves shuddering in the trees. Beautiful children that will never be. And the tears that are falling write a little story on the cheeks with each streak they leave behind; an inky, smudged story that tells of a failed love. A love that could not conquer all. A little essay explaining that no, love is not all you need. Dream about green grass, a house with a big deck. Dream of the lightning and rain pouring down while watching a spring storm. Sipping wine and conversing; the thunder clap and downpour a soundtrack...that will never be. Growing older, getting fat but still looking into those eyes and feeling warmth inside. Feeling complete. An "I'll always love you" spoken beside a deathbed, and knowing that for the first time and last time, it is true.
These thoughts mean everything. And nothing.
These thoughts mean everything. And nothing.
Sunday, October 16, 2011
The President's Speech
When the news hit, there was an outpouring of sorrow and heartfelt cries filled the streets. With sullen faces, the news anchors on every channel gave their condolences, some holding back tears, others gasping in sobs. No news story had tugged at the heart of the American people since 9/11.
At first, it had just been a rumor. Someone, an insider, had let the news slip out. Panic gripped the nation and reporters everywhere scrambled to see if there was validity in the claim.
Within 24 hours, the news was confirmed.
People gathered outside the White House, holding a candle light vigil. Citizens flooded the streets of New York City, Los Angeles, and all of the major cities. Small town folks gathered in their churches and prayed.
In some places, violence erupted. Police tried to stem the tied, but soon gave in to the same feelings that had gripped the people. It was a tragedy that made their fortitude collapse.
When the troops overseas heard the news, at first, they didn't believe it. It seemed impossible. They spoke to their Commanding Officers and by the desolate gazes they gave their men, one of their worst fears was confirmed.
Many succumbed to depression. Some simply dropped theirs guns, sat down in the dirt and began to weep. Some of the women cried while hugging their comrades to their sides. Generals cried on the shoulders of their aides with pain heavy in their hearts.
Most of the soldiers, battle hardened troops, felt lost. Order sunk into chaos. While many were depressed by the news, others felt only rage well up.
There was much violence. Blinded by their pain and anger, troops broke down and became savage. They hunted down insurgents, trying to place the blame on someone. Anyone.
And then, later that evening, all the channels began to broadcast a live stream from the White House. The President was about to speak. He would steer the nation in the right direction.
The internet was nearly brought down by the bandwidth being used. Satellites beamed the message through out the world. And all over America, people sat in their living rooms, computer rooms and offices. Some stood in the middle of stores. Some stood on the streets, watching. Waiting.
The President would lend his strength and his resolve to the people. His words were always well planned and well spoken. He would help alleviate the suffering.
And as everyone waited to hear his words, time seemed to stop.
As the cameras came on, his face was streaked with dried tears. His voice was shaky. He held his hands to his chest as though the pain of it was tearing him apart.
And then, he spoke.
"My fellow Americans," he began. "I have some very sad news for all of you, and I think sad news for many people the through out the world.
"This will be a difficult day, a difficult time for the United States. For today, we are all united in a great sorrow.
"I'd planned to speak to you tonight to report on the state of the Union, but the events of earlier today have led me to change those plans. Today is a day for mourning. The First Lady and I are pained in our hearts by this tragedy.
"We will all have to bear the full burden of this loss. While there is a great sense of hopelessness right now, we as a nation have a choice. We can live our lives in regret off this loss, close our hearts and minds and give in to the suffering.
"Or, we can stand strong. We can move forward. And I believe the choice is clear.
"I know that many of you watching this today are in need of a sense of closure. You want to know that the news is, in fact, true. You want to hear the word from my own lips."
The President paused a moment, as though contemplating what he would say next. Thoughts of the violence and the sorrow coursing through out the nation weighed heavily on his mind. His speech had been well written, but it wasn't enough. Now, the people of America needed to hear what came from his heart.
"I've always had great faith in and respect for the American people. The violence of today does nothing to diminish it. We were all in shock, and to a point, we all lost our minds a little bit. I can't blame you for that, but it must stop now.
"I don't hide the news. I don't keep secrets and cover things up. It was a promise that I made to you a long time ago. I am a President who does things out front and in the open. That's the way of freedom and I wouldn't change it for a moment.
"Nothing ends here; our hopes and our dreams still continue. But they will continue without a long time friend of the American people."
He paused again. Tears came to his eyes and ran down his cheeks. He looked away from the camera briefly, face etched in agony. It lasted only for a moment.
When he looked back, his face showed only resolve.
"We will never forget this old friend. A friend who was there for us in the morning. A friend that offered joy during times of sorrow and gave us strength when we felt weak.
"We will have to face the future with out our friend. And though it will be difficult, we will survive. We will thrive.
"Our old friend held us up and stood by our side through thick and thin. And now, we will go forward...," his voice cracked. "Alone."
His features were tightened. His eyes, though saddened, showed strength. And he spoke the final words of his speech with resolve in his tone.
"There is...no more bacon."
At first, it had just been a rumor. Someone, an insider, had let the news slip out. Panic gripped the nation and reporters everywhere scrambled to see if there was validity in the claim.
Within 24 hours, the news was confirmed.
People gathered outside the White House, holding a candle light vigil. Citizens flooded the streets of New York City, Los Angeles, and all of the major cities. Small town folks gathered in their churches and prayed.
In some places, violence erupted. Police tried to stem the tied, but soon gave in to the same feelings that had gripped the people. It was a tragedy that made their fortitude collapse.
When the troops overseas heard the news, at first, they didn't believe it. It seemed impossible. They spoke to their Commanding Officers and by the desolate gazes they gave their men, one of their worst fears was confirmed.
Many succumbed to depression. Some simply dropped theirs guns, sat down in the dirt and began to weep. Some of the women cried while hugging their comrades to their sides. Generals cried on the shoulders of their aides with pain heavy in their hearts.
Most of the soldiers, battle hardened troops, felt lost. Order sunk into chaos. While many were depressed by the news, others felt only rage well up.
There was much violence. Blinded by their pain and anger, troops broke down and became savage. They hunted down insurgents, trying to place the blame on someone. Anyone.
And then, later that evening, all the channels began to broadcast a live stream from the White House. The President was about to speak. He would steer the nation in the right direction.
The internet was nearly brought down by the bandwidth being used. Satellites beamed the message through out the world. And all over America, people sat in their living rooms, computer rooms and offices. Some stood in the middle of stores. Some stood on the streets, watching. Waiting.
The President would lend his strength and his resolve to the people. His words were always well planned and well spoken. He would help alleviate the suffering.
And as everyone waited to hear his words, time seemed to stop.
As the cameras came on, his face was streaked with dried tears. His voice was shaky. He held his hands to his chest as though the pain of it was tearing him apart.
And then, he spoke.
"My fellow Americans," he began. "I have some very sad news for all of you, and I think sad news for many people the through out the world.
"This will be a difficult day, a difficult time for the United States. For today, we are all united in a great sorrow.
"I'd planned to speak to you tonight to report on the state of the Union, but the events of earlier today have led me to change those plans. Today is a day for mourning. The First Lady and I are pained in our hearts by this tragedy.
"We will all have to bear the full burden of this loss. While there is a great sense of hopelessness right now, we as a nation have a choice. We can live our lives in regret off this loss, close our hearts and minds and give in to the suffering.
"Or, we can stand strong. We can move forward. And I believe the choice is clear.
"I know that many of you watching this today are in need of a sense of closure. You want to know that the news is, in fact, true. You want to hear the word from my own lips."
The President paused a moment, as though contemplating what he would say next. Thoughts of the violence and the sorrow coursing through out the nation weighed heavily on his mind. His speech had been well written, but it wasn't enough. Now, the people of America needed to hear what came from his heart.
"I've always had great faith in and respect for the American people. The violence of today does nothing to diminish it. We were all in shock, and to a point, we all lost our minds a little bit. I can't blame you for that, but it must stop now.
"I don't hide the news. I don't keep secrets and cover things up. It was a promise that I made to you a long time ago. I am a President who does things out front and in the open. That's the way of freedom and I wouldn't change it for a moment.
"Nothing ends here; our hopes and our dreams still continue. But they will continue without a long time friend of the American people."
He paused again. Tears came to his eyes and ran down his cheeks. He looked away from the camera briefly, face etched in agony. It lasted only for a moment.
When he looked back, his face showed only resolve.
"We will never forget this old friend. A friend who was there for us in the morning. A friend that offered joy during times of sorrow and gave us strength when we felt weak.
"We will have to face the future with out our friend. And though it will be difficult, we will survive. We will thrive.
"Our old friend held us up and stood by our side through thick and thin. And now, we will go forward...," his voice cracked. "Alone."
His features were tightened. His eyes, though saddened, showed strength. And he spoke the final words of his speech with resolve in his tone.
"There is...no more bacon."
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Metaphor
"The greater the sensibility the greater the suffering...much suffering." - Leonardo Da Vinci
****************************************************************
Alex looked at the shuddering heap laying in the bed. The moaning, shuddering sobs were the only sound in the room. Well, that and the occasional sniffle.
"I take it things didn't go that well," said Alex.
He had been standing in the doorway of Jack's studio apartment for 10 minutes. He hadn't let up one bit. Nor did he answer.
"Listen, bud," Alex said impatiently. "I know that you're hurting right now. That's pretty damn obvious. But if you don't pull it together and talk to me, I can't help you.
"Plus, if you don't get your ass outta bed and go clean yourself up, I'm totally raiding your fridge."
Alex said this with a smile. He said most things with a smile on his lips.
Somehow, Alex had learned that no matter how hard things were, no matter what the problem, a solution could be found by reasoning things out. He had been spending a lot of time with Jack, trying to help him see this. It was an uphill battle.
"Seriously dude." He made his way toward Jack and gave him a light kick. "Get up or I'm leaving."
He pause for a moment.
"After I eat whatever good stuff you have in the fridge."
Jack began crawling out from under the blankets. He squinted his eyes, and Alex could tell he'd been under them for quite awhile.
"Oh look," said Alex, a big grin on his face. "It's like I'm witnessing a birth, but with out all the blood and screaming."
Jack looked at him, clearly not amused. His face was tear streaked and dirty. He had snot, both fresh and dried on his nose and cheeks. Alex made a disgusted face.
"But apparently not much less messy."
"I shouldn't have talked to her," said Jack. "I reasoned it out, like you said, and I thought I could handle it."
"Yeah...," Alex drawled. "We can discuss this after you clean up. Go look in the mirror. Seriously, you look gross. Take care of that first."
Jack sighed, but pushed himself up and out of bed. Head down, he walked into the bathroom and flipped on the light. He looked up into the mirror.
"Holy shit," said Jack. "I'm sorry, Alex. I didn't want you to see me like this."
"Meh," Alex waived it off. "It's not the first time. Just please wash you face. I'm trying to eat here."
Jack laughed a little at this, then proceeded to clean himself up. When finished, he walked out of the bathroom and looked Alex. He wasn't eating anything; just sipping on a glass of water and waiting.
"So," said Alex. "You talked to her and now you're a mess again, huh?"
The "her" Alex referred to was Jack's ex, Anna. They'd been broken up for quite some time now, and Jack seemed to finally be doing well. Clearly, he was not.
"Yeah, I guess so," replied Jack. "I just thought I could handle it."
"Did you really? Or did you just want to hear the sound of her voice again?"
"Well...", Jack said. "There was that."
"Why?"
Jack thought a moment. "Because I miss her. I think that I was forgetting what her voice sounded like. I didn't like that."
Alex just shook his head and gave him a somber smile. "Wasn't that kind of the idea?"
"I know." Jack cast his eyes downward. "But it wasn't just that," he said, finally looking back up.
Alex studied his friend's eyes for a moment. He had known him for years and was pretty good at reading him.
"She told you she met someone."
Jack gave a small nod. His eyes began to get watery, but he kept it in check. Alex would let him cry about it, but he knew that aside from the slight release it afforded, crying would do him no good.
"Why the hell would she want to talk just so she could tell me that," Jack asked. "It doesn't make any sense."
"Doesn't it," asked Alex.
Jack just looked at him, puzzled.
"Listen," Alex continued. "I can't say for sure what her reasoning was, but it might have simply been that she was feeling insecure and needed you to boost her ego a bit. What exactly did you guys talk about?"
Jack though a moment.
"Well, typical small talk about what we were up to now. Then we talked about the past and where it went wrong."
Alex nodded. "And how did you handle that?"
"Well, I tried to be reasonable like you always tell me to do."
Alex raised an eyebrow. "That's it? That's all you're going to give me?"
He put his arms on his hips and looked Jack in the face. That damn smile was still there. He could always seem to tell when Jack held back.
"I guess the gist of it is that I told her I'm fine and that I don't think about her as much. I told her I'm happy that she met someone."
To a certain, very limited extent it was true.
"Why would you tell her that?"
Jack said nothing for a moment, thinking over the question. Finally, he replied.
"I guess I just figured it would make things easier on her."
"And why would you do that? Why not just tell her exactly how you feel and the reason why you have to focus on yourself so strongly," asked Alex. "Did you tell her what you told me? How you have to focus on yourself so thoroughly because if you don't...well, this happens?"
Jack just shook his head.
"I can't do that to her, Alex."
"Why? She moved on, or is trying to. Why don't you," he asked. "Why does it always matter to you how she feels. Your relationship ended. It's okay if you hurt. It's okay if you move on and she hurts. It's going to happen."
"I guess I would rather just know that she's alright and that she's happy before I finally start to let go."
"That isn't reasonable, Jack," said Alex, throwing his arms up. "That isn't what I've tried to help you with."
"But it is. It's logical, even," replied Jack.
Alex said nothing. He simply crossed his arms and looked at Jack. Clearly, he needed a better explanation.
"It's purely emotional," he finally said. "You're just hurting yourself. I'm thinking you shouldn't have called her, but what's done is done."
Jack nodded. "I agree with you there. But, it isn't purely emotional. Or at least, it isn't my emotions I'm thinking about."
"Obviously. You were doing just fine. Granted, you're not nearly as bad as you were a few months ago, but compared to how you've been for the last month you're a wreck. Why do that to yourself. Let her be the wreck."
"No."
Alex didn't lose his patients with Jack. He just looked at him. That wasn't the answer he wanted to hear.
"Why not? This is obviously eating away at you right now. It could take weeks for you to get back on track, even with my help."
"I know," said Jack, head bowed and giving a hint of a nod.
"Then why?"
Slowly, Jack raised his head. He looked Alex in the eyes. It wasn't quite a look of resolution. More like a look of sad determination.
"Because I love her, Alex. If I can help keep her from feeling even a fraction of what I do right now, to me, it's completely worth it.
"And as much as it makes me ache, as much as it hurts, I know I can deal with it. I'm used to it."
For a time, there was silence. A tear slid down Jack's face. Alex just looked at him.
He finally spoke. "And if Anna finds out about this?"
"Then she'll know that even though I love her, even though I haven't given up on hope, that I want her to be happy. God knows that I'd prefer it be with me, but I used reason, like you told me. I thought it out.
"I live miles away now. She isn't likely to come out here. Her sense of adventure just never was the same as mine. I could pick a direction and drive - preferred it, even. She liked to plan things out, have a destination in mind most of the time."
He paused after this, looking at Alex. Realization was slowly coming to him.
"That's a metaphor isn't it?"
"Yes," said Jack.
Alex slowly inhaled. He mulled it all over in his mind, and in a way, it did kind of seem reasonable. He didn't think it was the best thing for his well-being, but it kind of made sense, given the way that Jack was.
With a sharp exhale he reached up and slapped Jack on the shoulder. He smiled. "Well," he said. "You kind of twisted it a bit, but I'm glad you've at least reasoned this out. In your own way, at least."
Jack smiled. It was a sad smile, but it was something. Alex was just glad that his face wasn't covered is tears and snot. Though given the new situation, in a few hours or a few days, it likely would be again.
"Thanks," said Jack.
"And you're sure you'll be alright?"
Jack raised his arms up with sharp, loud sigh. "What choice do I have now, other than to be alright? It's like I said before...I'm used to it."
****************************************************************
Alex looked at the shuddering heap laying in the bed. The moaning, shuddering sobs were the only sound in the room. Well, that and the occasional sniffle.
"I take it things didn't go that well," said Alex.
He had been standing in the doorway of Jack's studio apartment for 10 minutes. He hadn't let up one bit. Nor did he answer.
"Listen, bud," Alex said impatiently. "I know that you're hurting right now. That's pretty damn obvious. But if you don't pull it together and talk to me, I can't help you.
"Plus, if you don't get your ass outta bed and go clean yourself up, I'm totally raiding your fridge."
Alex said this with a smile. He said most things with a smile on his lips.
Somehow, Alex had learned that no matter how hard things were, no matter what the problem, a solution could be found by reasoning things out. He had been spending a lot of time with Jack, trying to help him see this. It was an uphill battle.
"Seriously dude." He made his way toward Jack and gave him a light kick. "Get up or I'm leaving."
He pause for a moment.
"After I eat whatever good stuff you have in the fridge."
Jack began crawling out from under the blankets. He squinted his eyes, and Alex could tell he'd been under them for quite awhile.
"Oh look," said Alex, a big grin on his face. "It's like I'm witnessing a birth, but with out all the blood and screaming."
Jack looked at him, clearly not amused. His face was tear streaked and dirty. He had snot, both fresh and dried on his nose and cheeks. Alex made a disgusted face.
"But apparently not much less messy."
"I shouldn't have talked to her," said Jack. "I reasoned it out, like you said, and I thought I could handle it."
"Yeah...," Alex drawled. "We can discuss this after you clean up. Go look in the mirror. Seriously, you look gross. Take care of that first."
Jack sighed, but pushed himself up and out of bed. Head down, he walked into the bathroom and flipped on the light. He looked up into the mirror.
"Holy shit," said Jack. "I'm sorry, Alex. I didn't want you to see me like this."
"Meh," Alex waived it off. "It's not the first time. Just please wash you face. I'm trying to eat here."
Jack laughed a little at this, then proceeded to clean himself up. When finished, he walked out of the bathroom and looked Alex. He wasn't eating anything; just sipping on a glass of water and waiting.
"So," said Alex. "You talked to her and now you're a mess again, huh?"
The "her" Alex referred to was Jack's ex, Anna. They'd been broken up for quite some time now, and Jack seemed to finally be doing well. Clearly, he was not.
"Yeah, I guess so," replied Jack. "I just thought I could handle it."
"Did you really? Or did you just want to hear the sound of her voice again?"
"Well...", Jack said. "There was that."
"Why?"
Jack thought a moment. "Because I miss her. I think that I was forgetting what her voice sounded like. I didn't like that."
Alex just shook his head and gave him a somber smile. "Wasn't that kind of the idea?"
"I know." Jack cast his eyes downward. "But it wasn't just that," he said, finally looking back up.
Alex studied his friend's eyes for a moment. He had known him for years and was pretty good at reading him.
"She told you she met someone."
Jack gave a small nod. His eyes began to get watery, but he kept it in check. Alex would let him cry about it, but he knew that aside from the slight release it afforded, crying would do him no good.
"Why the hell would she want to talk just so she could tell me that," Jack asked. "It doesn't make any sense."
"Doesn't it," asked Alex.
Jack just looked at him, puzzled.
"Listen," Alex continued. "I can't say for sure what her reasoning was, but it might have simply been that she was feeling insecure and needed you to boost her ego a bit. What exactly did you guys talk about?"
Jack though a moment.
"Well, typical small talk about what we were up to now. Then we talked about the past and where it went wrong."
Alex nodded. "And how did you handle that?"
"Well, I tried to be reasonable like you always tell me to do."
Alex raised an eyebrow. "That's it? That's all you're going to give me?"
He put his arms on his hips and looked Jack in the face. That damn smile was still there. He could always seem to tell when Jack held back.
"I guess the gist of it is that I told her I'm fine and that I don't think about her as much. I told her I'm happy that she met someone."
To a certain, very limited extent it was true.
"Why would you tell her that?"
Jack said nothing for a moment, thinking over the question. Finally, he replied.
"I guess I just figured it would make things easier on her."
"And why would you do that? Why not just tell her exactly how you feel and the reason why you have to focus on yourself so strongly," asked Alex. "Did you tell her what you told me? How you have to focus on yourself so thoroughly because if you don't...well, this happens?"
Jack just shook his head.
"I can't do that to her, Alex."
"Why? She moved on, or is trying to. Why don't you," he asked. "Why does it always matter to you how she feels. Your relationship ended. It's okay if you hurt. It's okay if you move on and she hurts. It's going to happen."
"I guess I would rather just know that she's alright and that she's happy before I finally start to let go."
"That isn't reasonable, Jack," said Alex, throwing his arms up. "That isn't what I've tried to help you with."
"But it is. It's logical, even," replied Jack.
Alex said nothing. He simply crossed his arms and looked at Jack. Clearly, he needed a better explanation.
"It's purely emotional," he finally said. "You're just hurting yourself. I'm thinking you shouldn't have called her, but what's done is done."
Jack nodded. "I agree with you there. But, it isn't purely emotional. Or at least, it isn't my emotions I'm thinking about."
"Obviously. You were doing just fine. Granted, you're not nearly as bad as you were a few months ago, but compared to how you've been for the last month you're a wreck. Why do that to yourself. Let her be the wreck."
"No."
Alex didn't lose his patients with Jack. He just looked at him. That wasn't the answer he wanted to hear.
"Why not? This is obviously eating away at you right now. It could take weeks for you to get back on track, even with my help."
"I know," said Jack, head bowed and giving a hint of a nod.
"Then why?"
Slowly, Jack raised his head. He looked Alex in the eyes. It wasn't quite a look of resolution. More like a look of sad determination.
"Because I love her, Alex. If I can help keep her from feeling even a fraction of what I do right now, to me, it's completely worth it.
"And as much as it makes me ache, as much as it hurts, I know I can deal with it. I'm used to it."
For a time, there was silence. A tear slid down Jack's face. Alex just looked at him.
He finally spoke. "And if Anna finds out about this?"
"Then she'll know that even though I love her, even though I haven't given up on hope, that I want her to be happy. God knows that I'd prefer it be with me, but I used reason, like you told me. I thought it out.
"I live miles away now. She isn't likely to come out here. Her sense of adventure just never was the same as mine. I could pick a direction and drive - preferred it, even. She liked to plan things out, have a destination in mind most of the time."
He paused after this, looking at Alex. Realization was slowly coming to him.
"That's a metaphor isn't it?"
"Yes," said Jack.
Alex slowly inhaled. He mulled it all over in his mind, and in a way, it did kind of seem reasonable. He didn't think it was the best thing for his well-being, but it kind of made sense, given the way that Jack was.
With a sharp exhale he reached up and slapped Jack on the shoulder. He smiled. "Well," he said. "You kind of twisted it a bit, but I'm glad you've at least reasoned this out. In your own way, at least."
Jack smiled. It was a sad smile, but it was something. Alex was just glad that his face wasn't covered is tears and snot. Though given the new situation, in a few hours or a few days, it likely would be again.
"Thanks," said Jack.
"And you're sure you'll be alright?"
Jack raised his arms up with sharp, loud sigh. "What choice do I have now, other than to be alright? It's like I said before...I'm used to it."
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