Chapter 2... (Chapter 1 - March 29, 2011 post)

The Death Notice

People are in your life for a reason...that's it. Screw that "season or lifetime" add-on. That gives people too many options. Too many opportunities to reminisce and over-assign their feelings to (often) unwilling characters in their lives. To define "season" and "lifetime" subjectively. To assume that they were just as integral to someone's life as they made others in their own. Having too many options leads people astray. So simplify it...a reason...ONE reason...and it doesn't have to be grand, deep or profound!

I always have these fantastic thoughts too damn late. Like that cute guy who held the door open for me as I approached the door to the bank. He was just there to ensure my entrance. That's it. He wasn't meant for the long conversation I ended up having with him, and definitely not the exchange of numbers that followed. Of course, the possibility of him only being a hot ass doorman never crossed my mind until I found myself (once again) out on a date wishing I was at home watching a “Law & Order: Special Victims Unit” marathon. It just wasn’t right. The chemistry just wasn’t there. Or maybe it was me…as usual…not…there.

Haven’t been “there” for a while. You know…in that place where your hands are open and empty and you just can’t wait to receive whatever the hell the world decides to send your way. The last time I felt this way, I messed around and fell in love with someone I was just supposed to meet for a reason…to read my father’s eulogy. That’s it. He wasn’t meant for me to love…evidently, because he isn’t here now. Hasn’t been for a while. And just when I was getting used to the idea that we were one of those fluke relationships that happen when you think you’re grown, but are actually too immature to realize that real adults don’t “think they’re grown,” our paths unnecessarily crossed again and brought me to this sick, reflective blog post (which I’m writing, coincidentally, 10 years to the day I met him). This time, the intersection was deliberate…and painful.

Suddenly, I’m 20 again. Trying to find a way to bury my dead issues. Trying to get over the man who hurt me most. Then it was my sperm donor. Now, it’s Vaughn Stokes. (It’s been years since I’ve written his name…and it still stings a little.) Back then, I was damn sure a reason-season-lifetime person, believing in soul mates, “meant to be,” and the planets aligning. About to graduate from college, head all in the clouds, and stupid enough to believe that a male really understood how to love me just because he knew how to spell all the words in that trite phrase, “I love you.” (Hmmm) He even said it first. And when you’re young, you think that means something…

But in the light of too-damn-old-to-believe-in-fairytales, perhaps it was just a serving suggestion. You know, like on the front of a box of Stove Top stuffing. It’s chicken-flavored, so (naturally) there’s a picture of the stuffing next to a nice, juicy chicken leg and a green vegetable. And the buyer believes that’s the way to serve it instead of one of many alternatives that may not even include chicken. That’s how I view his love – a serving suggestion for a processed side dish. An experiment of words first with hope that actions would follow. Maybe the phrase ended in a question mark, and in my pre-blogger days, I ignored the punctuation and the emphasis. I love you? I love you? Maybe I should have paid attention and evaluated the reason for the quick proclamation. Perhaps it was my wanting to believe it and his wanting to mean it that caused our self-destruction. Maybe we let each other down…

…and these thoughts flooded my mind because I received an invitation to his wedding. TODAY! Of all days, he would choose this day to deliver his coup de grace. Would someone who ever loved me do something like that? If he knew me at all, wouldn’t he have known that I wouldn’t want to be there? We aren’t friends anymore, but this aggressive blow went straight to my heart…or what’s left of it. I left most of it with him when I walked away from our twisted romance five years ago. He was not kind enough to return it, unless, of course, it was pulverized and left at the bottom of the envelope. I didn’t check. Once I saw his name next to another woman’s and connected to the phrase “witness the fulfillment of their love and commitment to one another,” I dropped the envelope and walked away. I have no intentions of picking it up until I’m ready to throw it in the garbage. But for now, I won’t even be in the same room with it. Not that it really matters because he’s here again…with me…disturbing the peace of mind I was trying to believe in…just like I tried to believe in an “us” that was really only supposed to be “me” and “him.”

I turned a reason into a season, hoping it would end in a lifetime…and in one way it did. A lifetime of trying to forget him who forgot me long ago.

And that’s...the Truth…For Now…
Stormy S.
August 10, 2011

The Beginning of Something…?

The Eulogy - August 10, 2001

"Hey, you gotta minute?"

"Me?"

"Yeah…do…you… have a minute?" she asked in a smartass tone so familiar I thought I actually knew her. It was 2001. I was 22; she, a couple of years younger and (obviously) nuts.

"Nah. Don't think I gotta minute." I wanted to get away from her a.s.a.p.

"Oh, okay. It's just that…I'm writing my father's eulogy…and…I could use an indiscriminate ear. You know…all my friends would just tell me what they thought I wanted to hear…"

"You're writing your father's eulogy at Borders?" That's where we were.

"They got good chai tea here." And then a hint of a smile, but her eyes were dead serious.

"O-kay. I guess I do gotta minute then." I really didn't have anything important to do. I was actually on my way to meet a girl I had met at that same Borders the week before. I wouldn't have called that something to do, though. I was always meeting girls back then.

"Thanks. Give me your honest opinion."

"Most definitely," I said as I took a seat in the leather chair beside her.

"Okay…" She began, "Losing a loved one is never easy, especially when that loved one is your parent. That's why I'm here to pay my respect to Mr. James Sterling, Jr. because he was neither loved by me nor a parent to me, so he is making this process a breeze. True, he did contribute sperm, which, in turn, offered me 23 chromosomes towards life. But our bond ends there. James Sterling, Jr., commonly known on the streets by the 'unique' moniker, 'J.R.,' did nothing in life that he didn't want to and everything that he 'felt like' doing. Living this way takes balls. It's an all-or-nothing sort of life, and that's just what he had. Ironically, this is what I admire about him the most. He didn't believe in gray areas. He was black and white. He threw his life into the drug game (ALL). He didn't give a damn about being a father (NOTHING). He loved having a lot of girls, so he did (ALL). My mother wasn't a girl. She was a woman, so he gave her… (PAUSE IN TEACHER FASHION AND WAIT TO SEE IF THE AUDIENCE WILL FILL IN THE BLANKS, AND WHETHER THEY DO OR THEY DON'T SAY…) NOTHING!

[By the way, she actually read that whole part about pausing to me. I told you she was nuts.]

He was a person determined to be absolutely selfish, self-serving, and a legend in his own mind. He taught me what not to look for in a partner and how not to be treated by anyone. And he also gave me the gift of saying that I was his greatest accomplishment.
To the other kids J.R. may have floating around the District, some who may surface at this funeral today, I offer this comfort: If you did not know him, don't be sad. He didn't really know himself, so he had nothing to offer you but shitty street clichés and shameless excuses. You didn't miss anything, so you don't have the daunting task of trying to forget that train wreck. Make new paths for yourselves; he left no footsteps worth following. If anyone is mad at anything I've said it's because he fooled you into believing he was better than he was. But remember, he's dead because he didn't even believe that himself."

I was speechless. Was she serious? Didn't know, so I asked.

"Dead ass…"was her response. She was direct. Aggressive. Attractive because she was different.

"When did he die?"

She smiled. "What's your name?"

"I'm afraid to tell you…honestly."

"It's okay. You're probably not interesting or important enough for me to remember…'honestly' back at ya."Still smiling. "But my father ain't dead yet, obnoxious stranger. Thanks for listening."

And she got up and walked away. Like it was nothing. I watched her behind sway from left to right. Not bad.

Gone from my life as quickly and awkwardly as she came in. But she left something behind that made me begin to understand that everything really does happen for a reason. Back then, though, I didn't have a clue why…

I think this is going somewhere...stay tuned...if anyone is even tuned in the first place...