In a Used Book Shop

We met in that used book shop on Main street, the name of which is both inconsequential and easily forgotten.  Next door there was once a barber shop and on the other side a hardware store both stand empty these days.  I remember when I arrived the odors of mildew, mold, old leather, canvas and dust were the first things I noticed.  It smelled of history and memories, I felt almost as if I had entered the chapel of such things.

We met in the Fantasy section, which was only appropriate as we both seemed to need one.  We had both been abandoned, her when he passed and I when I had been tossed aside like a useless thing.  We both had scars where we had been mishandled, we were old and forgotten, our lives long, our journeys many, children had left their markings on us both as well. We weren't completely sad sacks, there was some joy in us both still, but it seemed buried in heavy burdens.

She brought me to the coffee shop across the street and I  opened up to her and told her stories of times long past or maybe they were of a future yet to be,  who can know such things. She touched me gently and let me tell my stories, I could hear the stories in her heart and so I pushed forward those tales that might most affect her. She shed a silent tear as she seemed to reminisce about him, but she bravely continued on.  When we were exhausted, she let me go with a promise to see me again soon.

She was true to her promise and soon she could not leave me be for very long. She wanted to be distracted, to forget pains new and old. I could not help but give myself fully to her, as she was always so gentle, always wary of my wounds, always wary of my sensitive nature. Then I made her weep, a memory too far I guess, it wasn't new to me, I often caused people to weep. I was stained with tears both of joy and sadness. She did not give up on me though and she actually seemed joyful of those tears she had let go.

However our time together was coming to an end, I could feel the anxiety of that moment fast approaching, that tension was noticeable in both of us. I did not want it to end and neither did she, I was certain of that.  All stories have endings, it is rare they are happily ever after either, more often than not someone is in pain when we touch that last page.

She avoided me more toward the end, she was putting off the inevitable and it was obvious to both of us. She always said there were just more pressing matters to attend to and I don't doubt there may have been, but we both knew she did not wish to reach that finality.

In the end, we parted with her smiling, something I was glad for. She closed my cover and held me to her breast, then put me high upon her shelf and touched me gently along the spine. I needed her to hear my tale, she needed my distraction.

A Thousand Little Scratches, Scrapes and Bruises

I am writing this on my phone with no idea if I will even post this. I am also texting tonight with my ex-wife about our daughter and her current teenage attitude issues. As I do I'm reminiscing about my own teenage years and how I felt during that time. How sure I was that every person hated me, or didn't know the true me.  So much anger and sadness filled me, I don't think could have seen the forest for the trees if I even tried.

I have heard of the frailty of the human condition and always thought it referred to our physical bodies and while I'm sure it does, maybe our psyches are our true points of fragility. Our wounded ego and id suffer for much longer than our flesh and bone injuries. 

I am remembering a particular slight that hurt my mushy ego when I was about 17, but I will write the events of the evening in reverse order. We had been drinking, Dan, myself and some girls, though I can't be sure which group of girls it was.  We were downtown and I needed to pee, but I couldn't find a restroom so I peed between two cars while my friends were a short distance off. As I urinated a flashlight beam found me and I quickly covered up. A voice bellowed out "what are you up to there? " I replied shakily "nothing". I can see the look on the security guard's face even now, he smirked (in a way that said 'here comes a penis joke') looked to the girls and said "yeah that's what it looked like to me too".
Now I can feel that wound even now, it seems minor and I shouldn't remember it so clearly, but here is why it is silly. We had driven there drunk, a highly dangerous activity that I didn't have the sense to understand back then, we really didn't understand that drinking itself was dangerous.

However before that we had been in the parking lot of the ice rink. I sat on the hood of my Mustang and drank, at some point Dan decided to drive the car with me on it and I unwisely stood up. All was going well until Dan turned the vehicle going 25 mph. Anyone who understands physics knows that the vehicle turned, but my body continued in motion in the same direction it had been traveling. I somehow did a tuck and roll and slid to a stop on the asphalt using my shoulder, butt and hands as brakes. You see I can't remember the pain of the road rash at all, but that guard, I can't forget.  I could have died that night, but I focus on a poorly made penis joke that didn't even really make sense.

I was reminded on a couple of occasions how focused we become on those types of wounds and how they consume us. Years ago shortly after my ex-wife and I married, she was describing to me the Grandmother she hated. I prodded a bit, asking what was so wrong about her, was she cruel? Did she not love Amber? Did she say something horrible or racist?  "No, none of that" Amber said "she wouldn't peel my orange".  I laughed, years of anger and hatred, because of an orange peel? Yes, that minor affront had seemed so large at the time that she has forgotten everything her Grandmother had done that was sweet and loving.

In highschool I was so sure everyone hated me that when I first got Facebook, I couldn't understand how these people were sending me friend requests.  How dare they after all these years attempt to act like nothing had happened? Probably because as they saw it then and I see it now they never actually acted unkind to me.

So, I remember how I felt back then, I was overwhelmed with the pain of a thousand scratches, scrapes and bruises to my ego.  I focused so deeply on those minor injuries, but I left them open and they festered. Until I looked through the corrective lenses of time and distance and saw them for what they were and finally allowed them to heal.

My daughter is going through that period in her life where she can only see the bruised ego. A time that has her so focused on her own personal perceived injuries, she doesn't appear to notice that she is wounding her mother with words and looks in defense of something that has not occurred.  I know they love one another, but right now neither can see it in the other's heart.  I wish I could be with them to referee, but being here on the road doesn't make it possible,  it is less like being a referee and more like playing telephone where I must relay the messages as best I can between them without ever letting the other one know what I'm doing to help them.  I realize that is a horrible ending to all this, but I'm not sure what else I can say.