Half-Life, Remembered

When I was in High School, I worked at a pizza parlor, and sometimes I made and rolled the dough.  The dough room was long and narrow and very white.  There was a small radio that sat on a ledge near the high ceiling by a row of windows that were far too high to see out.  Up on the window ledge a radio blared, far beyond its sonic capabilities, a radio station that had a penchant for late 80s Top 40 hair metal.  The white walls were decorated with beer and wine cooler posters, brought in by beer distribution sales reps.  All of them depicted attractive models in bikinis holding bottles of beer.  One, in particular stands out in my memory.  It had three models laying out on a Budweiser logo blanket, while wearing Budweiser bathing suits.  Somehow they had become Budweiser.  I used to stare at this poster for hours.  It’s no wonder I used to get a little aroused every time I saw a can of Budweiser.

 

Back then, I used to buy all kinds of posters.  None of them were beer posters.  Unsurprisingly, I bought a lot of rock-n-roll posters of my favorite bands.  I especially enjoyed those subway style posters, which were large and more graphic in design.  I was not really interested in posed band pictures, or live action pictures.  My most treasured poster was a massive New Order Substance poster with the blue flower thingy.  During those times, and into my early twenties, I began to amass quite a collection of great music posters, bumper stickers, concert flyers and badges.  For some reason, I never displayed them.  Those posters never made it onto a wall at any place I’ve ever lived.  None of those stickers were stuck on anything.  Those posters remained inside a pair of poster tubes for years, until I finally donated those tubes to charity years ago. 

 

When I went away to college, my dorm room roommate became a close friend and he immediately decorated his side of our shared space with Siouxsie and the Banshees and Iron Maiden posters.  The room became his.  I remember staring at giant pictures of Siouxsie Sioux and Eddie, while trying to go to sleep.  My side of the room remained blank, until about mid school year, when I finally put a small concert flyer for a band named Skin Yard that I had ripped off of a telephone pole.  I placed the flyer too high on the wall, and it was mildly askew.  Its meager presence only enhanced the otherwise emptiness of the walls.

 

I’ve begun wondering why this is.  I mean, I had tons and tons of artwork for coveted bands in posters that I could’ve proudly displayed, but I never did, nor did I have any inclination.  Oddly enough, I think it’s due to my health.  When I was diagnosed with Von Hippel Lindau (VHL) in 1985 as an 8^th grader, I think I began to see life and any lifestyle that I would ever choose as temporary.  I’ve mentioned it on this space before, but I was 13 when I decided to never have children due to the genetic danger of passing VHL along, but beyond that I think I began to be wary of getting involved with relationships in general, because I felt that they had no chance of lasting, I think I lost a lot of ambition due to the idea that I would constantly be side-tracked by continuing health crises, so I have a history of working at jobs, just to earn money, not to try to maximize my potential.  Ironically, I have stayed at jobs forever, again, I think it’s because I am always waiting for the other shoe to drop, and by “other shoe,” I mean serious surgery.  Instead of being ambitious, I just remain in place until the next surgery.  I think this notion of temporariness has affected my life on more levels than I can ever realize.  I think it is the reason why I have always been reluctant to make my home – feel like my home – something as small as decorating the walls. 

Regrets have been a huge part of my life.  I have tortured myself ever since I became old enough to make any kind of real decisions, and just now, I think I know why.  I have experienced a lot of life’s stops and restarts due to VHL and its various surgical maintenance needs, and I can attest that they are difficult and frustrating.  Yet, the fact that I have never allowed myself a sense of purpose, or home, or permanence, has been devastating.  I have short changed all of the people I’ve met along the way too.  I have a small handful of long-time friends who I grew up with pre-VHL, but I could have had more, if I ever let people in.  I think this mindset is a big reason why I have always been so slow to trust.  The more I consider this notion, the more I realize that I have lived the last 35+ years with a mentality that I cannot be a part of things, because I’ll only be around for a moment.  It’s like a life philosophy based on the idea that I don’t want to play the game at the party, because my ride will be here any minute.  It feels ridiculous, but I can honestly say that I have never made these decisions to avoid things consciously.  I have agonized over missed opportunities, due to these decisions for eons.  Looking back at my life under this new realization makes everything feel pretty damn ridiculous, but I really am that clueless!

Sadly, there’s nothing I can do about the past.  Perhaps, I can now move forward with clearer thoughts and more informed decision making, though I worry that it’s too late.  I am at that age where I should now be reaping the benefits of all of those important life decisions of the past – those decisions that I made with the mindset that I didn’t have a future to consider, nor did I believe that future me worth the bother.

 

Country Mile

My back was against the door handle of the backseat of the car. The sizzling sound of the wheels on the wet blacktop outside irritated the inside of my ears. The green dashboard lights began to illuminate the interior of the car as the dusk darkened the sky. In the fading light, I watched the scrambling beads of water on the opposite window dance across the outside of the glass. The shapes stretched and expanded trying to break free from their constraints, but were unable to do so. Behind the action, the darkening sky was briefly brightened by a sliver of blue peaking in between the menacing autumn clouds and the green horizon they were moving towards. My legs were extended across the backseat and my feet were pressed firmly against the other door. I imagined her sitting next to me, where my legs were. I could see a smile forming at the corner of her mouth the way it always used to when she didn’t want to think I had done something funny. It had taken me a long time to realize that I really loved her, so I never told her. The last time I saw her, she was standing with a group of her friends. I had considered going over to say goodbye, but instead I nodded and exited, oblivious to the sadness in her eyes. The car rocked from a hole in the narrow two lane highway, knocking me out of my reflection. My stomach burned. I was going back home to regret.

****

The first time I remember feeling something different about her was years after we met. A lifetime. So long that I don't remember ever meeting her. She had always been there. This day was different. We were playing Connect 4 on the back patio of her mom's house in the shade. Our parents were sitting on the lawn in the sun drinking lemonade and talking about whatever. Being with her must have always been an indifferent experience - until that moment. Things had never been bad nor good when I was with her. I had been conscious of what everyone else was doing and what I was not. But, now, there we were at the table competing, which seemed to be our history. We had always played games. This time, I could not win a game. We were sitting on either side of a round patio table. I kept my gaze on the blurry textures of the glass table top. I was keenly aware of the towering dark green hedges surrounding the rectangular yard and of the slowly moving shadow of the house drifting across the lawn. I could not look at her, because I was afraid of my nervous confusion. She continued to laugh at my continuous demise and I would half-heartedly quote the bitter kid from the Connect 4 70s TV ads: "Pretty sneaky sis." This was the moment I first realized that I had become lost.

****

I followed a crack in the blacktop pathway. The incline stiffened the deteriorating joints in my legs, as I strained my neck upwards to see the top of the hill. I released a long exhale at the peak and released the tension that had built into my body and up into my temples. The low sun sat behind the seemingly endless rolling hills, making me believe or wish that there was no longer a civilization. At the same time, I felt like the tiny bumps of trees and clear cuts to the south were blocking something grand. I pondered this idea, but lost the thought while examining the shadows of the scattered pine trees dotting some of the hillsides. These shadows became the only thing in my vision that offered definition, yet they were ethereal. Those shadows aren’t really there. My mourning was tempered with pride and determination. I am better having known her.