Memory - Reflection
It was a cold winter morning, later on in the winter.
The snow was all around - dirty, used snow.
The streets and sidewalks were white with a few months of accumulation of salt.
The wind blew sporadically, catching me unaware.
My nose was running and I had nothing but my mittens to wipe it on.
I looked up at the billowing clouds rising out of the smokestack at the hospital.
Early enough on a Sunday morning that no one was on the street, just a few cars here and there.
Everyone else was warm, in bed.
I had not slept in bed last night. In fact, looking back, that may have been the first night ever I had not slept in a bed or a sleeping bag.
I slept sprawled out in a chair at a friend's house. Let's call him Steve.
We had gone out drinking the night before.
I was new to drinking, especially new to the concept of drinking for the sake of drinking.
I was new to town.
I was new to that life and that lifestyle.
As I walked along the street that cold late winter morning, I passed a church - a United Church of Christ that advertised itself as "the Friendly Church." I remembered seeing that sign on my first visit to town, four years ago. A lifetime ago. I had different friends at that point, different expectations of life, a different life. Of the four friends who were in the car with me that day, only one was still speaking to me, and he and I had never been good friends. The other three, had cut me off, entirely. I was pariah - persona non grata.
And here I was, walking by the selfsame church, four years later. I smiled inwardly, for even though it had occurred in a different lifetime, it was still a happy memory.
Today was happier though.
Today, with it's cold, bitter wind, stiff neck from sleeping in a chair, pounding hangover and vague recollection of just where I had parked my car the night before (would it still be there? ticketed?),
was happier.
The night before, the drinking, the "hanging out" was real friendship. I was accepted not because of anything I did, or any potential benefit I might give to them, not because I was witty, intelligent or connected (who is witty, intelligent or connected when they're drunk anyway?).
I was just a guy.
just another guy.
So different from four years before.
I can't say that I was warmed from within by some mystic sense of camaraderie and self-satisfaction,
truth is, I was fucking cold.
But I was happy.
I was normal, or at least a good number of people thought so.
They bought me drinks, I bought them drinks.
Steve taught me how to play pool, taught me how to do shots,
yelled at me for standing with my hands in my pockets,
hugged me,
told me to fuck off on occasion,
accepted me. and so had all his friends.
Back at their house, I had fallen asleep on the couch.
I woke up, not with fritos in my mouth and marker all over my face,
but with a blanket thrown over me, for warmth.
another guy was asleep on the couch,
Andy and his girlfriend of the week fucked casually and quietly in the front bedroom, with the door wide open.
occasional footsteps sounded upstairs as guys went to the bathroom.
the air smelled faintly of pot, tobacco, stale beer.
the TV was on to the cartoon network, but the sound turned off.
I was in a different world.
and I left that world, went out into the cold, to get my car, which I left downtown.
it seemed a much longer walk back to the car than it had seemed walking from downtown with a half dozen drunken guys and three girls (Steve and Andy could never seem to sleep alone, and couchgirl who lived next door came back with us). I didn't care.
I was alone, but I didn't feel alone.
I knew that life had changed.
I knew then
at that moment
that I would continue to be accepted
and if I was not accepted
by them
or by anyone else,
I could simply respond: fuck off
and slap them on the back and laugh.
With a melancholy smile - for why had it taken so long for me to get to that place? - I stubbornly stuck my hands in my pockets, smiled into the wind, and kept looking for my car.
The snow was all around - dirty, used snow.
The streets and sidewalks were white with a few months of accumulation of salt.
The wind blew sporadically, catching me unaware.
My nose was running and I had nothing but my mittens to wipe it on.
I looked up at the billowing clouds rising out of the smokestack at the hospital.
Early enough on a Sunday morning that no one was on the street, just a few cars here and there.
Everyone else was warm, in bed.
I had not slept in bed last night. In fact, looking back, that may have been the first night ever I had not slept in a bed or a sleeping bag.
I slept sprawled out in a chair at a friend's house. Let's call him Steve.
We had gone out drinking the night before.
I was new to drinking, especially new to the concept of drinking for the sake of drinking.
I was new to town.
I was new to that life and that lifestyle.
As I walked along the street that cold late winter morning, I passed a church - a United Church of Christ that advertised itself as "the Friendly Church." I remembered seeing that sign on my first visit to town, four years ago. A lifetime ago. I had different friends at that point, different expectations of life, a different life. Of the four friends who were in the car with me that day, only one was still speaking to me, and he and I had never been good friends. The other three, had cut me off, entirely. I was pariah - persona non grata.
And here I was, walking by the selfsame church, four years later. I smiled inwardly, for even though it had occurred in a different lifetime, it was still a happy memory.
Today was happier though.
Today, with it's cold, bitter wind, stiff neck from sleeping in a chair, pounding hangover and vague recollection of just where I had parked my car the night before (would it still be there? ticketed?),
was happier.
The night before, the drinking, the "hanging out" was real friendship. I was accepted not because of anything I did, or any potential benefit I might give to them, not because I was witty, intelligent or connected (who is witty, intelligent or connected when they're drunk anyway?).
I was just a guy.
just another guy.
So different from four years before.
I can't say that I was warmed from within by some mystic sense of camaraderie and self-satisfaction,
truth is, I was fucking cold.
But I was happy.
I was normal, or at least a good number of people thought so.
They bought me drinks, I bought them drinks.
Steve taught me how to play pool, taught me how to do shots,
yelled at me for standing with my hands in my pockets,
hugged me,
told me to fuck off on occasion,
accepted me. and so had all his friends.
Back at their house, I had fallen asleep on the couch.
I woke up, not with fritos in my mouth and marker all over my face,
but with a blanket thrown over me, for warmth.
another guy was asleep on the couch,
Andy and his girlfriend of the week fucked casually and quietly in the front bedroom, with the door wide open.
occasional footsteps sounded upstairs as guys went to the bathroom.
the air smelled faintly of pot, tobacco, stale beer.
the TV was on to the cartoon network, but the sound turned off.
I was in a different world.
and I left that world, went out into the cold, to get my car, which I left downtown.
it seemed a much longer walk back to the car than it had seemed walking from downtown with a half dozen drunken guys and three girls (Steve and Andy could never seem to sleep alone, and couchgirl who lived next door came back with us). I didn't care.
I was alone, but I didn't feel alone.
I knew that life had changed.
I knew then
at that moment
that I would continue to be accepted
and if I was not accepted
by them
or by anyone else,
I could simply respond: fuck off
and slap them on the back and laugh.
With a melancholy smile - for why had it taken so long for me to get to that place? - I stubbornly stuck my hands in my pockets, smiled into the wind, and kept looking for my car.