1999

Dec. 31st, 1999

Probably the last party I ever attended.  Late twenties and I am looking around at "kids" in their early twenties.  Felt a little awkard.... kinda like that college guy who returns to his old high school and attends football games; checking out the new batch of high school girls while telling stories of his glory days on that field.   That guy always believes he is being revered; blissfully unaware how pathetic he seems to the others.  My self awareness was not lost on that moment.

Johnny was throwing his annual New Years Eve party.  Kegs, red cups, shots, one fat guy with his shirt off for no reason, girls constantly checking themselves in their tiny mirrors and a long line to the one bathroom in that house.

Typical party.... except we were mere hours from 2000.  Y2K.  Planes were supposed to drop from the sky that night.  Computers were going to explode.  The end of the world, some said.

Every time I watch a rerun of Saved by the Bell or Full House or really, any show from the 80s and 90s, there's always one episode where someone throws a party.  Those parties always have people dancing.  I've been to hundreds of parties; not once I have seen anyone dance.  Well, except, that last night of 1999.  One drunk girl bouncing around between the house plant in the corner of the living room and the keg right in the center.

She had long legs, no ass and curly hair.  Probably the only girl who stood alone at midnight with her lips puckered and guys just passing her by.   Drunk girls are annoying.  It's the one truth that stands the test of time.

I was in a stoned haze and combined with being an overthinker, all I could dwell on was the realization that the party was over.  Circle of friends fracture.  Adulthood kicks in.  And frankly, at some point, you become the awkward old guy at 27 surrounded by 21 year olds. 

My eyes were fixated on that long legged, no ass, curly haired girl.  What is she dancing to?  The room is so loud.  Smoke filled the air and the stench of vomit and beer engulfed all my senses.  But for a brief second, it seemed the party stopped and everyone was frozen in place.... Like when Mork strangely shows up on Happy Days and freezes The Fonz.   During that split second of complete silence and collective paralysis, I could hear Prince playing on the stereo across the room.

Life is just a party and parties weren't meant to last.  So, I'm gonna party like it's 1999.

I may have attempted to dance for a split second.  Why the hell not?  The party was over, man.  I was already the awkard old guy.  The pot and alcohol reduced any shame involved.  And not to mention, everyone was frozen just long enough for me to be courageous.

Prince was an enigma.  Weird.  A diva.  But he was never a punchline like many before and after him are.  That's quite a legacy in itself.

Everyone keeps saying that this year we've had an unusual amount of significant celebrity deaths.  We say that every year.  We are just older and those we admired when we were younger are also older.   We are simply witnessing ourselves age through the inevitable conclusion of those we once considered immortal.

It was a hell of a party that night.

And Prince got me to dance.   

Rumination

I never made that call.

One day turned into one week.  Then, a month passed.

As soon as I recognized my own foolishness, it had been months. 

I had a dream that my father got down on one knee so he could speak to seven year old me at eye level.  Then he sternly said, "Son, pride makes cowards out of men."  Then, he left my mom.  And me.  I'm just a boy.  Way too young to hate, I thought.  But I do and did. 

I woke up in a cold sweat.  Started thinking about defense mechanisms we all have.  Like humor.  Or pride. Or isolation.  Grabbed my phone; prepared to make that call.  But it was 2:00 a.m. and God knows she would just be angry.  Angrier, I mean.  So, I said tomorrow.

Months pass.  Then years. 

I admit, every time, my phone rings or I get a text, I nervously hope it's her while at the same time, I am scared it's her and hope it's not.  I suppose uncomfortable confrontation isn't my thing. 

But I miss her. 

She consumes my every thought.  No matter how hard I try to forget, I can't.  I sleep more just to avoid thinking of her but then she invades my dreams.   And for some reason, my dad shows up.  And it becomes this nocturnal battle in my head between love and hate.  And love wins everytime but he keeps returning. 

I still won't make that call.

She deserves better. 

I fast forward a few years.  Still thinking of her.  Wondering who the lucky guy is.  Hoping she found peace.  Self preservation now just an after thought.  Wishing nothing but absolute calm and joy for her.  But the thought of another man touching her is torture.  And I still love her more than ever but I, for once, do the unselfish thing.  Let her go.

I never make that call.

I miss her voice.  Her laugh. Her rare but potent affection.  Her angst.  Anger.  Her frustration.  Her disappointment.  Her love. 

Focus on the bad focus on the bad Focus on the bad  focus on the bad, I recite over and over.  And, I can't remember any.  I recall complaining about the bad but the specifics have evaporated into a neurotic need to not feel guilty.  I find myself looking for inspiation from those who have faced greater loss.  Something tangible.   And nothing works.

So, I choose to make the call.  Because life is too short.  And love, real love, is hard to find.  And because pride makes cowards out of men.  And because there are no heroes left.

I almost make that call.

It feels too late.

Point of no return.

And maybe, someday, she will call me and say thank you.  Because she found who I could never be.

Or just maybe, I will call her and find her number has changed.  And I will smile quietly in the loneliness of her absense and think, that's my girl.

And I'll be so proud of her.

Cold Turkey

The hardest thing I've ever done is quit cold turkey.

It's something I would never recommend.


Buddy was my black lab for nine years.  I don't remember many details between the day I picked him up at the pound as a puppy and his final day as a sick, gray bearded older dog. 

I recall the joy he and I both shared on his first car ride with me away from that cold prison-like structure where many good dogs wait on death row.  And of course, holding his warm paw in my hand as his soft brown eyes closed forever in the back room of that veternarian's office still lingers with me. 

Everything in between is a blur.  Sure, I recall little things like his unbridled enthusiasm at the sound of my jingling car keys.  Or how excited he was at the end of each day when I walked through the door.  Or his ridiculous embarrasment of taking a shit in front of me.  Buddy was funny, quirky and unlike all other dogs. 

The best thing about dogs is how they make us feel important.  Needed.  Wanted.  They satisfy the God complex in some of us.  They nurture those of us who have always felt slightly inadequate.  Despite being unable to speak, we don't need them to say I love you because they spend every minute of everyday proving they do. 

Dogs are merciful.  They forget when we've done them wrong but more importantly, they forgive.

The end of dog's life is also merciful.  We are usually given an opportunity to prepare ourselves, as much as we can, for their final breath. 

It was me who made the appointment to end Buddy's life.  It was me that gave him his last car ride for that final visit to his doctor.  It was me who chose to show him the same mercy he had provided for me over his nine short years by putting him to sleep to end his suffering.    And it was me that held his paw as his life ended.  Yet, in true dog spirit, it was Buddy that licked my hand seconds before his heart stopped beating.

That's mercy.  Grace.  Love. 


I lost a best friend over a decade ago.  None of us were shown mercy.  He went to bed one night and never woke up.  I suppose it was inevitable but devastating, nonetheless.  Addiction has a predictable outcome.  Usually. 

I watched this man try.  He really did try.  Rehab.  Cold turkey.  More rehab.  Faith.  Friends.   But he never did surrender his pride.  I suppose that's normal as well as his downfall.

Like my nine years with Buddy, my twenty three years with that best friend are a blur.  I remember little things and every once in awhile in the quiet moments of my life, an old memory resurfaces.  And of course, my heart sinks just a little lower.

There's this degree of anger I hold for him.  His early exit from life leaves all of us he left behind feeling incomplete.  No final words.  Not one more chance to shake some sense into him.  No more judging or mocking him in his weak moments.  Just one more time of asking ourselves will he make it? wasn't afforded to us.

He just went to bed and never woke up.

Unintended Cruelty.  Such is life.  Lose a child, a parent or a friend.  It's cruel.  Especially, when it's unexpected. 

This whole idiomatic expression cold turkey doesn't just relate to addictions like nicotine or alcohol or any other vice.  It can relate to people.  Quitting someone you love or once loved should never be an option.  There's enough unintended cruelty in our lives to add intentional suffering to it.

Dogs never quit us.  We all know stories of people quitting on their dogs but dogs, in their mindless loyalty and unconditional love, don't even consider quitting on us.  They can't get enough of us.  Ever.

There's something to be said in that.

Menace 2 Sobriety

This menacing feeling that you hate me
It's been gnawing away at me lately
Been trying so long to escape me
now that youre there, did you get where you wanted to go safely?
And I guess deep down inside, I knew we were crazy
I had hoped on all levels, we would end humanely
Stuck in my head is what could have been so strangely
Now that I'm here, it's clear why you stopped communicating
And I guess over time, the resentment kept accumulating
I'm entrenched in a moment of deliberating
Yet, I can't shake this menacing feeling you're celebrating
I never became complacent or lazy
Just wanted reassurance I wasn't being hasty
Your silence was louder than bombs but less ambiguous
Cover my face with these sweaty palms as I consider the possibility you hate me

This menacing feeling that you'll never miss me
It's feasting on me as I try to keep busy
Been trying so long to get you to notice me
that I've been chasing my tail  and now I am dizzy
This menacing feeling resurfaces of your apathy
As the ice queen smiles so callously
It's gnawing away at me mercilessly
and I quietly come to grips you'll never miss me

This menacing feeling there is nobody
For me is deafening

This menacing feeling is overwhelmingly

unsettling.

Best Laid Plans

The best laid plans of mice and men. 
Where I'm going is where I've been. 
Take my time to deliberate.  We're belligerent, once again.
Somewhere between bitterness and sadness
lies the void of emptiness and its vastness. 

Took my time waiting for a sign.  Anything from you.  Now, we stand at an impasse. 
Rest in peace, you and I. 
Our epitaph. 

It would have been nice to be seen as an equal. 
The first time is always better than the sequel. 
Best laid plans, the pipe dreams of people.
It would have been nice to be of some importance. 
The maladies, migraines and misfortunes.
Proudly, they could have been my crown of thorns. 
Best laid plans often need perfect storms.

Someone new is still not you. 
Something beautiful should not grow stale. 
If the destination is futile, we should not set sail.
All parts being equal.  The first voyage is always better than the sequel.
Best laid plans are for drowning people.

A spoonful of hope and a dash of empathy.  Out of kindness.  Not necessity.
Love is simple.  Not a recipe.
One man's envy is another man's cancer.
Neither come with a remedy.

And here I go, once again.
Missing you and what could have been.
Best laid plans of mice and men.

Anne

It was only a fall.

As we become older, everything becomes magnified.  Light noise sounds like thunder.  Music playing next door sounds like a Metallica concert.  A bruise becomes a hemorrhage.  Mere stiffness of our joints become so debilitating that walking is an arduous chore.  And a simple fall turns into a catalclysmic collapse.

The aging process is not kind.

There's a reason doctors hestitate to perform surgery on the elderly.  Probably the same reason we don't take newborns skiing. 

I envy those who know or knew their grandparents.  The opportunity to absorb the wisdom of past generations is something I seek.  To revel in the quiet knowledge of a future us is a glimpse we should all pursue. 

I live vicariously through those who tell wonderful stories of their grandparents and I soak in every second I can when I meet someone in that age group because my own grandparents did not find me worthy of meeting them or wanting to know me.


We're always looking up.  As elementary students, we idolize the high school kids.  In high school, we look for validation from those in college.  In college, we thirst for adulthood and the pitfalls and blessings that come with it:  bills, our own family, responsibility.   Then, when we reach that level of "success" or satsifaction, we look to the elderly for wisdom and guidance. 

Once we reach that elderly stage of life, I suppose we simply rewind and bathe in memories as the tepid waters of loneliness engulf us.


Every Saturday for the last three years, mom has worked for Anne.  She cleans her house, gives her showers, and goes to Perkins with her for lunch.

"I'll have the BLT', Anne routinely tells the waitress.

Mom finds that funny.  Menus were never invented for the old. 

Anne is eighty eight years old.  She uses a walker to get around.  If you stare at her long enough, you see the beautiful twenty three year old woman she once was.  If you stare even longer, you see the beautiful eighty eight woman she now is.

Every Saturday night, my mom returns to her own home full of joy.  Probably the only day of the week, she is.  "God, I love Anne.  Something about her is infectious.  That woman, I can't explain it", mom stops mid-thought.... "Anne is something else". 

I don't have many conversations with my mom.  Never have.  The dynamics of our relationship are unusual.  Bring up Anne and mom makes up for all the years of idle talk.  Something about Anne illuminates my mom. 


Five days ago, Anne had plans to spend the day with her daughter and grandkids.  It was a rare Saturday where my mom was not needed.

Early that morning, Anne steps outside, without her walker or cane, to water her modest flower bed.  She finds a certain tranquility in that simple event. 

A slight twist of her ankle and she crumbled to the ground.  Fortunately, a neighbor happened to see her out of the corner of his window and called 911. 

Anne was rushed to the E.R.   "Broken hip and internal bleeding", the doctor tells her daughter.  "Surgery is necessary but risky".  Anne's only daughter implores the doctor to save her.

Five days later.... today... mom receives the phone call she knows all too well.  In typical cyclical fashion, I receive the phone call from her that I know all too well.

"Complications from surgery", mom says as her voice cracks.

"It was just a fall". 

"Anne always spoke kindly about me to others.  Not only did she recommend me to her friends and fellow church members for work but she spoke kindly about me.  Anne always told me I was a good person.  The only person who has ever consistently complimented me or told me I was worth something and that includes my parents.... your grandparents", mom added in a hushed voice.

Then she sighed.


Look, I can be moved over trivial things like TV shows or movies or those emotionally manipulative late night infomercials from St. Jude's Hospital... but when it comes to those rare moments when my own mother breaks her stoic almost robotic disposition and cries, it's profoundly different.  Heartbreaking, really.

Maybe, when we are older and life has slowed down.... When we have stopped looking ahead and up.... Maybe, that is when we recognize the good in others.  Maybe, that is when we say those things we forgot to say prior. 

I don't know why we wait so long. 


Anne will be missed. 

I wish I had known her. 

A Noble Lie

It's been two years since you loved me
Half smiled and said, you know I always will
One year since you picked up your phone
Three months without your period
Wistfully smiling, suspicion and an overactive imagination cross paths
That choice would be so smart
Just like you
beautiful, too
Yesterday, you were so busy
and it'll be another day before I stop waiting
Maybe more

It's been thirteen years since you promised
Lowered your eyes to the ground and said, I am not leaving
Ten days before your birthday since you laughed at me from beyond and said,
By the way, I am a goddamned liar
Yesterday, I forgave you
and it'll be another day before I really mean it.
Maybe more.

It's been one year when you locked your affection in a safe
Shrugged your shoulders and said, Self preservation, I am sorry
Three months, cancer free
And thirty two years since my eyes were opened
Yesterday, I prayed for you
and it'll be another day before those prayers will be answered
Maybe more

It's been too long since I left this place
Thirteen years to be exact
Twelve hours from midnight to noon
When the ghosts come out to play
Cocked my head with curiosity and said, I am angry
Yesterday, I stopped believing in things I cannot see
and it'll be another day before I ask to be forgiven
Maybe more.