June 22, 2004
Each Monday morning we seem to drift together - wanting to recollect the events of our weekend, curious to know what events have occurred to the other. And so it was yesterday - with all the weight of another work week clamping down upon our shoulders, we still find time merge these thoughts into a fast and brief conversation.First came his apology for having neglected a return to my call after Saturday's events during my Grandmother's Birthday celebration. I granted him a brief description of my emotions and recalled how my Grandmother only wished that Grandfather could be there to see all of us. He took my breath away by stating that I can thank my Grandfather for his generosity in my valadictorian speech upon graduating college. I thanked him for that and inquired of his own weekend.
With his mother and his children, he looked at a house on Sunday located in Oak Creek. A Victorian, two-story house built in 1890 with a two car unattatched garage and a 10 X 8 garden shed in the back yard. One acre of land accompanies the charming barn like shed - perfect for the kids to ride their dirt bikes and perfect for the repossesion of his faithful dog. He had put his bid in on the house the day before and was reassured on Monday that it was a great offer.
Monday afternoon held another wonderful surprise. Michael Jordan's new race team crew called him up to inquire as to whether or not he could join them at Brainerd International Speedway this weekend to help work on Pascal Picotte's race bikes. Skipping right over Jordan's lesser known road racer, Montez Stewart, and swinging right into the pits with the World Superbike Champion Pascal Picotte. This called for a longer discussion after hours, especially considering that I have been whining about going to Brainerd myself for about three weeks.
After a few beers and after having congratulated him several times on his good fortune, I came right out with it. I asked him if we could stop. Without a moment's hesitation, he nodded and whispered 'yes.' He spoke of how his heart only wished to cease the frustration that he so often procures in me. He told me of how he cannot seem to tame his life and cannot offer the dedication to which he knows I need. He exclaimed all the moments where his mind wanders into us and how infrequently these thoughts are actually expressed in words or action. He gave rise to the memories of his Vegas trip two years ago and retold the story of how everything changed with us upon his return. We turned it over, with deep examination, with careful proddings, with genuine intent and without recourse; the bewildering tragedy of us. Soon we were standing outside - I turning round every so often to watch him as he climbed into his car and drove away. I sat there, by the warehouse, unable to breathe or prevent the cascade of tears, unable to drive away with vision blurred and only to return to the solitude of my home.
Before I could even begin to gather my thoughts and unscramble my heart, his voice on my phone was accompanied by the tail lights of his car just waiting down the road. I did my best just to sound okay, but broke down without a chance of sounding the part. He invited me to his apartment and after a brief moment's reflection, I accepted his offer, finding myself racing against his bold moves to pass me in the Escort on Oklahoma Ave. He won again.
This day found us both smiling, raising our heads towards the warm sunshine and devising a plan to replace the vacuum that he yesterday diagnosed as dead as we stood in the LCP parking lot next to his 'truck.' After 15 minutes of serious deliberation, we gave up and trudged along sidewalk toward Hell East. Late in the day, I found myself without work (or rather without the ambition to the idea of work) and amused myself in his company. I offered him the use of my Acura for his trip to Minnesota (a little hastily, perhaps) and he immediately accepted. Than the call came. Although he had been the high bidder for the Victorian house in Oak Creek, the seller dismissed all bids without further explaination. The dreams of his children rambling throughout the yard were destroyed, the two-car garage with a convenient loft was lost, the freedom from a crazy family in his current duplex was not to be found - and all for reasons beyond comprehension.
Tomorrow he leaves at 6:00 a.m. with a full tank of gas in my Acura Integra, not to return until very late on Sunday or very early Monday morning, without the knowledge of whether or not he will be reimbursed for his effort. Tomorrow he leaves to venture alone into a world that I have seen in Dallas and Vegas, full of testosterone and beer, babes and bikes. No limits of speed; come as you are as long as you're wild. Three days of insanity at LCP, five days to await the safe return of my Acura and an eternity of worry and wonder - missing the man I should not have to miss, until Monday morning...