Bent Words

Bent Words

March 14, 2014

I remember that day.

Sitting on the cold, moveable pavement of the warehouse ramp, letting my jeans soak up the fading humidity and the increasing chill of the ground below.

There was a break in the concrete. A lip above the ramp which sat upon often. It rocked if you moved. And if you had too much to drink, it moved a lot, but you still you sat there because itís precisely where you wanted to be. What could happen, anyway?

With the vantage point of the main road through town, the demolition and reconstruction of the space across the street and the lights after dark, there was always something to see. Out with the old, dilapidated and abandoned homes and in with the new, shiny buildings representing retail righteousness. No more parking lot for us to park our trailers, no more overflow for the shop and no more rest for the wicked. Out with the old and in with the new. Thatís how it was for us, too. We were on our way out to build bigger and brighter things.

Or he was, anyway.

But that night he came back to be all mine. He sought comfort in my presence and yet I didnít do enough to stave off his sadness. He was disappointed, as he retold his tale, that I had little to no reaction toward his plight. What he never seemed to understand was how scared I had become. I had not been invited into so many places where his thoughts and trust resided that I knew I couldnít just step up without a genuine invitation. Not anymore, anyway.

It was the best night and the worst night all wrapped into one, ragged little evening in August. In the midst of his counts at the doctor. Red blood cells. White blood cells. Repeat. Pills and more pills. And all he wanted was to tell me about it and disappear for a while into what we were when we didnít care about all that. He wanted that and, at the same time, he wanted me to care more than anyone else had ever cared.

I truly believe I may have.

August 20, 2004
I cannot quite fully explain this feeling in my heart - these tender thoughts swirling ever faster round my head. It always seems so much more clear when I portray the events of the day... And so here they are - where 'sappy' cannot be refuted, where truth isn't 'over bearing' and where I can make as much or as little sense as I please...

The first thing that struck me during the day was the anger in his heart before he left LCP. I saw it deep in his eyes, hurried in his step and carved hard upon his heart. I must admit that I, too, was angery at first - thinking that I had provoked such a harsh emotion. But, then, someone asked me, "What's his problem?" And my first reaction was defense for him. I thought through his mind, walked in his shoes as best I could and reached farther than the next person ever does. I thought about last week's doctor appointment and how disparaging it was, I thought about his recurring frustrations at work, I thought about my 'sudden change in attitude' toward certain situations and how they can compile into something that simply makes one wonder (even myself, for all it matters). There was no question to his futile senses and how saddened they seemed to be. I wasn't happy, but I wasn't angry. I understood. I let it go when I listened to myself and let him be unhappy. After all, who can be happy all of the time?

I walked through my day as I always seem to do. I don't recall the inbetween - the part after he left and the part fifteen minutes before I saw his face again. I do not know what transpired or if I was happy or if I was sad or if I just roamed the store unaware. I do not know if I was good or if someone else might have thought that I was out of line. I do not know if sat down or stood up or danced excitedly upon my desk! I only know that I was indifferent. I know that I went on and I know that I began to push in an ATV and upon its placement in the back, I returned to the front of the building to see his face...

He stood there; shoulders sunk down as though curving forward with a weary heart, talking with a worn out yet trying voice, ready to melt into the very pavement upon which he stood. And when I saw him, I stopped. I stopped pushing motorcycles, though the time passed by, as I only wanted to grab him and prop him up against the wall and inquire as to his current presence. With his converstation toward another and with my duty in performing the daily task of putting toys away, I held out. I stood back and retrained my inquisitive mind. I watched and waited and moved with more alacrity than I could have defined. I saw my steps, held my breath and desperately wanted to know of his heart. Reaching out, yet holding back, isn't that our natural tune?

Finally, the day was done, time was still, the night grew concious of its fading light and his plans sought nothing more than the finite chance of getting through the day. Getting through the feeling, without having to pretend that it's not real. The look in his eyes, the knowledge that something had gone wrong and although I thought I knew, I still inquired. What could be the reason of such dismay? What could hold him here instead of in the precious presence of his adoring children? What in the world is he doing HERE?? I only requested to join him in his evening - to break, equally, our pact of not drinking on a Thursday, knowing full well that there would be nothing I could do.

How could I do a thing? How could I heal the heart of another bad report? What have I to offer - especially when I was feeling the very sting of its painful sweep upon my own soul?

As we sat, I merely let the feelings roll. I let my hand find his thigh in reassurance, I let my tears rise above the depths of my heart, I let my frustrations tangle with his own, I let my laughter reach its height and I was simply me. And, simply, he needed that - he needed me. Somewhere, so far away inside, I felt he needed me. I felt as though, for once, I were the one that he sought out in such a time of persistent unknowing, just as I have sought him out a million times before.

When he asked me if I wanted to come over, I knew not what to do. I felt the restraint of wondering what he REALLY wanted, but when I looked into his eyes, it was only half hidden there - he DID want me near. He wanted me to take him away, bring him back and rise above the very thing that he felt should push me further into the darkness of being apart. He wanted me - he needed me. Not to live, not to go on, not to bring himself to another day, but simply to find himself in better thoughts, simply to be his friend, his lover, his deepest admirer and his thoughtful companion.

If I rose to the occasion, I do not know. If took him into a moment more filled with ease, I am not sure. If I benefited him at all, I can only be so much more grateful than this whole wide world could ever know. That's where I've always wanted to be! There's where I am driven, that's where I am complete, that's where I find force in my life so filled with him. In that ONE moment where I could PERHAPS make a difference. I never want to take precedence over the importance of his family - I only ever want to find a moment with him where he finds himself exactly where he wants to be. I do not want to be that last resort, that dismay in being unattended by another, that torture of being alone with nowhere else to go - I want to be the one that, in a second glance at purity, is needed. I want to know that I have purpose in his life - true meaning. I want to know that I am standing at the edge of his desire, just beyond the rest of the world, with a little something special to offer.

I want HIM to know that I HAVE that offer! That I offer the exclusive rights to only him! That I do not look beyond the sight of his fleeting glance unless to procure what it is his heart most intends to see! I do not make a move without, at the very least, wondering of his approval!

That's the beauty of what he has taught me. That's the glory of his touch, his smile, his laughter, his breath, his heart, his knowledge, his passion, his caring and his entire nature. He has taught me that beyond the realms of being the busiest person in the world, one can care and hold their truth. That one SHOULD seek their own path AND be able to hold true to their own desires. Though I thought I was the one teaching HIM, I found that he has taught me the very phrases to which I claim to represent. I forgot all that I knew in the deep desperation of life. I let it go to try to understand it ALL and only failed to realize that I CANNOT understand it all. I only found myself in the purest of frustration and the most degrading levels of misrepresentation.

This is why I beg of you not to let him befall the worst fate - let him live longer and harder and deeper and stronger and more beautiful in the hearts that care about him most for all of eternity. Let him rise above the very thing that he has NO control over. Let him stay here - if not it be with me - that's fine as long I know that he remains in this world. Do not allow such an amazing inspiration to be taken away from such a needing place as this earth. Don't you DARE take away from him what makes him so brilliant - do not even intend to persuade his light to shine in any other way than on the necessary moments of a life such as his children's or my own.

For a magical moment, he needed me, for all the moments that I have needed him and still admit to need.

May I only be of assistance again and again, for all of time, whenever, wherever he wishes that I be...

Written at 5:37 p.m.