My Halo's Near, The Coast Is Clear, I'm Out Of Time, Speed Out Of Sight, Don't Leave Me Here, Tides Don't Last Forever, Don't You Know?
--"Kate", Sambassadeur
Sometimes I think I know what it's like to have experienced loss. Sometimes I envision my life to be this period with a lion's share of tragedies. People have always told me I take setbacks harder than most and that I've always suffered from the woe-is-me syndrome. In the recent years, among other goals, I've tried to cut back on feeling sorry for myself, but part of me still believes that no one knows the sorrow I've seen.
Yet it only takes meeting (or re-meeting, as the case may be) someone who has had a real loss to put me in my place.
----
"The only person I can say I've ever really lost was Jennifer," I answered her question.
"Was it difficult?" Brandy continued on.
"I wouldn't know. I don't have anything else to compare it to you. The only other person I know to have died is my grandparents, but I was never as close to them as I was to her. I'd have to let you know when somebody else close to me dies."
I had called her a few days ago to wish her a Happy 27th Birthday. Aside from the first few moments of negligible small talk about how she would be celebrating, the conversation had turned to catching up with her. It had been the first time I thought I had a sufficient enough excuse to actually call her up since she found me last month. Up until then, I had confined my interest in her life to the on-line arena. Now, however, I was wondering why I never bothered to call her sooner. Maybe I'm biased, but I have had the extreme pleasure to have met some fairly interesting and proficient conversationalists. Or perhaps I somehow seek them out? Maybe that's my type when I go about meeting people. Whatever the reason, I was discovering that not only did Brandy have a lot to say about a myriad of topics, but that she had a distinctive set of life experiences that I could not even come close to matching.
The thing that distinguishes Brandy from most of the friends I talk to is that she's an understater. I don't know if that's a real word, but it's the only manner in which I can describe her patois. Unlike myself, she doles out her words in carefully portioned bites, loaded with meaning, yet short on actual bulk. She's much like Hemingway that way. I wish I could be more like that instead of the cavalier advocate for grandiose verbage. My only defense is that we can only write and speak how we are born to write and speak. It's the whole nature vs. nurture debate, and I was born to write in length. My style suits me, just as her style suits her.
"That's true."
"And what about you?"
"I reacted differently."
"That's understandable, Brandy. But, since I don't know you that well yet, I'd like to know, if you don't mind."
"I'd rather not."
"I might help. I've been told I'm quite the listener."
I know--I have this insatiable need to get to the heart of what's bothering people. I don't quite understand if it stems more from my hatred of not being in on a secret or from my god-like belief that I can assist an individual with any and all problems. In either case, it leads me to push, push, push people to the point where they either withdraw or break down and finally tell me what's wrong. I was just hoping she was the type to recognize my concern for what it was and not nosiness.
"It's always going to be something with you, Patrick, isn't it?" she laughed.
"Yes, I am quite the stubborn cuss."
"And you won't be happy till I tell you?"
"Come on, Epcot. I know you want to."
Aside from the brief conversations I had with her when she was eleven and the few bits I had gathered in our IMs and e-mails, I knew nothing of this girl. I was determined to change that fact.
"Remember you mentioned about not going to your friend's wedding?"
"Of course. I tell everyone I know that story. It's probably me at my weakest. What about it?"
"I went through a similar incident."
"Really?"
"Not really the same. Similar."
"Tell me more."
I was struggling to connect it up to how it related to somebody close dying, but I was confident she would connect the dots for me.
"In high school, I'd gone out with Scott. He was nice to me for the first two years and I guess we were friends by the end of that sophomore year. The following summer we started seeing each other. You might have said we were that sick couple that everyone knew we'd end up married someday, the typical high school sweethearts."
"I never had that, but, the way you talk about it, I can totally picture it."
"I was happy. I thought he was it, the one. We had even been planning on what colleges we would attend together. It was going to be perfect, Patrick."
Here, she paused, as if contemplating whether or not she wanted to continue. Like I said, whereas most people you see the subject of who they are in what they present, she is the opposite. You catch a lot of meaning and subtext in the absences, in the pauses. She is like an art class study in negative space, on getting the picture in what is left out instead of what is left in.
"You write stories. Tell me what you think would happen next if you were writing this."
"I don't know--maybe he cheated on you?"
"No."
"Did you cheat on him?"
"No. No one cheated. Guess again."
"He didn't get into the school you both wanted to go to?"
"No. We both became Wolverines."
"Then what?"
"I met Joshua," she said.
I have never heard anyone say three words and conjure as many pictures in my head as Brandy did when she said those three. Not only did I get a sense of how special Joshua was to her, but I knew, I just knew that he was the love of her life. I only wish I could say something akin to that and have as much meaning attached it. I only wish I could have someone say that about me someday. It was the kind of revelation that I almost didn't want to ask up a follow-up question to. I thought it would kind of be insulting to her to hash it out for me. In her mind I knew, telling me she met Joshua carried with it all the explanation necessary. It probably would have lessened the moment to have her got into detail about how the meeting went or what he said. Her point was made. She met Joshua and that was all I needed to know.
"And then there was no need for Scott, right?
"Right.
"I tried to let him down easy, but there was no question who I belonged with. Scott was nice, but Joshua was all of it. He was everything."
A bit of romanticism probably is the common thread through most of my friends and Brandy has it in spades. It's probably the reason why I get along with her so well and why I found it easy to pick up things again with her. Not only does she get nostalgic enough to bother to look up someone she only met the once, but she's also enough of a romantic to relate what is probably the most heartbreaking story I've ever heard someone tell with only a modicum of hesitationg. Most people I know it takes them a long time to open up about things that are sad for them. They can be the most glaring social butterflies, but when it comes to the heavier topics of their personal lives, they turn into the classic wallflower. Then there are lucky (or unlucky) few who have this romantic and idealistic viewpoint. They look at life as if they were inspecting it, mulling it over and over again, to discern as much meaning out of it as possible. They are also the people who have no trouble sharing as much of their life through words or pictures or even song with other people. It's this search for meaning that leads them to share this information quite freely. It's precisely because they haven't found what they're looking for that they turn to other people to help them find the answers. They figure that, if they let everybody in on their secrets, somebody will stumble upon the key to everything.
I know that's how I am and that's what I use this site for.
I let her statement sink in before I proceeded.
"What happened then?"
"Then Joshua died. Auto accident."
Her voice started to choke up and neither of us said anything for awhile. Yet, through all that time, I never heard her cry. I don't know if she was covering up the phone. Or perhaps it was something simpler than that? Maybe she'd simply cried all the tears she had to cry over him already.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry to hear that."
"It's alright. It happened awhile ago. I'm better now.
"I consider myself lucky. I could have gone through my whole life without meeting him. Then I'd have something to really regret. I had my time and it was good. The best."
"Thank God for small favors, right?"
"Exactly."
She didn't say much about him. I still don't have the sense of who Joshua was. All I know is how she made her feel. But if that's all I have to go on, then I must come to the conclusion that he must have been like she said, everything and all of the qualities you look for in a partner. Maybe that's the best testament one person can ever give to another, that he was loved as much as she obviously loved him.
"And Scott?"
"Scott got married a couple of years ago, just like your Breanne. And just like her, he asked me to come. And just like you, I couldn't."
"Too hard to see him getting married to someone else?" I asked her.
"No, too hard to see me not getting married... to someone. To anyone."
love is the most that I can bear
It's been a few days after I talked to Brandy and that line still gets to me. I think I have it difficult because I feel like the person I was supposed to end up with got married to someone else. I think I have it difficult because people I want have no interest in me. I think I have it difficult because I have yet to meet the great love of my life.
Then I think of Brandy and I think how she must feel.
I think of the great sadness that's now an everyday part of her life and I think of the great joy that's also now an everyday part of her life. I ask myself if one is worth the other. But there really is no choice for people like us, there really is no decision to be made.
Before I hang up with her I ask her, is finding the love of your life worth all the tears it might possibly bring.
"It is. It so is."
Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers
Sometimes I think I know what it's like to have experienced loss. Sometimes I envision my life to be this period with a lion's share of tragedies. People have always told me I take setbacks harder than most and that I've always suffered from the woe-is-me syndrome. In the recent years, among other goals, I've tried to cut back on feeling sorry for myself, but part of me still believes that no one knows the sorrow I've seen.Yet it only takes meeting (or re-meeting, as the case may be) someone who has had a real loss to put me in my place.
----
"The only person I can say I've ever really lost was Jennifer," I answered her question.
"Was it difficult?" Brandy continued on.
"I wouldn't know. I don't have anything else to compare it to you. The only other person I know to have died is my grandparents, but I was never as close to them as I was to her. I'd have to let you know when somebody else close to me dies."
I had called her a few days ago to wish her a Happy 27th Birthday. Aside from the first few moments of negligible small talk about how she would be celebrating, the conversation had turned to catching up with her. It had been the first time I thought I had a sufficient enough excuse to actually call her up since she found me last month. Up until then, I had confined my interest in her life to the on-line arena. Now, however, I was wondering why I never bothered to call her sooner. Maybe I'm biased, but I have had the extreme pleasure to have met some fairly interesting and proficient conversationalists. Or perhaps I somehow seek them out? Maybe that's my type when I go about meeting people. Whatever the reason, I was discovering that not only did Brandy have a lot to say about a myriad of topics, but that she had a distinctive set of life experiences that I could not even come close to matching.
The thing that distinguishes Brandy from most of the friends I talk to is that she's an understater. I don't know if that's a real word, but it's the only manner in which I can describe her patois. Unlike myself, she doles out her words in carefully portioned bites, loaded with meaning, yet short on actual bulk. She's much like Hemingway that way. I wish I could be more like that instead of the cavalier advocate for grandiose verbage. My only defense is that we can only write and speak how we are born to write and speak. It's the whole nature vs. nurture debate, and I was born to write in length. My style suits me, just as her style suits her.
"That's true."
"And what about you?"
"I reacted differently."
"That's understandable, Brandy. But, since I don't know you that well yet, I'd like to know, if you don't mind."
"I'd rather not."
"I might help. I've been told I'm quite the listener."
I know--I have this insatiable need to get to the heart of what's bothering people. I don't quite understand if it stems more from my hatred of not being in on a secret or from my god-like belief that I can assist an individual with any and all problems. In either case, it leads me to push, push, push people to the point where they either withdraw or break down and finally tell me what's wrong. I was just hoping she was the type to recognize my concern for what it was and not nosiness.
"It's always going to be something with you, Patrick, isn't it?" she laughed.
"Yes, I am quite the stubborn cuss."
"And you won't be happy till I tell you?"
"Come on, Epcot. I know you want to."
Aside from the brief conversations I had with her when she was eleven and the few bits I had gathered in our IMs and e-mails, I knew nothing of this girl. I was determined to change that fact.
"Remember you mentioned about not going to your friend's wedding?"
"Of course. I tell everyone I know that story. It's probably me at my weakest. What about it?"
"I went through a similar incident."
"Really?"
"Not really the same. Similar."
"Tell me more."
I was struggling to connect it up to how it related to somebody close dying, but I was confident she would connect the dots for me.
"In high school, I'd gone out with Scott. He was nice to me for the first two years and I guess we were friends by the end of that sophomore year. The following summer we started seeing each other. You might have said we were that sick couple that everyone knew we'd end up married someday, the typical high school sweethearts."
"I never had that, but, the way you talk about it, I can totally picture it."
"I was happy. I thought he was it, the one. We had even been planning on what colleges we would attend together. It was going to be perfect, Patrick."
Here, she paused, as if contemplating whether or not she wanted to continue. Like I said, whereas most people you see the subject of who they are in what they present, she is the opposite. You catch a lot of meaning and subtext in the absences, in the pauses. She is like an art class study in negative space, on getting the picture in what is left out instead of what is left in.
"You write stories. Tell me what you think would happen next if you were writing this."
"I don't know--maybe he cheated on you?"
"No."
"Did you cheat on him?"
"No. No one cheated. Guess again."
"He didn't get into the school you both wanted to go to?"
"No. We both became Wolverines."
"Then what?"
"I met Joshua," she said.
I have never heard anyone say three words and conjure as many pictures in my head as Brandy did when she said those three. Not only did I get a sense of how special Joshua was to her, but I knew, I just knew that he was the love of her life. I only wish I could say something akin to that and have as much meaning attached it. I only wish I could have someone say that about me someday. It was the kind of revelation that I almost didn't want to ask up a follow-up question to. I thought it would kind of be insulting to her to hash it out for me. In her mind I knew, telling me she met Joshua carried with it all the explanation necessary. It probably would have lessened the moment to have her got into detail about how the meeting went or what he said. Her point was made. She met Joshua and that was all I needed to know.
"And then there was no need for Scott, right?
"Right.
"I tried to let him down easy, but there was no question who I belonged with. Scott was nice, but Joshua was all of it. He was everything."
A bit of romanticism probably is the common thread through most of my friends and Brandy has it in spades. It's probably the reason why I get along with her so well and why I found it easy to pick up things again with her. Not only does she get nostalgic enough to bother to look up someone she only met the once, but she's also enough of a romantic to relate what is probably the most heartbreaking story I've ever heard someone tell with only a modicum of hesitationg. Most people I know it takes them a long time to open up about things that are sad for them. They can be the most glaring social butterflies, but when it comes to the heavier topics of their personal lives, they turn into the classic wallflower. Then there are lucky (or unlucky) few who have this romantic and idealistic viewpoint. They look at life as if they were inspecting it, mulling it over and over again, to discern as much meaning out of it as possible. They are also the people who have no trouble sharing as much of their life through words or pictures or even song with other people. It's this search for meaning that leads them to share this information quite freely. It's precisely because they haven't found what they're looking for that they turn to other people to help them find the answers. They figure that, if they let everybody in on their secrets, somebody will stumble upon the key to everything.
I know that's how I am and that's what I use this site for.
I let her statement sink in before I proceeded.
"What happened then?"
"Then Joshua died. Auto accident."
Her voice started to choke up and neither of us said anything for awhile. Yet, through all that time, I never heard her cry. I don't know if she was covering up the phone. Or perhaps it was something simpler than that? Maybe she'd simply cried all the tears she had to cry over him already.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry to hear that."
"It's alright. It happened awhile ago. I'm better now.
"I consider myself lucky. I could have gone through my whole life without meeting him. Then I'd have something to really regret. I had my time and it was good. The best."
"Thank God for small favors, right?"
"Exactly."
She didn't say much about him. I still don't have the sense of who Joshua was. All I know is how she made her feel. But if that's all I have to go on, then I must come to the conclusion that he must have been like she said, everything and all of the qualities you look for in a partner. Maybe that's the best testament one person can ever give to another, that he was loved as much as she obviously loved him.
"And Scott?"
"Scott got married a couple of years ago, just like your Breanne. And just like her, he asked me to come. And just like you, I couldn't."
"Too hard to see him getting married to someone else?" I asked her.
"No, too hard to see me not getting married... to someone. To anyone."
love is the most that I can bear
It's been a few days after I talked to Brandy and that line still gets to me. I think I have it difficult because I feel like the person I was supposed to end up with got married to someone else. I think I have it difficult because people I want have no interest in me. I think I have it difficult because I have yet to meet the great love of my life.
Then I think of Brandy and I think how she must feel.
I think of the great sadness that's now an everyday part of her life and I think of the great joy that's also now an everyday part of her life. I ask myself if one is worth the other. But there really is no choice for people like us, there really is no decision to be made.
Before I hang up with her I ask her, is finding the love of your life worth all the tears it might possibly bring.
"It is. It so is."
Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers
posted by mojo shivers @ 1:47 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home