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By MichaelT (foolishly) Submitted by Michael() Date: 2006 Dec 28 Comment on this Work [[2006.12.28.22.17.20614]] |
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There's a lot of names for it. Click! Eureka! Aha! That moment in every mystery where you get it and you feel stupid for not getting it earlier. It's worse where you didn't even know there was a mystery in the first place. When the realization is something that fundamentally changes how you understand things, it has another special name. In Zen they call it Satori. I was sitting at my desk at work on a Sunday, staring at the screen searching for the millionaire dream. She logged into the instant messenger. The comment on her name mentioned "celebrex". I fancied her greatly. The shakes you deep down in your soul kind of fancy. The way your do when you don't know any better because you've been hurt - but you're young and stupid and you just don't think it could ever happen again fancy. I'm not sure she ever understood why I did fancy her. One of the reasons was probably the joy in her green eyes. The way a piece of chocolate would visibly change the way her whole body was positioned. The expression on her face as the wine she drank at Chateau St Michelle mixed with Adam's singing at the Counting Crows concert. Even the way she ate Americanized Chinese Food. Every time one of my crafty romantic tragicomedy schemes brought us together on a group gathering or friend date, I launguished in the joy that I felt watching her be happy in the moment. I soaked it up like a SAD schmuck on a sunny warm August in Seattle. Celebrex was what woke me from my mental slumber. She has migranes. Deep, killer, turn out the lights and hope for the world to go away migranes. I knew she had tried every type of medicine on the planet. I knew that her neck and back would knot up from it. I knew it because there was a time when I worked some of those knots out, and that brought me joy as well. But I knew this like you know that a mile is 5280 feet. Cut, dry, simple, unconcerned. Knowing why she loved what she did and how much it hurt her, and how much she knew it did woke me up. She didn't love me, and never would. I knew because it took me back another time - when I was loved and loved in return, yet still did not see and understand. Eighteen on my birthday, Spaghetti warehouse, dinner and a movie, desert menus. Peanut butter delight. My first love. "Love" was allergic to it. Loved it. Couldn't have it. Made me order it, smiling as I ate it. What could normally cause envy caused her joy - because she loved me and my joy was her joy. But her joy caused me a little sadness, because I knew her pain. Love and love and joy and pain. I lost my first love for many reasons, one of which was that I gazed into her blue eyes until I was lost, but still never saw what she needed. Never saw that we were too young and too immature to bridge our diverging futures. 25 and still stupid, sitting at my desk on work on a Sunday, a tear or three sliding out slowly. Pennies slipping from the tight fist of a miser, finally ready to take the loss and look somewhere else. Maybe a little wisdom learned, bought and paid for the hard way. Unfortunately not enough. I'm 29 and still stupid, walking along the beach. The sun relaxes into the blue sky, floating on it's back in anticipation of sinking into clear blue water. Pet names, playful games, light tension over shared aims. Marriage sitting in the back of my mind, a ring, a house not far behind. Maybe a kid or two or three. Whatever she wants to do with me. There were spats of course. She loves kids every chance she gets, but constantly asks if I really want to have them. Money matters that shouldn't matter. Questions if we're really right for each other. I didn't understand. And she tells me that children aren't coming. She can't have them, the pills are for her health, and if we're together and I'm faithful, then neither can I. And I think back again to a mystery that I didn't see. She loves me, but can't give me something that she thinks will make me happy. And my pain is her pain. Suffered in silence for a year, worried that any minute this will be over. Her pain is my pain. Shocked and awed and stupid with concern of losing the everyday joy of our life together. Would I trade the joy of my life with her for the joy of child? How do you grieve for what you don't even have yet? Why do I grieve for what I don't even have yet? Love and love, and joy and pain. A few tears for the pain she'd felt. A few for the choice I've chosen, and must choose every day. Is there a moral to this story? If there is I guess it would be - Look! Listen! Feel! It's probably a koan. Now I'm 30 and still stupid. Maybe a little wiser than 25. "Celebrex" is getting married. I am very happy for her. I still feel, the way you do when you realize that's just how you are, and it doesn't matter how old you get or how many times you've loved. Her joy is still my joy, and the pain of my greedy heart is still there too. Grief for what I never had and probably never will. Love and love, and joy and pain. All mix together in a warm Texas rain. |