Chippy and Chet

The two parquets  were moved into the small cage from the larger one where all the birds were kept.  I paid the vendor the price she asked and took the two small birds home as a gift to the cutest four-year old in the world, definitely in my life.  She named them on sight.  The green one is Chippy and the yellow Chet.  The happiness and joy she felt were pronounced throughout the house for a few days.  I took Chet out of the cage and let her pet its fine soft feathers on the top of its head.  While holding it, it bit into my flesh and induced an abnormal amount of pain for such a small creature.  Chet sunk its beak into the flesh between my thumb and index fingers and was trying to get out of the palm of my hand that surrounded it but I was not about to let go before my grandbaby had a chance to feel the softness of its feathers.  When she did, I stuck my hand back into the cage and happily let go of the little yellow devil.  It jumped to its perk and seemed stunned at the experience.

A few days later, I am told that Chippy, the green bird, was trying to open the door to its cage as if trying to escape.  I would assume that as normal behavior for creatures meant to be free.  Life in a cage, regardless of how pretty the cage is made, is no substitute for a life of freedom.  At least that is what we, humans, believed in our conscious level.  We, I believed, were rational beings who displayed a preference for freedom over imprisonment.  We valued choice over authority and, in my mind, I believed that no human being will tolerate being in a cage.  Certainly, a bird is a creature that must fly to be alive, it must be free and instinctively, if not rationally, they should prefer freedom to imprisonment.

A day later, I come home from work and Chippy was no longer in the cage.  The bird had determinately opened the door to the cage and escaped.  I looked in all the rooms of the house but could not find him.  When my grandbaby got home and found the single occupant in the cage she was at a loss.  Why would the bird escape, she asked.  How does one make a four-year old understand the value of freedom? I was convinced that Chippy escaped because he detested the bars he had to look through to see the blue sky and the trees in the yard, unable to fly, unable to see the world around him beyond the window where the cage rested.  So he studied the cage and discovered the mechanism that allowed him to open the door to its flight.  Chet was probably undergoing the same desire but she was too stupid to understand the mechanism of cage doors and hence was doomed to a life of imprisonment.

A few days later, I opened the door and entered the house and to my surprise, Chippy is standing by the door to the cage singing to Chet.  As I came closer, he did not attempt to fly away.  He simply stepped around to the other side of the cage.  I called to him but, apparently, he did not realize his own name and did not come around to me.  I opened the door to the cage, took a few steps back and watched as Chippy walked around the cage and went inside.  He did not go to Chet, he went to the food tray and started to peck at the fresh seeds inside.

The Mist

My condition is deteriorating.  Coherent thought is no longer with me.  I am confused by the slightest change in my surroundings.  I cannot comprehend what anything is.  I don't remember anything exactly as it was.  There are eddies in my brain that appear out of nowhere and the swirl is creating void spots where thought should reside and precipitating massive confusion in my mental state.  Have I gone mad?

.Marie came to visit me today.  Her presence was unwelcome.  She was as pleasant as ever, with that fake smile that she does so well and is only betrayed by the lie emanating from deep within her eyes.  I like her, she is a pleasant company and good enough to pass the time but not today, not in my present condition.  I knew I could never trust her but in my current state the fear magnifies that I should forget that rule I established the day I met her.  The lie is buried deep inside her.  She will never trust me with the pain that walls that lie and I can never trust her in return.  In my current state I might be swept up in the external pleasantries and allow her into my head and into a world that I held sacred for far too long.  She will destroy my world.

I went for a walk in the swaying path along the lake with the hopes of waking up.  The heavy mist hung in the air and suffocated rather than refreshed me today.  The mist rubbed against me like the hot sands of the desert that burned my skin when I was younger.  This lake, intended to create a romantic and peaceful escape, carefully manicured with trees, grass and shrubs, every curve and bend in the path is carefully designed, the fountains in the center recycling the water and creating what is supposed to be a soothing whisper of a sound can only remind me of the desert of my youth.  The air was still as if it could not penetrate the mist.  The trees stood silent, with drooping branches and leaves held stiffly in place they seemed to be more a product of a wax artist that a product of nature.  The sun was still hidden from view but announced its imminent arrival with the twilight that preceded her.

I sat on a bench along the path, I felt tired and could not move my legs through the heavy mist.  Those tiny droplets of water that invigorated me in past walks now hung in midair like rocks defying gravity.  I lit a cigarette and fixed my gaze onto the lake.  A silver line with a pale orange trim shone above the horizon dividing the coming day from the preceding night.  clouds of varying shades of gray with yellowed edges from the coming sun scattered throughout the sky.  I am trying to spot any motion in the lake, The ripples of water seemed stationary.  Has the world frozen around me?  Am I the only thing that has any sense of time?  While I sat wondering at the stillness of all things around me I recalled the message I received from Misty yesterday.  Dearest, I will be in town next week or the one after.  Would love to see you again and catch up.   I loved Misty once, I suspect I still do but I am unsure of what it is she wants with me.  I asked her once and she said she does not know.  You keep me calms and help me regain my balance she said once.  I'm not sure how I accomplished that.  I hardly spoke, she told me stories of her adventures and I listened as intently as I could.  The stories were interesting enough of their own but they held no relevance to me or my life.  At the end she would leave;  don't forget me she would playfully say and give me a kiss on the cheek and disappear from my life until the next time she needs to regain her balance and she sends me a message.

That time is soon, next week or the one after.  I don't think I will see her this time.  I will fabricate a plausible excuse why I can't.    I can't let her see me in this condition.  I am not sure how she would regain her calm and re-balance if she sees me now.  Yes, I will not go.  Ill tell her I'm sick and regret not being able to see her.  A bird flew over the water and distracted me from my thoughts.  I raised my head and realized the noises of nature had returned and the city has come to life.  Sounds of birds and cars filled the air, the smell of blooming flowers intermingled with the pollution stirred by the vehicles scurrying people and the mist that filled my nose, an airplane flew overhead.  The light has won and there are no traces of the previous night.  The mist hung weakened by the rays of the sun but still struggling to remain where it was.  How long have I been sitting there thinking about Misty?  I looked around me and saw that I had smoked five cigarettes while sitting on the bench.  I don't recall smoking the first one.  What is happening to me?  I stood up and walked back to my house.  I definitely cannot allow Misty to see me in this condition.

I'm having breakfast with Marie.  She just showed up this morning and said she was hungry so I made breakfast.  We're eating and she is excitedly describing in every detail how she went dancing in the rain the previous afternoon.  How free she felt and how she regretted not doing it before.  As she went on blabbering with no care if I, or anyone else, listened, my phone beeped of a message.  I  picked it up and it was from Misty will get in town tonight.  Breakfast tomorrow, same place?  I remembered my decision from the park bench and started to type my excuse but somehow the words  of course materialized on the screen and I pressed send.  I am overcome with panic over the commitment I just made.  What would I do now.  I have to go and she will see what I have become.  She will see right through the facade I built so successfully in the past.  She will not be calmed and might become more agitated.  What have I done?  Are you OK?  Marie asked.  The question seemed foreign to me.  Of course I am not.  Is this girl crazy?  Can't she see what has happened?  Yes I am, I calmly said but I need to leave soon, I;m running late to work.  She knew I was lying but accommodated me.  She stood up, kissed my cheek and said with a saddened voice Don't forget me as she left.

Did Marie just use these words.? Am I confused?  Was is Marie or Misty who always ended our meetings with those words?  I know it was Misty.  I heard her say them so many times and each one of those times I thought about how blessed I would be if I could forget her.  I loved her and I will never have more than a memory of her for the rest of my life.  How about Marie? I don't love her and if she did not make herself present in my world I would not think about her.  If this breakfast is the last I see of her, I will never think of her or miss her.  But now, she used these words and I might never be able to extricate her from my memory.  Why did she say those words?  I would think about Marie the rest of the day through the confusion her words created I kept wondering what a simpleton I must be, all someone has to do to stay in my memory is to ask me not to forget them..  I am ridiculous, of course I will forget Marie if I so chose.

I woke up early today.  It was still night but he dim night light made the door visible and I had a path to the kitchen to make my coffee.  I dragged myself out of the comfort of my bed and into the cold and started to shuffle along towards the door.  Halfway across the room, I saw someone walking along side me.  As I turned my head to look him and he turned his head to look at me, I could not recognize him.  I carefully walked closer and my opposite walked just as carefully closer to me.  The grotesque, unlovable image reflected in the mirror looks familiar but I do not recognize it.  I am stricken by panic.  If I can't recognize myself, how will Misty recognize me today.  I pulled my phone and found a picture Misty had taken of me fifteen months earlier when we had last met.  She had taken that picture in the early morning hours before she needed to leave, she said it was to remind her of me while she was away.  My face is oscillating between the picture and the mirror.  Is this the same person?  Is there enough similarity that I would be recognized.  I zoom into the eyes, the nose, the ears, the small dimple on my chin, the grooves on my forehead and carefully compared them to the image looking back at me through the mirror.  Everything is the same.  I zoom back out and compare the whole and it looks different.  Have my parts moved around in such ways as to create a different impression.  Everything is in the proper place, but the combination appears to have changed.  I cannot waste more time looking at this picture and the reflection in the mirror.  I went to the kitchen, made my coffee and started my preparations for the coming day.  This whole time, Marie's last words kept coming back to haunt me.

I walk into the cafe and Misty is waiting for me.  She looks exactly the same as she did those fifteen months ago, the same smile that penetrated me the day we met is still worn on her face but assumed a higher degree of sincerity.  Her eyes have merged with her smile creating a halo of light that surrounded her.  As I approached, she stood up.  She has gained a few pounds of weight that seems to have added to her beauty rather than detract from it.  She came around the table, leaned towards me and gave me a kiss with hands wrapped around my hips.  I kissed her back, put my arms around her and did not want to let go.  We stood in position, staring into each other's eyes, neither one of us wanting to let go but realizing that we must.  She pulled me closer, rested her head on my chest and squeezed as hard as she could before she leaned back, looked at me and excitedly said there is someone I want you to meet.  this was a jolt, I did not expect anyone else to be with us and she certainly did not mention anyone else in the message.  She stepped back, turned slightly and pointed at the chair next to her and said Ta da.  I looked to where she had pointed and there was a baby nestled in a sleeper in the chair next to where she sat, my usual spot.  The baby looked at me with the exact smile that greeted me as I entered and with eyes as happy as the ones I had been lost in for the last few moments.  I am overcome with fearful joy.  My mind quickly made a calculation take nine months for the pregnancy from the fifteen months when I had last seen Misty and this baby appears to be around the right age to be mine.  Could she be mine?

I am staring at the baby trying to find any resemblance to the features I studies so closely in the mirror this morning but could find none.  She appeared as a miniaturized copy of Misty.  Same green eyes, same flowing blond hair, same lips, mouth, ears..  Everything that is Misty.  There are no traces of any man in that infant girl.  We sat down and Misty could see the question in my eyes.  She quickly announced She's not yours.  I don't know if I am relieved or angry.  I fell in love with this little girl as fast as I had fallen in love with her mother so many years ago and now I am faced with the potential to see her as infrequently as I see her mother.  Who's the dad?  I questioned.  I am quickly told the story of a regretted encounter Misty had in Berlin one week after we had departed with a man whose name she cannot recall.  How she later realized she might be pregnant a couple of weeks later and once her suspicions were confirmed she made the appointment to abort the pregnancy.  In the clinic, she was scared and alone, wondering if her condition was an accident or divine intervention.  She had no interest in having a child, and she did not believe in the divine.  She always maintained that position with absolute resoluteness.  But now, she is pregnant and she is about to change that which she did not want and did not expect.  I was afraid of the future a child will bring to my life.  No more freedom, no more waking up and just doing what I want.  I will have to be concerned at all times with the well being of another human being, and that will be forever she said.  Of course was the only reply I could muster before she continued but the fear was even worse when I considered the alternative. That my life should be wasted.  That when I grow old and my energy fails, when love should leave me, I will be left with nothing, alone and sad, reliving the memories of my youth and pitying myself the way I pity others until I can remember nothing and feel nothing.  In a moment, she made the decision to keep the child.  Left the clinic never to look back.  How do you feel about your decision now?  I asked.  Could not be happier.  My little girl, Ana, has brought me more joy than all the travels and all the adventures I thought I was born for.  I am a lot more tired, but it's a cost well worth bearing.  We chatted a little longer and I could sense the pleasure she felt in her heart.  She had a sense of serenity around her that I had never seen before.  She realized she did not need me but only needed to find herself.  I am more in love with her now than I have ever been.

Suddenly, her eyes swelled with tears as she has come to a realization of a truth that she had refused to accept.  You know I love you, I've always loved you... The hesitation in her voice gave away that there is more to follow.  More that she is still reluctant to make audible.  I've always loved you too I gently answered to break the blanket of silence that has now separated us.  But you know that I can never be with you, she continued.  I've left you so many times resolved to put as much distance between us as I could, but always came back to you.  With you, I could see how far I have traveled, and how close you always remained.  Always in my thoughts and by my side and I always had to come back to the one fixed thing that I knew will be there, unavoidable, real, present yet unknown.  My eyes are fixed on her as she spoke.  I know exactly what she meant but I had no response.  I'm not sure what a response would be.  Anything I say will be untrue.  I can't promise her that I will change, she knows that will be a lie.  And if I made this promise, what would I change into?  I can't possibly show her the person I become when she is near me.  She cannot possibly be in love with the mangled web of confusion, uncertainty, and insecurities that lay hidden behind the cold words and steely eyes.  She makes me weak.  She makes me human.  She makes me alive.  I can't ask her to accept me as I am, I would be asking her to enter into a lie.  I remain quite, just looking at her, cold as ever.  She cannot see past the veneer that of foam and cardboard that projected from my face and she cannot see the tears pouring backwards into my soul.  She cannot see the lump forming in my throat and the migraine all that is causing.  She cannot see it and I cannot allow her to see it.  She's no longer trying to hold back the tears.  Finally, she looked at Ana and smiled at the sleeping baby.  She turned her head towards me I don't need you anymore, she pointing her chin at Ana is my fixed point now.  I will measure myself by her and I will have to be the fixed point for her.  The person she will always come back to for affirmation and reassurance about who she is.

As we parted ways, she leaned over, kissed me and said I will never forget you.  The last goodbye when the words changed.  That was her way of ensuring that I understood that I shall never see her again. That I am no longer needed in her life but will remain a memory.  Somehow, I did not experience any sadness at my loss.  I was happy that she has finally settled her mind and was driven by something real.  I was relieved that I no longer will have to encounter the weak and confused person that I am.  I will never see her again but I know she will live the experience that will being her true happiness.  My brain is a little less foggy, my thoughts are considerably calmer.  My heart is at peace and I am dead again.

Marie is talking about something or another but my mind is fixed on Misty.  Her departure marked an end.  I will never see her again.  I will never meet anyone like her again.  I will never have to relive those horrifying moments again.  Marie is still here Can I ask you a question?  She said and without waiting for an answer she continued How is it that you never tell me that you love me?  Because I don't I dryly answered.  Her eyes flooded with tears you are the nicest man I know but at times like this you can be so crude and inconsiderate.  I don't know what to say.  I was not expecting the tears.  I did not prepare myself for that reaction and I am not certain why I answered her in such a harsh manner.  I'm sorry but I don't think lying to you would be a good thing for either of us.  I don't love you.  I enjoy your company but you don't inspire me to share my life and my thoughts with you.  I said that with a certain amount of hesitation on my part.  Am I describing her or am I describing myself?.  Misty inspired me to feel what I could not share.  Marie stood up, I don't think I'm going to be coming by anymore she told me.  That's fine was all I could manage for a response.  We stood looking at each other, there are no words that can form a conversation of any kind at this point.  The existing words did not suffice, the words that can describe the moment have yet to be created, Marie looked at me with a smile inverted and puppy's eyes asking, begging for a change of heart.  I shrugged my shoulders in an attempt to apologize, but it may have been a sign that I just did not care.  Marie left and I was alone.

I went into my bedroom and sat on my chair.  It needs to be replaced but I can't get myself to be rid of it.  The large ugly brown chair with fabric stained in places and torn in others.  It spun at some point in time but somewhere over the years, the axle was broken and it is just sitting there now, facing the one direction, unable to move.  I sat in my chair, lit a cigarette and started to read the last chapter of a book I had intended on finishing weeks ago.

There was a sense of relief in me brought about by the knowledge that Marie will not be coming around anymore.  Marie and I where never going to be able to make each other happy, we were the same person, we could never trust anyone with the pain we held so tightly.  I lost Misty to that pain and Marie lost me.  There comes a time in every person life where he has to choose one of two impossible alternatives. trying to change themselves or the people around them in a futile attempt to forge a happiness that will never come or accept themselves for who they are and face the possibility of living a lonely, desolate existence but be content with the happiness that is born with that acceptance.  The next morning I woke up early.  As I am walking to the kitchen for my beloved coffee, I glanced at the mirror halfway through my room and I could see myself.  Clear and unambiguous, this is who I am.  I know who I am.  The mist is lifted and I once again have clarity of in my life.

Hana

I do not, as a general principle, ascribe to fate or destiny as valid notions that are worth examining or as principles to which you, any reasonable person, can attribute cause.  Fate, as described is a random occurrence to which we attribute those things we are unable to understand.  Destiny, albeit the final destiny to which all things are condemned, is well within the power of the individual to materialize.  My destiny, I always believed, is up to me.  I do what I must in order to reach the goals I set.

On the conscious level, I wholeheartedly believe in the statement I made, yet at times I cannot escape the intuitive feeling that there is an invisible and inexplicable force that has been present in the shadows of my life which has guided all events to squarely place me in the exact position in which I find myself.  A position I did not plan and did not seek.  All actions I have taken seem to have led, with a certain amount of futility, to a present I did not intend.  Was that fate at play that made me fail in guiding my own life to my current position which is radically different from the one I envisioned in the prime of my youth?  If so, then I am at a loss in trying to explain what fate held for me so far and what it might hold for me in the years to come.

Hana was a free-spirited girl who I met late in my teens in a particularly slow school elevator.  She stood behind me with one of her girl-friend and, unknowingly, was excitedly chatting with her friend in my native tongue.  The topic of discussion was me.  Hana was detailing, with a certain amount of vulgarity, all that she would have me do if she had me to herself.  They were giggling behind me and I was smiling as I enjoyed the unavoidable eavesdropping.  When the elevator stopped, they dismounted, and I said something or another to Hana in my native language as the door closed.  Through the elevator door I could hear the loud laughter that ensued outside and could only imagine blushing yet laughing girls outside.

Later that afternoon, I had gone to a cafeteria in the building to eat my lunch and read a little.  As I sat at my table reading my book, Hana walked into the room.  I suspected she would try to avoid me after the earlier slightly embarrassing incident in the elevator.  I bent my head towards my book to create the impression that I had not noticed her but with my eyes firmly fixed, albeit indirectly, on her.  Anxiety started to overtake me as she started towards me among the scattering of chairs and tables lining an irregular path between her and me.  Hana stood at under five feet tall and I was never more terrified in my life.  She walked slowly with a purpose, her steps undulating, her head slightly bent towards her side, eyes filled with a brilliant shine and her thick curly brown hair growing larger as she approached.  I had not realized how beautiful she was in our earlier encounter but as she approached, her beauty crystallized, and I could not believe that such a creature would have expressed an interest in me.  She put me somewhat at ease when she started to smile a few feet before she reached my table.  A genuine smile showing the small pearls she had for teeth and surrounded by luscious rose-colored lips.  Her black eyes sparkling like a midnight desert star and all surrounded by marble-white skin that gave no hint of any blemishes.  An all-natural beauty who was smiling and walking slowly but with no hesitation, as if in a dance, towards me.

She slid in the chair to my left and introduced herself.  Asked me my name and I answered.  After a rapid succession of questions establishing the facts of each other’s life, we established a basis of a relationship that developed in the span of ten minutes and concluded a few hours later with the exchange of phone numbers and a promise to meet the next day at breakfast in the same location.  The ten minutes that were the start of an eight-year turbulent relationship that is to come to light later but for the moment it was the start of a friendship.

The friendship lasted for a few months in which I got to know one of the most wonderful people to have walked into my life in the most peculiarly random accident.  A carefree friend who held no judgments and no expectations.   She simply wanted to enjoy the time we spent together, and I felt completely at ease with her.  We both sought each other at school, and we were together most of the days.  One day I went to school as usual and waited for Hana to come but she did not.  She missed the following day and the third.  I called but the phone number she had given me, and which I had dialed many times before, was no longer in service.  I was worried for a short time, but I was always a person who attached strongly to everything but found detaching easy.  I did not have the resources at the time to try and investigate what may have happened to her and there was nothing I could do about it, so I stopped thinking about it and moved on with my life.  There were more important things to worry about.

A couple of years had passed, and I had changed schools to pursue my studies more rigorously.  At the new school I had a new life with new friends and newer experiences.  One day, as I was seated chatting with some friends, someone hugged me from behind.  I could see the surprise on my friends faces at the person behind me who I could not see.  I did feel the thick, lush hair falling on my face, the warm lips descended on my cheeks for a kiss and an extremely familiar smell the origins of which I could not recall at that moment. I held and kissed the hands that were wrapped around me as I stood from my chair and turned around only to be surprised with the beautiful yet familiar face.  Hana Stood in front of me now with a big smile on her face, her hair as curly as ever, her head slightly bent to the left, but for some reason, the brilliance seems to have left her eyes.  We talked, we laughed, we reminisced, and the friendship was re-established as quickly as it was lost.

The friendship quickly evolved into a more nuanced and intimate relationship which pleased me to a certain extent until those moments when she would go into a rage.  Mostly, she would be enraged by my inability to be angry with her and my unwillingness to control her. 

“I went to court today for the ticket I told you about” she once told me. 

“How did it go?” I asked. 

“Fine, there was this really handsome guy there and he talked to me, he was so funny.”

 “That’s nice.  At least you were not bored.”

 “He took my number and said he will call me to take me out to dinner.”

“And?”

“and I’m thinking about going.”

“Ok.  Good.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?  You would let me go have dinner with another man?  Don’t you have any feelings for me?  Don’t you love me?”

“Of course, I love you, otherwise I would never be with you.”

“Then why can’t you yell at me?  Why can’t you say that you don’t want me to go?  That you forbid it?”

“Because I can’t forbid it.  If you want to be with someone else, I cannot stop you, I do not want to stop you.  I would never want to be with someone who does not want to be with me of their own free will.”

“Can you show me some emotion when I tell you that I’m considering going on a date with another man.  He probably will want to kiss me at the end of the night.  Doesn’t that bother you?  At least show me that you’re a little upset at the notion that I might be kissing another man.”

“I love you and I will be hurt if you kiss someone else, but I will never be mad about choices you make for yourself.  My hurt feelings will be my own and I will deal with them. If you decide to go, I hope you will tell him that you are in a committed relationship, which you should have told him when you met him”

“You’re so confusing.  I don’t know if I love you or I just feel pity for you.”

After a few exchanges of that nature we would break up.  We would stay away from each other for a few days, and at times for a couple of weeks.  Then I would call her or arrange for a random encounter in places where I know she would be; nonchalantly ask how she’s doing and if she wants to do something together.  She always said yes.  The relationship resumed with no mention or resolution of the breakup; that is, until the next breakup.  This continued for some eight years.

Everything seems to be falling in place in my life.  Not necessarily how I had imagined it ten years earlier, but the progress is satisfactory nonetheless.  I am out with Hana for one of the best evenings we had spent together in a very long time.  We had spent the day together then went home, changed clothes for the evening and met up again for dinner which was extremely peasant and followed that with drinks and some of the most amazingly relaxed conversations we have had since that day we met in the school’s cafeteria.  That whole day I had the indelible feeling that she must be a part of my plan, she must be worked in on a more permanent and secure basis.  At the end of the night I held her tightly with her head leaning against my chest, my arm wrapped tightly around her, and my face buried in her thick, perfumed hair.  I lifted her chin with my free arm and looked into her eyes.  I could see that brilliance in her eyes once again, I gently whispered “Will you marry me?”  The answer came back quickly with no hesitation “No” there was no fear, no love, no hate in the sound.  There was no emotion of any kind.  It was just a simple NO. A reflection of what she had known for what appears to be many years now.  That we did not belong together.  With that same simplicity and just as unhesitatingly I responded, “Call me if you change your mind” and we each went to our respective homes.  The call never came, and I never saw Hana again.

Years later, I was told that Hana had died in a car accident.  I did not believe it, so I looked it up.  There it is, a car accident at an intersection Hana and I crossed many times.  An intersection where, every time we were forced to sop by the red light, we kissed.  The woman I never knew if I truly loved and never knew if she truly loved me was gone and I can no longer hang on to the hope that she might call me one day; that I might accidentally see her somewhere someday and we may resume that relationship to its more satisfactory conclusion.  That news snippet flooded me with the plaintive echo of my last words to Hana.  I read the brief statement of the accident again a few minutes later, then a few hours later and the next day and the day after.  Each time, hoping that I will see some other piece of information that will prove that is was not the Hana I knew.  Maybe some other Hana with the same last name had died that night and the chance that I will see Hana again did not die.  Each time I looked the article just confirmed it was the Hana I once knew.

Did she say NO to my proposal of her own free will or was she compelled to refuse me by some force that was determined to protect me from the future she would have represented and that I will never know.  Given the history we had established together, the YES would have been the more expected answer.  Would she be alive today if she had said YES to me?  Had she agreed to marry me, I would have never met the woman that did become my wife and all the sequence of events that followed.  Had she agreed to the marriage proposal, would I have died in that same car accident.  That simple binary choice was presented to her and both our lives would have followed a completely different paths based on a simple YES/NO choice.

I continue to believe that my destiny is determined by the choices I make in my life but now I added the proposition that it also depends on the choices made by others as I bring them in my life.  Maybe fate is not the random representation of things we don’t quite comprehend.  Maybe it is the result of the combination of uncoordinated choices made by us and those who we integrate into our lives.  I always accepted the consequences of my own choices.  Now, I must be willing to accept the consequences of the choices made by the people I choose to make a part of me.

My Story

December 19.  It’s my birthday.  I am 38 years old today and not sure what that means.  I am having dinner with my girlfriend and she is telling me all the details of tomorrow.  Tomorrow we must wake up early and start preparation for the big festivities that are about to ensue.  We need to get to the courthouse and sign the license to become husband and wife and then there is a ton of shopping for suits and dresses.  There will not be many people in attendance but it is the biggest day of our relationship. Tomorrow is the day we become husband and wife. The day in which we make the commitment that we will be together forever.  I could not really understand all the fuss, I already made that commitment about two years ago when she and I decided that we will be together. To me that was all that is needed. There is no license that can grant fidelity and no court capable of guaranteeing everlasting love.  

She wanted to get married and, privately, I questioned the wisdom of such a decision.  All that will do is tangle up the relationship in legal terms and complicate the separation should either of us ever decide that we made a mistake.  But I smiled and shook my head in agreements. I feigned excitement when the question of pictures had come up and participated as earnestly as I could in the discussion regarding the most appropriate color for the dress considering the circumstances that it is not her first marriage.  By the end of dinner we had agreed on a cream colored dress for her and a dark gray suit for me. She seemed really happy and that made me happy.

The next day everything went as planned.  It was a successful marriage. What she did not know is that fraction of a second immediately following the point where  I'm asked if I would take her as my wife and before an affirmation is given by me. That fraction of a second in which my whole life replayed itself in all the painful details of all the previous unsuccessful relationships that ended  without marriage, some with tears, others with anger and most with both of us accepting the bold facts before us.  In that fraction of a second, after the extensive review of my prior unsatisfying life, I resolved to say “no” for my answer to the question before me. Yet, in the next fraction, I could see the miserable future that awaited us both if I said no. She will refuse to be with me ever again and I will regret making someone, who I cared for so much, miserable. I cannot allow that.  So a “I do” came out and we became husband and wife.

We lounged around the casino for a few days and then went home and back to our normal daily lives.  We went back to the daily routine of work, kids and the hassle of living. There did not seem to be much of a change.  The kids need new clothes or new gym bags or any number of things that modern kids seem to always need and we took care of it just like we have done for the previous couple of years.  Marriage was not so bad. It made my wife happy to know that I made that commitment which I had already made but I guess she needed the confirmation of formality.

One evening I came home from an especially tiring workday and my wife was complaining of pain in her back.  I reached into the medicine bag we kept stashed in the closet and got some muscle relaxants that I gave her with instructions.  “You probably pulled a muscle while doing something around the house. Just take these and get some rest and you will feel much better in the morning,” I said.  I went into the bedroom and stretched on the bed. Before long I had fallen asleep, fully dressed and with shoes on. It must have been a harder day than I thought.

In the middle of the night I was awakened by the whispering moans of my wife.  I asked and was told that the pain she had experienced earlier did not subside but grew sharper and was now unbearable.  I had her get dressed and I threw some water on my face to help me regain consciousness. Then we drove to the emergency room.  When we got there, the clock on the wall read 11:37. As I filled in the paperwork, the nurse, a kind looking even though seemingly young lady, questioned my wife and before I could finish filling out all the required forms, the nurse decided that my wife needed to be seen immediately.  She was suffering a heart attack.

The surgery was successful, we were told.  It was not. A second doctor determined that the first one had messed up and the surgery was not enough to clear the blockage in the arteries and a second surgery will be needed.  The second surgery seems to have eliminate the pain that my wife felt after the first. The medical costs were piling up and the cost of all the medications that had to be taken to preserve my wife’s health was merciless.  So I took a second job and worked harder to make sure that I can provide for my family. Along with the extra work was the added responsibility of trying to raise the daughters I acquired when I married my wife. They had to be raised right and the only way to do that properly was to dedicate enough time for them.  So I did that too.

The years passed and at times my wife would seem better and then we would have setbacks and will be rushing to emergency rooms in the middle of the night. The daughters have grown up and they are their own women now and did not require more of my time.  We had added three grandchildren to the fold of the family and they were the delight at the end of each day. During that time, my world had shrunk to encompass only the people who needed me, my wife, my daughters and my grandchildren. They were all that mattered and everyone else that I had known before this transformation had faded from my memory.  I loved my wife, loved my children and loved my grandchildren.  I loved them all so much that I had given up everything that I had known before them and unwittingly, everything that is to come.

It’s November and 12 years had passed since that day in which I said “I do” to the justice of the peace who pronounced me married.  In one month it will be thirteen years of marriage and a total of 16 years of family life. I awoke around midnight by the noises that blasted in the house.  My daughter was visiting and her and my wife were laughing so hard they woke me up. I was flooded by the sense of contentment that only true happiness can bring, simply smiled in the dark, said nothing and went back to sleep. The next morning, I was awakened by my daughter.  My first thought was that she must have stayed somewhat late and spent the night. But she was waking my up with a certain amount of worry in her voice, “Dad, please come and see what’s wrong with Mom, She’s not waking up”

I slid out of bed and walked into the living room.  My wife was laying on the sofa motionless, she had fallen asleep on the sofa and now she’s not waking up.  I walked up to her and shook her to wake up but there was not the slightest response. I felt her pulse around the neck and there was none.  She was cold and peaceful with eyes closed and what I remember as a slight smile on her face. “Call 911” I told my daughter and the cold response that shaped the reality of this morning came back, hollow and scared, “I don’t want to.” she said hesitatingly.  The reality of what had transpired during the night is clear to both of us but we refuse to accept it. I collected all the courage left in me and calmly turned and looked into her saddened face “Honey, call 911”. I never figured out why I left it to my daughter to make that dreadful call.  Later, as I recalled that moment, I had played a few scenarios none of which reflected well on my perception of who I am.  I wondered if I was grief stricken by the fatality of being so close to someone with no sign of life, if I was at the precipice of a breakdown and making the call would accelerate the process, or was I simply a coward who could not take charge of the reality that was before me.  My daughter made the call and the sirens came blasting within minutes.  The medics confirmed what we already knew. My wife is no more.

My wife, in the blink of an eye changed from a person to a memory.  A memory that will fade with time until only the name and some faded pictures are left.  My oldest granddaughter can no longer remember the details of the face of the person who once was her grandmother. She still has all the happy memories that formed her childhood, but they are memories with a ghost now; a shapeless, faceless person who once existed and who once loved and cried and went through all the emotions that all beings seem to experience during their short time of being. 

Waiting

At one point in time when I was a child I ran away from home.  I believe I was about 7 or 8 years old at the time and the tiny and crowded cellar apartment did not give me the space or the time to be left alone.  There were always noises of different sorts blasting throughout the small apartment and I would find myself waiting for hours to finally escape into the small garden where I might have some quiet.  At night, the noise would change only to be replaced by the overcrowded space. This apartment was too small for such a large family a mere two bedrooms had to be used to sleep all eight people who lived here.  So beds had to be shared and even as the talking, fighting, laughing, running, music, television or whatever the sources. The day noises were replaced by the nightly noise of people sleeping. The constant breathing right next to me deprived me from the quiet and peace I desired and hoped for when it was announced that sleep time was at hand and I will have to wait somewhat longer till I fell asleep..

The constancy of the noise accompanied by the repeated demands that I do one thing or another drove me insane.  I could not sleep at night and I was awakened too early in the morning. School must be attended and was even more crowded than home.  The other kids cared nothing about how I may have felt and the noise of the house was magnified a thousand times with all the children stuffed into the converted church that was made into a school.  The suffocating presence of people all around me was intolerable. Something had to change, something drastic had to happen to force the change. But no one wanted to listen to me and no one paid attention or seemed to care the least about what I might be going through.  No one cared about me and it felt like my presence in this household, in this neighborhood and in this city was not needed, my absence will go unnoticed. So I left

I roamed the streets for some time but soon enough I grew hungry, cold and tired.  I wished I had worn my thick coat and made myself a sandwich before I left. I made the decision to leave too hastily and now I must pay the price. If I had waited and analyzed the situation more carefully I would have realized the perils of being a penniless child in the streets of the big city. As a child I had no access to money and I could not work. I cannot go back to that apartment.  I had to find a solution to the dilemma in which I had forced myself. Going home was not an option, at least not right now.  I must wait as long as possible to force the issue. I must be noticed. People must get to the point of at least wondering where I am.  Getting some rest was easy, just find a shaded area and sit down on the side of the street or slip into one of the many parks and seek refuge in the shade of a tree.  I might be able to sleep some if I really wanted to as well. The hunger was the bigger of the problems and waiting to eat is not an option with which I was comfortable.  The thought of remaining hungry aggravated me, knowing that the longer I waited the harder the hunger would bite into me. I needed to get some food. I considered begging for a few coins that I can then use to buy some food but I could not.  I could not reduce my pride to ask complete strangers for anything. What if they rejected me too. There is nothing compelling about me that will make them take pity and drop me a few coins. So I could not beg.

As I wandered the streets, I found myself at the bus station and near the bus that went to the town were my grandparents lived.  My grandparents lived in a big house and it was mostly empty for the winter months. The village, high in the mountains, is too cold to be inhabited and most resident sought warmer parts of the country during that time. I would be going into the cold of the mountain with my thick coat hanging in the closet in the house. The thought of visiting my grandparents nagged me for a few moments. It will be warm in the bus and my grandparents will certainly be happy to see me and will give me the food I needed and a nice quiet place to sleep for the night.  I had no money to pay for the bus ride. As I stood there waiting for a miracle and wondering about what to do, struggling to find the means by which I can go seek reprieve from the hunger at my grandparents, the door to the bus opened and the paid passengers started to mount.  I was a fairly small child and, in the sea of legs around me, I was driven onto the bus. The door closed and the bus started moving. No one asked me if I had paid and I was not about to disturb anyone with the truth.

I sat between a fat lady and a small man on the bus.  They both looked at me on occasion and I could feel the suspicion in their eyes.  They seemed to scream at me. Thief. Thief. First him then her. And a little later, they looked again and their looks put me to shame.  I have stolen this bus ride but what was I supposed to do. I was practically pushed onto the bus. As I am sulking in my shame I heard a voice “Where are your parents?”  The fat lady was asking me as she had reached into her bag and took out something wrapped in brown paper. I had to respond. What do I say? Should I confess that I ran away from home and was a stowaway on this bus or do I tell a lie.  As perspiration ran down my forehead and burnt into my eyes I could feel my lips moving and heard my voice saying “They bought me a ticket and my grandpa will pick me up at the station in the other town” The answer seemed to satisfy the woman’s curiosity as she shifted in her seat and pushed me closer to the man.  She unwrapped her brown back and took out a sandwich stuffed with something delicate that smelled heavenly. The smell made my stomach growl. She smiled at me and cut a piece of her sandwich and offered it to me. I ate it without offering any words of gratitude. The speed by which I ate that tiny morsel of food seemed to satisfy her enough.  I waited for her to offer me another piece which did not come.

As I disembarked from the bus, I made a solemn oath to myself that I shall never lie again.  The shame that came with the lying was unbearable and it is still with me to this day. That generous fat lady is probably dead now and it bothers me that she went to her death bed thinking that the little boy next to her on that summer day was on his way to see his grandparents with the full knowledge and permission of his parents.  That the sweet boy was so small that she made the trip in comfort that would not have existed if a normal size person sat next to her that day. I stole, I lied, and I ungraciously ate her food. I got away with both crimes and that morsel of food she had given me seemed stuck in my throat. the memory of that day brings me nothing other that shame and contempt.

I entered my grandparents house through the enormous gate that was unlocked and slightly ajar.  The right door in the vestibule led to the guest room where company was received on special occasions.  To the left was the door to the family living space, a vast room of unreal proportions, or so it seemed at the time.  The seating area wrapped around two thirds of the room with a red carpet laid on top of the cement floor decorated the otherwise barren center.  A number of small tables scattered in front of the seats and three large windows, two overlooking the snow covered garden and the third overlooking the deserted street, kept the room well lit during the day. A door on the far side led to the kitchen that was dark and musty.  

I turned and entered the living room and there it was, my grandfather seated to my left in his usual spot and grandma on the far end of the room and they were doing absolutely nothing.  They had been with each other all their lives and it seemed to me that they had already said all there was to say to one another. They had between them a level of familiarity that frightened me.  Is this what old people do when they are left alone? They just sit there and stare at the walls consciously avoiding each other’s gaze. Is there nothing this man and this woman can talk about? Why are they sitting so far away from each other?  Is there no reason left for this man and this woman to look at one another? The room was cold, the people were cold. It felt like death was coming and they were just waiting for it to arrive. There is nothing to do and nothing to say. They have no interest in each other and it seemed like they had no interest in anything at all.  They were just waiting,

Is this what was awaited me? Is this why I go to school everyday preparing to grow into a man with a family and children who will grow and start families of their own and when their children come to visit me they will find me waiting.

Leila

6/14/2019

Leila sprang into my memory today out of nowhere.  We had met a few years ago and I found her company to be exceptional.  She was the type of free spirited person who had no barriers to be studied and analyzed and no plan of attack to gain her acquaintance was needed.  She simply was who she appeared to be, a person very comfortable with who she was. Who did not feel the need to create a public persona that would be any different from what the private person is. Yet there was more, an intangible quality that pulled at me and transfixed me into one thought, I want to be with this person, this Leila.  Everything she said, however mundane, was intriguing. Not because of what it was but because she said it.

I felt that pull when I first saw her and we exchanged glances a few times before we spoke.  When she told me her name, “Leila” she said, I knew she would be special. I knew that a woman who, by mere accident, possessed a name that I had reserved for my daughter at the the time she would have been born but never had a chance to use.  The name “Leila” meant the night and the night was always my time of serenity when I pondered the enumerable possibilities the world had presented. A time when I could think through the possibilities of a future that never seems to have worked out exactly as I had imagined.  When I met Leila, may faith was restored. The faith that there was still hope that I will attain the future that I so desired, a future that I hungered for. A future I would share with someone who made everything surmountable as long as she is by my side. Leila and I were so at ease with each other It seemed impossible that there could be anything that can stop us from being together.

So when she mentioned the husband, I was crushed.  I had been wondering about her personal status but felt the time was too early to inquire.  I guess she must have felt my thoughts and broke the news to me in her gentle casual way by simply inserting a mention of the husband in the course of a normal conversation.  The notion of a husband crushed me. The husband was a barrier of immense proportions. A barrier I can not overcome and I will have to make a choice. Do I accept the most amazing woman to have walked into my life as a friend and spend, what appeared at the moment to be every waking moment of the rest of my life, wondering at what could have been or do I simply end all conceptions of a possibility of a relationship and return to my normal routines.

I mentioned nothing of my thoughts to Leila.  She need not know how I felt or else she might be compelled make my decision for me. Whatever that may be, I was sure I would not like it..

I have always had a difficult time meeting women whose company I enjoyed and with whom a relationship that advanced past friendship can be built.  I had always known in a really short time after meeting someone new if anything will develop between us. Usually after a few glances, sometimes it took a smile and the exchange of a few words.  Somehow the women who entered my life have always been successful of letting me know how they felt within seconds of our first encounter. Leila was no different in that respect. What made her different was the timing.  Leila was the first woman who I felt this strong connection with since my wife’s passing. I had dated a few women and even became engaged to one but I sabotaged all of those relationships. I knew they were wrong for me. I did not feel the connection to those wonderful ladies who I should ask for forgiveness except I am too much a coward to admit what  I may have done.

The connection with Leila was real.  But there is the matter of the husband.  Would I dare try to sabotage her marriage for my own benefit? While that was a possibility, it was not a real one. I lived my life with a certain code. A code that I should cause no harm to anyone regardless of the benefit I may receive from doing so.  I did not have any desire to cause unhappiness in anyone’s life and in order to destroy her marriage I would have to convince her that she is truly unhappy even if she did not know it.  Insert doubt where no doubt once existed. I could not do that. If she is unhappy, she must recognize that on her own and the decision must be made by her alone. It's the only possibility I can accept.  It is the only means by which I can achieve my own true happiness.

I decided that she was too precious to give up on.  I will be a friend. We will meet for coffee and possibly lunches sometimes and we will talk and I will enjoy her company.  That appeared to be the only sensible solution to my dilemma. For some time it worked. We would chat, mostly texting and arrange for us to meet at convenient times.  The times and places where not really all that convenient for me, but I enjoyed her company so much that I did not object and claimed convenience. Our little meetings where most enjoyable and I found myself always looking forward to the next arrangement for the next meeting.  Trouble was coming.

Trouble comes when, in the still of the night, I wake up with a sullen heart.  I overestimated my own ability to self control. I am thinking about Leila all the time.  I am driving myself insane thinking about the means by which I will try to break her from the husband, that I’m not sure she loved but to whom she certainly had grown accustomed.  Can I do this. Can I confess my true feelings and see how she may react. It can’t be good. At best, I will throw her life in doubt. I can't do that to someone I claim to love. I must find my way out.  So now I answer messages with brief, dry responses that convey no emotions and after a few exchanges of the new style of dialog she stopped texting me and I never texted her again.

I know nothing of what has become of Leila.  I have a single picture of her that I look at longingly on occasion and tell myself that I did the right thing.  Somehow, that does not make me feel better.

My Confession

I was born and I became me at some point in time so long ago I can't recall.  What is certain, it wasn't an accident what I became. When I was born I was stamped with an existence that is to be spent alone. To be unencumbered with ties to people, places or time.   I never cared for the company of others, never cared much for material possessions that I owned and I certainly disavowed and cleansed myself of all memories of things, places and people that will come into my life and then quietly leave to pursue whatever endeavor they perceived as essential to their own survival.  I felt mostly annoyed at the deception they permitted within themselves, the deception that they mattered and that their lives mattered. They were searching for meaning to attach to their small lives and experimenting, few randomly while others prepared a plan, with the method by which that elusive meaning would present itself to them.  The meaning that will make all their endeavors worthwhile. The meaning that did not exist. Some became a part of my life for some time while others I simply watched from a distance, hoping they would not notice me. I was not to become what they are. I will not blindly search for that which I know does not exist. I will define the purpose of my  life and I will give myself a meaning that did not involve the great accomplishment all others seem to be working towards. I always preferred dark corners to visible spaces. I yearned to be forgotten so I may be left alone to accomplish my task. Not of greatness and not of continuity. My task was to define me and create a purpose that I can accept.

I could not comprehend either the joy or the sadness that people around me diffused  so effortlessly. Yet, at some point I seem to have recognized that these expressions where necessary for survival.  I had to learn that which I did not possess by instinct. So I learned. I laughed when an anecdote required laughter and I consoled when a misery seemed to be at hand.  When the end of each day came, and I was certain that I was alone, I reviewed my actions and recalled my few utterances from the day before so I may be satisfied that no offence was committed.  Before sleep, I will spend countless hours trying to define my existence in a consistent manner that will lead to the formulation of a purpose towards which I would direct my energy, but to no avail.  Every instance I could imagine introduced some contradiction. The purpose, a true purpose that does not require me to deceive myself, was elusive. Maybe it did not exist. Maybe such idea was incredible enough to not be possible.  I struggled to find an escape from the lie that has become my existence.

In the course of time, the lie that was my existence became the norm.  When in the company of others I would be the jovial, caring and compassionate man everyone knew and loved.  What no one could see is the burning desire inside me that demanded I seek solitude and when solitude came, so did peace.  Those late hours when only the odd sounds of the night, the constant hum of the city interrupted by the occasional cat meowing or dog barking, could be heard and no soul could be felt where my happiest moments.  The moments where no expressions of happiness or sorrow where required. The hours when I could slip deep into myself and wonder at the world around me. My dreams where the waking moments while those moments in the night right before slumber where the most real.  Did anyone feel as I did? I often wondered. And the answer always came, exactly the same every night. Of course they knew, but, much like me, what choice did they have. Survival required the same duties of everyone and everyone had to follow the rules or face extinction.

And so life went.   Dutifully during the day and peacefully in the night.  I embraced my education as an escape rather than from a desire to acquire knowledge.  Studying and understanding required a significant amount of solitude. Through all the years I had the recurring feeling of something lost.  I attributed that sense of anxiety that creeps upon the soul from the depths of an abused reality of the past to the duality in which I had forced myself.  Could liberation be at hand. Is it ever possible to live the life that I wanted, rather than the one to which I was bound by a reality shaped for me by many preceding generations of the people who constructed the lie.  In all my trials I could find no escape. This is the way it has to be done.

I could not fathom what I knew will have to be done. Marriage was the next step of the process.  It needed to happen. I was an aging man now with no wife that I did not desire and no children that I did not want.  Yet the idea of marriage could not escape me. I must adhere to the standards in order to at least appear to be normal. I am content in my own world, but the world as I knew it and in which I must continue to survive would not let me. That hunger of the world around me required that I shall be consumed by its norms.  I was growing tired of the sadness that people showed me when they would inquire about my children and learned that I had none. So marriage must happen and children must be had in order that I maybe seen as normal. That is the world and it demanded it. I consented to the demands as I have always done. I must meet a deserving woman who would be my wife and we shall have a reasonable number of kids, maybe three, I thought. A sense of anxiety prevailed over me.

I was not a hermit or anything of the sort.  I had been with women at different times in my life; some of whom lasted for years while others mere weeks.  I told a few that I loved them even though I did not truly know what that meant or what it entailed. What behavior was expected of a man in love.  I did not know so I could not emulate. Those were relationship that in the depths of my soul I knew can be severed at any point in time and I would move on and continue with the life that I have lived where no past mattered and no future to be realized.

But now it’s different.  The woman to find is one that I will marry and we are expected to procreate together, at least three times by my estimation.  More importantly, it has to be someone who will tolerate my idiosyncrasies. The times I will undoubtedly tire of the incessant need she will have to be in my presence at all times and I will seek solitude but not be able to either explain or convince her of why I would need that. It seemed like an impossible task at first yet I knew it can be done.  Others have done it so It must be doable. Yet, I had no reasonable idea of how I am to convince someone that I am deserving of the commitment that I wanted when I did not truly desire the commitment and neither felt deserving of being its recipient. What I did not expect or did not know at the time was that I am about to fall in love, true unadulterated love for the first time in my life and I am not to understand it until many years later.

In the middle of the room I had rested my left arm around her shoulder and she wrapped her right limb, humerus resting on the small of my back and the lower portions wrapped firmly but loosely around my waist, as I looked down and to the left where she stood, she looked up at me with her great brown eyes, shining with happiness, and closed and open them twice.  two quick shots in succession transpierced my eyes and bounced around my brain activating switches that had been dormant for many years and, as if a a roadway opened inside me for that little creatures message to gently meander through the expanse of my inner self, she rested gently in a space within my chest that I have never known existed. It was deep inside me, so deep and so empty. My heart quivered as if making more room for whatever that was that now inhabited me, I felt dizziness brought about by the immense confusion as to what had just happened.  a teenager had just made me feel the wonders that I have missed in all the nearly forty years that have thus far been my life. The dullness left me and true happiness took me over like a wild storm takes over a twig. I wanted that child in my life more than I ever wanted anything. With her, in that moment, I had formed an everlasting bond. A bond that can never be broken by distance or time. So I married her mother and she became my daughter.