As I go through life changes, common to us all, I tend to seek alternative answers. This can be difficult as I am not always sure what the question really is. On these travels, there are no set guidelines, only a journey to somewhere familiar, only without benefit of location, direction or means of travel. In the end, I usually find my way back to a changed self and once there, this change becomes a sense of immense satisfaction, unlike most others. I think I have reached that point once again. With this post, and the subject I have chosen, I am straying along a path I have for too many years been hesitant to venture upon. I do so now in response to a challenge.
I love the written word. Depending on the time and circumstance, the power within randomly placed words can alter a lifetime. It can redefine the past or carry the future. For me there are no mechanics in the written word. I have never concerned myself with structure or grammar. I can’t. I don’t know how. So, I must make up my own. The grammar of the language of mathematics I understand well because it is rigid and many times absolute. Plus, I was taught it extremely well. The grammar of the written word is not as so for me. As such, I tend to write as I speak and I speak worth than I right. But, I can communicate in my own way and most time 2+ 2 will equal 4. Let’s see now if the math holds on this one.
I was told by a good friend that I don’t really understand the vulnerability that is exposed when you open yourself to others in the most public of forums; The published written word. Since I have nary a hint of reticent bashfulness to speak of anything and everything, I could not at that time agree completely with this. Heck. if you want to hear some shit on me? Just ask. I have talked openly and freely about most anything that another has shown an interest in and many most times, about something they haven’t. Not a big deal. But you know, there was a point to what was said and I have now taken it to heart. The following is the result. An openness in response to a challenge.
JAMIE
My first memory of Jamie was being awakened by a steady stream of warm liquid. We were young then. Sharing a bed. We were both asleep, one of us had to go. It wasn’t me. A purer validation of Newtonian Mechanics I have yet to discover. Jumping awake was done so with more amusement than anger. Though he had ensured my face would need a good cleaning, and the sheets as well, I woke him with a sense of boyhood wonder: Look what you did! He was as pleased as I. The laughter was real and without the hesitation that would accompany the smiles of later years, smiles tempered by the intrusion of life. Though we laughed hardy and long that morning, we most likely fought later that day and me being the oldest, I most likely won. But for that moment it was the very best of everything that life affords. Writing about it now, remembering it as it was, is the only confirmation I need.
My next to last memory of Jamie was an argument. I have only shared the details of this with one other and even then, it was 30 plus years later. Jamie and I spent most each day of our lives in contact or together so of course, there were many memories in between. We spent the entire span of his life together. But it was not my say on which memory was to be chosen for this one, but on this day, he was an employee in my charge. He was also my brother.
The window was one of those narrow ones with a crank to swing it open from the side. One foot by 6 foot I would say with the obligatory screen. Me in a totally empty large room and Jamie in a totally empty parking lot. It was late afternoon or early evening. Probably the latter and probably much later than I recall. At that time and place, time wasn’t measured in hours, minutes and seconds but instead only by the absence of light. I do know the summer light was still casting its glow, so it must have been just another long day in a series of many, each seemingly more demanding and stressful than the previous. It was a Friday. The end of another bad week with the promise of a weekend filled with nothing but worrying about what the next week would bring.
He drove up and tapped on the window. I opened. We talked though the screen. We argued. It became heated. I referred to him as insolent. He countered that he wasn’t ignorant. The remaining civility disintegrated completely. It was the last time we would talk to each other. This moment lives inside me unlike any other.
The last time I saw Jamie was in a full room of strangers. There is a protocol, a formality in times such as these. I was the obvious choice to receive the crash course. I failed in every aspect except for that which was required. In all honesty, I didn’t recognize him at first. My heart knew for sure, my mind was working to convince me otherwise. There is an absolute and sudden loneliness that seizes your very being. It cannot be described, yet once felt, it is feared forever. Memories are then forever seared and become too, too plentiful. At one time or another I think of them all again, one by one. But it is what it is. That was for then this is for now.
I am wired different from most. I march to the beat of a one-armed drummer who has no sense of rhythm and a spastic tick. I often have moments of recollection and reflection. Many times, these are uplifting and many times not so much. Ideas and inspirations, the uplifting moments, I try to jot down. To capture, record and preserve for another day. The other I attempt to dispose of. Of course, most of them you can’t since they boomerang.
Boomerangs can be good at times and somedays the boomerangs are convenient and can be captured, though never completely. I am not sure why this is but it is no less difficult then chasing back the dream you have just awakened from. Most times you just can’t do it. But sometimes I can get pretty far and am able to capture it in a spray of words that once written, will be read and re-read it before being purged forever. Gone but for the knowledge that it was, for at least that moment, real. When all is said and done though, there is no matter anyway, it will return as it always does.
This is from one of those moments. A poem of sorts I think? Maybe? Regardless of what it might be called, the thoughts come upon you, memory after memory, machine gun like. It is 33 years later and it has returned and not for the first time. Pop, pop, pop, pop! With singular concentration I try to capture it before the memory fades for another day. I don’t know why this works this way.
On this day, I captured more than usual. On this day, for the first time in many, I didn’t delete. The following “poem” written on 11/17/17 was written in response to one of these contemplations. It is an inspiration, if that be the proper word, from the events of a June Saturday many years ago.
Fire on the Mountain
I remember the conversation. It was the last. We disagreed
I remember the day. It was an anniversary. A new bull.
I remember the call. An awkward mix of congratulations and unmentionable news
I remember the ride; 10cc and Thunder Road
I remember the arrival. I was one of the last and many were waiting.
I remember the chapel and the explanation given.
I remember clearly: If it can’t get out, it bounces within.
I remember that even with life extended there would be no more.
I remember the depth of my despair
I remember the helicopter never arriving
I remember the trip. Parkway turning to dark.
I remember how close I followed. I was the first. The closest.
I remember the lights. The angels frantic within.
I remember the letter. The nurse’s will, remaining still. Even today.
I remember the gas hand. No lower to go.
I remember the stop and the race to catch.
I remember catching the lights in the distance. Then lost at the split
I remember the panic of having guessed wrong. The many signals I ran.
I remember in anguish I was late to arrive. Only but a minute few yet now, no more
I remember the formalities. It had to be me.
I remember the swelling. Has there been a mistake?
I remember had I not known, I couldn’t be sure.
I remember twice lost, the latter by far the worse
I remember uncontrollable shaking and unfathomable grief
I remember the steadying the embracing of truth
I remember the preacher. Both heartless and cruel
I remember my grandmother requesting his leave.
I remember the arriving angel. Jeanie was her name.
I remember the shower so cold, the uncontrollable release
I remember less clearly the subsequent days.
I remember the friends the family the hollow words.
I remember remembering, more often than not
Fire on the Mountain never echoed so dear
I remember again now, I will never forget
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Believe it or not, this exercise for me provided more joy than grief and no doubt, some release. After this long it is easier to smile than to cry. Remember, no one really knows another, always. Be mindful of your loved ones and, if possible, theirs as well. Even my FUPS seem unhappy from time to time. A pet on the head and a treat is it all it takes for them. An occasional hug, a kind word and conversation may be all it takes for the others.
****If you made it this far. Thank You. This one is probably the last I will write and post in this vein because they have been written as a response. I don’t squelch on bets or backdown from accepted challenges. I am glad I accepted. It has, in all honesty, been fun. Whether it be mom, basketball or the Reel Deal I think this has been a beneficial process. I think now I need to find more serious issues to contemplate. Anyone have any thoughts on how best to get Travis elected to city council?
Feel the Burg 