The Fallout

There are so many things I cannot bear the thought of.  Like her being touched by another man.  Like how he felt those last few years.  Like how she copes being unloved.  Or like how he was feeling all those years before he met her.  Or like how my dreams feel so real and then I wake up; only to be disappointed they weren't.

Guys have this strange way of showing each other affection.  It's usually with a punch to the arm or something not associated with affection.  When he walked away that last time, visions of some heroic cowboy fading into the sunset never crossed my mind.  I just wanted him to turn around and punch me.  Or kick me.  Anything but what happened would have made every day since that night more bearable.  I wish I would have screamed DON'T DO IT or DON'T GO. 

Years before in the pouring rain with sobriety hours away and an unknown irony flowing through my alcohol flooded blood stream, she told me of a girl's suicide.  Not just any girl.  A relative of the one I loved.  That phone call might as well have been made in the future warning me that a new suicide was just around the corner.  A longer one.  A decades long one in the making. 

I thought about that now gone girl and the one I loved who was left to cope and question why.  I spent a lot of time in her skin and in her corpse; trying to piece together everything.  I contemplated destiny.  Was she destined to leave at fifteen?  Was the one I love predetermined or chosen to be strong enough to handle this?  And I came to some conclusion that only made sense years later.

All these years later, I still don't know who I am or my place in this world.  I can't even really honestly say that I am loved by anyone.  I'm not ashamed to admit that.  Maybe, it's because all those years between that phone call on a pay phone on a drunken rainy Friday night until now has taught me one thing:  And that's just be true to yourself.  Sure, it's a cliche.  I think we have become so self-absorbed where we simply worry how we are perceived, we end up losing sight on who we really are.

We are all the same.  We all want the same things.  We are all motivated by the same wants and same needs.   

He was too proud to hug me or anyone but never too proud to punch us all.  And he was too preoccupied with misery and self-hatred to just demand that he be loved.  And he was loved.  So much.  I don't even think any of us realized it until it was far too late. 

I laid in my own bed for what seemed weeks.  My trusty old dog, with his head on my chest and an occasional lick to my hand as if he was just checking my pulse, was my confidant.  It was never about losing the will to live or some ill placed self pity.  It wasn't even about him.  It was this whole question of why am I here.  That's it. 

I went back in time, like we always do, and thought about her.  I wondered how the years have treated her since that phone call.  And then I remembered, she left me, too.  So, I went back even further in time, like we always do, and I remembered being a child.  I was so full of love, of hope and unbridled joy.  I kissed and hugged everyone, strangers, because everyone was good and could never do me any harm.  I started wondering when did that joy become replaced with cynicism.

Maybe, it was that phone call from that pay phone on a rainy drunken Friday night.  When I hung up, innocence was left holding on the other line.  And I never went back to say goodbye.  So, when all these unexpected twists and turns that life inevitably throws us all, I was unprepared. 

Maybe, that's what destiny is.  It's not about the outcome or our demise or our blessings or unfortunate circumstances.  It's just about those twists and turns and how we handle them.  People always claim that the proverbial fork in the road is some obstacle to our destination.  Maybe, that fork in the road is the destination; our destiny.  And whatever happens after that is just a bonus.  Good or bad. 

He left us all. Were we shocked?  Not really.  It was a slow death.  Subconsciously, we probably had written him off years before.  And I hate to admit that.  I suppose he encountered so many forks in the road and chose poorly so many times, he was bound to leave us all too soon. 

I can't help but think that right now, there is a woman out there, he was destined to be with.  And she is with someone else.  And she's almost happy.  Just a little bit short.  I blame him for that.  The fallout of all of our decisions are immeasurable and all scenarios become hypothetical. 

I spent what seemed like weeks; laying in my bed, with my trusty old dog by my side with his head on my chest licking my hand as if he was checking for my pulse, contemplating all of this.  The fallout.  The hypothetical.  Destiny.

And because we are all so self-absorbed, I can't help but think of my place in all of this; this world, his life, her life, our lives.  I would endure years of writers block to have him back and her, as well.  And I suppose, these words wouldn't even need to be written or my heart exposed to anyone who might casually care if things were different. 

And I suppose, everything always turns out exactly how they are supposed to.  And we always almost feel better in the end.

Almost.