It was in the waiting area of one of those really cheap hair cutting places when I started to listen. And I mean, really listen..
I was thumbing through a copy of Seventeen magazine; learning about periods and proms. I said, This 13 year old girl wants to know if you can pregnant while having sex during menstruation. Really, it wasn't that fascinating. Meanwhile, he was talking about getting better. How determined he was. He mentioned death. I talked about periods. At some point, he asked, What do you want most from this life?
And I replied, I want you to stay.
At that exact moment, another patron walked through the salon door and the wind from outside blew the magazine out of my hands. And the lady donning a beehive haircut called his name.
He chose to have his head completely shaved which I found wise; considering we were in a place where mediocrity is always the final result. Maybe, he considered that a fresh start.
I picked up the Seventeen magazine and started reading about peer pressure. Some predictable article; most likely written by some middle aged woman, lecturing kids about the dangers of allowing others to dictate your decisions. I was killing time.
I was reading a letter to the editor regarding the suicide of some unnamed girl's 15 year old friend. About three paragraphs were dedicated to the memory of this lost soul. I could feel her anguish in every poorly constructed sentence. And I admit, my eyes filled up.
His haircut was done in about five minutes. He walked to the waiting area, looked at me and questioned why a 30 year old man was reading something called Seventeen. Dead man talking. That is the best way I can describe that moment.
Stories are always better told backwards from the last page to the first. If you want a guaranteed happy ending.
I always feel a little guilty when I talk about him over and over and over and over and over again. It doesn't even hurt anymore. Well, I suppose it does a little. It's just these random memories come flooding back to me; no matter how hard I've tried to build a dam to stop those waves from dragging me under.
I never wanted anything from him. I had no expectations or demands. I didn't even care if he changed or evolved or grew up. Really, I just wanted him to stay.
Now, that I'm older and considerable time has passed, I find blessings in things I once lamented. For example, my father. It's a good thing I never met him. Kids really only have one expectation of their parents and it revolves around that word stay. And that expectation goes on past our childhood. My own mother still cries about her father who died at the age of 91.
We are always given happy beginnings, happy middles but then the end, suddenly, our perspective changes. Our dog dies. A parent leaves us. Our soul mate departs. A friend exits life too early. And we mourn for those losses. And suddenly, the tone of our stories change
It's like we forget every moment that led us to the final page. As if all the chapters before the last one meant nothing. That's the paradox life presents. We can't ache or mourn unless we've loved.
I find myself staring at a blank screen so I clear my head. I shut off the world and I let those inner voices or angels or demons of that moment guide my words as I type. And I do this until I come to some conclusion or some type of momentary closure. And more often than not, I find myself talking to the dead more so than I do to the living. And sometimes, I am ashamed I share the final product with anyone. And then I conclude that when my time is up; these words, these stories will be what remains of me.
His last words were to me were I'll see you soon.
I hope he's right.
No comments:
Post a Comment