April 25, 2005
Written Yesterday - Transcribed TodayHis was not a gallant good-bye.
But it was a good-bye, all the same.
A devastating good-bye that I have not been capable of relinquishing for the past eight months. It still breathes down my neck, settles its weight between my shoulders and rest its head upon my heart with a heavy, downcast composure. This feeling of remorse, for what no longer is, never ceases to make a blatant and bold encore appearance in what should be, by now, my own life.
My benevolent intentions of a forward fight get shaken swiftly into a reverse motion the moment I think I might be released from this icy grip of anguish.
Last week, a friend of mine made the world hang loose with the utterance of a few simple, stoic words. We were talking about him, as I naturally seem to conjure up a story in which resides his name with every other breath, when he boldly stated,
"Perhaps you should try, just one last time, to go after him."
Despite the mighty bit of composure that swelled upon my slumped exterior, I was altogether screaming. My eyes burst forward to catch the insinuated sincerity upon his face and my heart called to crawl out onto my sleeve and shake loose the tears that dared to burn behind the complacent mask. My fingers curled below my seat as I dug my nails deeper into the stapled fabric underneath the chair. I was not about to let go and my mouth dripped open with the intention of dousing the fire he had lit within my chest, though I can hardly tell you if I had a voice at all.
I looked toward the door; not as though it were an exit, not as if I were about to run, not as though it was first step to anywhere but where I was, but as I look at every door - it is another entryway that he might utilize, at any given moment, and yet never does. It is a battle I face with the passing of each day.
That was last week...
The reminder of many more fallen dreams reside upon this very day, the 24th of April, 2005.
Round Number One of the fifth season of SuperBikers2 Supermotard. I only ever missed one of his races since the very beginning of the organization in 2001. That was for my first niece's baby shower.
And, today, I was going to go despite the fact that I knew he would not be present.
For what?!
For the 'friends' that I have there? For the pure thrill of the race? For the millions of memories that would surely attack me at all angles without a single ease of the trigger? For all the victories and battles and rivalries and crashes and podiums and cheers that could never be the same? For his face to bombard me in every corner of that place that we once frequented so often we could have referred to it as 'home?'
Upon those loose gravel roads, daring uphill chicanes, the off camber left hander, the tire marked grid, pit lane and the numbered parking spots in the grass - his modest grin or defeated frown would surely reside. Before the call of dawn, over the yellow roped fence, beyond the voice of the commentator who would always call me out, under the chill of the pouring rain, within the not quite so crowded stands, next to his adoring son, between races riding on the back of his bike, just after the second spark plug and one hour before the first Miller Light.
I did not have to be there. I have a million pictures that I cannot discard that shall forever capture every single race, every single win, every single beautiful moment that ever existed within four years. I have every single cheer captured within my chest, stopped upon the tip of my tongue and raging against the thrill that wells inside but can no longer be. I have all the momentos of a job well done, a fight well fought and a dream still shared.
And though it is a fiercer fight that within himself he must struggle and though it is without me by his side that he chooses to fight it - I still cheer with all alacrity. I still wish and hope and dream and never cease to place myself inside that journey.
After all, it is the fight for his very life, and I though I am not by his side - I want to never know of another good-bye, as gallant as it might be.