Me and Him Are Lifers with No Chance of Parole

Me and my best friend, Chris, have a phrase. Okay, we have a bunch, including "I like that black fucking Darjeeling" and "decent." But the one that keeps coming to mind today is "Ah, there it is." You say it slowly with a soft smile and if you're feeling it, close your eyes. When we say it, we mean that feeling of contentment tinged with just a sprinkle of real joy. We have shared so many of those moments together. I think I even caught him on camera for one. The photo sits on my bookshelf by the television. I can see his teeth from across the room. One of the people I love most in the world in the place that made me, happy and content. 

He and I were not much alike all those years ago. It's funny how we've gotten more and more similar over the years. He would describe himself as "apolitical" and have no idea of the magnitude of the privilege that shows. I never believed he wasn't a good person, but empathy isn't something you're just born with, no matter if they're good or bad. "I got better." See, there's another one. And he did. 

In a couple of days, he'll pass the board for his PTA certification. No, that's when he takes the test. But I know that little fucker will pass, even if he doesn't know it. Just like all through this massive life change he had the courage to embark on a couple years ago. I mean, he bitched and moaned the whole way about failing out and being scared and anxious and tired, but he did it. And I never doubted that he could. He's a whiny, stubborn bro. But he's smart too. And I'm really proud of him. I wouldn't have really ever described him as brave before that. He's so happy with safe, comfortable, even if he's bored and even if he knows he can do better and wants to. Status quo is his comfort zone. But he has been damn uncomfortable these past years. And we aaaaaaaaaalllllllllllll know it. He knew it too. He knew it would be hard and did it anyway. "The right thing's always the hardest thing to do."

I started this post as gratitude for those fleeting moments of sunshine on my face. I like them best clustered together with little of the opposite shoved between. I started this post to express gratitude for the people who share those moments with you. People you love so much that they share their sunshine and when they're there, you get to be there a little bit too. I have so many of those people now. They might not be in on the line, but I hope they know it. Maybe more folks will get the joke now. I think it's something important to share.

I started this post because I've had a lot of those moments recently. This one is not one of them. I just sat wiping tears off my face missing my dad. Again. I hate to tell y'all this, but twenty-two years can't erase that kind of love.

I told a story recently as I stood across a room watching a man unlace his boots. I told the story of Daddy coming home from work in the evenings. He was always tired and you could see it in his face and in the way he moved and in the way he lowered his long, lean frame into a chair, and in the way he sat. It was almost like he was having to muster the strength to keep breathing. I'd fix him a glass of sweet tea and bring it to him. I'd sit at his feet and unlace his boots and yank them off. I learned speed laces before I could tie my own, I think.

That story gets two responses. One is the utter absurdity of me in that kind of service, I guess. I've heard "demeaning." The other one is the correct one. The recognition of love and the beauty in acts of service to people you love. That fellow the other night was that one. So I told him the truth, that even if it could be seen as absolutely submissive and servile of me, I'd do that again for a man who loved me like my daddy did. Because it won't matter what it looks like. What it is, is doing something kind and helpful for love. Basically my entire personality. Telling that story makes me feel vulnerable. Waiting for which response. Waiting to see if the listener receives the story in the spirit it's felt.

I have no idea how these two stories are connected, I just know that they are. I guess I have had both those men in my life for about the same amount of time now. So yeah, you're basically stuck with me forever now. I guess maybe in those moments of gratitude and simple happiness and comfort without regard to how anyone else might perceive it.

I do have a soft spot for a bit of silliness. I guess that's how Chris has managed fifteen years. I'm not sure what it is that keeps him keeping me around. I don't really suit his life or his upbringing or his sensibilities at all. Fucking golf course brat only child. And he knows I say that about him because I say it to him. And he knows why I call him a brat and he knows that I love him for all of that stuff that I am not. Maybe that's it. I'm brash and opinionated and when someone tries to hurl that at me like an insult, I grab onto it and let it describe me with pride for a decade or so.

I dreamed vaguely of Jay Tate the other night. I didn't sleep much that night, but must have slept some. He gets less and less opaque with every dream. I guess that gentleman who reminds me so much of him probably has a hand in it. I still haven't decided what to make of that. Acceptance isn't something I'm good at. I wonder what those two would have been like in a room together. Despite the age difference. 38 would have seemed so old to both of us back then.

I've put back on the bookshelf the photo of me and Gabe and Jay, in his ballcap and yellow hoodie. His photo-face thin-lipped smile, Gabe with his hand in his face on my hip. He was so tiny. I think two? He swears he remembers Jay. I have no idea how. No one in the house now to be jealous over love that was and cannot possibly ever be again. Of the person who taught me so much about giving and receiving love.

I think that's probably a good metaphor for life at this moment. A putting back on the bookshelf in full view, the people who made me. The me who made me. I'm in no hurry to go diving back into anything that might make me want to lose those people again. Lose myself. So I won't. I will unapologetically ask hard questions and I will feel how I feel and do it loudly. Anyone who can't accept that cannot accept me. That is not to excuse bad behavior or unkindness from me. The people who stay call me on my bullshit. The people who stay know I'm grateful for that.

I guess what I came here to write about tonight was just that. People who have seen the ups and downs and stay. Here's to "there it is" moments and grandmother's funeral moments and unlacing boots moments and sitting quietly together moments and holding hands moments and desperate self-doubt moments and all of the beautiful and ugly and vulnerable things that grow love for us.