Life is a precious thing.... (extremely long post)
This will be my last post... I am writing it to Michelle, and to Steph, and to Sandra, and to Charene, and to Ted. I am writing it to fill you in on what I could not tell you this past week. I know there are others who will read it. Some may have wound up here by clicking the "random" button, as I myself have done many times before. But to all those who read this, may whatever power you believe in bring peace to your life.
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It's an easy enough thing to say... that life is precious. And in this month of tragedy, it has become painfully obvious how true it is.
I can't say that I lost anyone close to me in the September 11th attacks. I knew a couple people in buildings near the World Trade Center, and one of my classmates works at the Pentagon, but none of them were in any real danger and all escaped physically unharmed. People have been saying that nothing will ever be the same, that we have lost our innocence, that we will go on, but that our lives have been forever altered. I doubt that is true. This has been a painful time for billions of people and a time of intense pain for thousands. But life does go on. We all fly our flags a little more, and get teary-eyed at the playing of patriotic songs, but for most of America, the events of two weeks ago were not life changing. In January 1986 they said life would never be the same, and today, the launch of a Space Shuttle is not even a news event. Stories of September 11th will be told for generations, but for most Americans, life goes on. As it must. For if it did not, then the terrorists would have truly won.
During my time in high school, I talked 13 people out of suicide, two of them twice each. Though I cannot take credit for the fact that they are alive today, after all, most suicide attempts are cries for help and attention, I did take pride that I was the one who was called. Perhaps too much pride, but pride nonetheless. I took it to mean something that people felt they could count on me, that they could trust me, that I could help them. Five of the thirteen people were not even people I would consider friends. They were friends of friends, or people I had shared classes with. People who had to get my phone number out of the phone book rather than the speed dial.
Most of the calls were not about life-changing pain. Most were just about the poorly timed buildup of emotion that can happen during the teen years. When coincedences lead young people down a path that they cannot see a way out of. Three of the calls however were about the kinds of pain that does not go away. One was a male friend of mine who had been sexually abused until he was 7 years old by his uncle. He had repressed the memory for several years until his parents were going out of town and wanted him to stay with that uncle. Everything rushed back to meet him and he felt completely overwhelmed. His uncle was the wealthiest member of the family and his parents were indebted to him in many ways. He called me at midnight to tell me that he felt the only way out was to end his life so that his parents would not have to suffer. I wish I could say that the story has a happy ending but it does not. My friends get tired of hearing my stories, Michelle, I know you in particular are tired of hearing the Chris Howerton story, but the only stories I tell are the ones that turn out okay. And I don't tell the story of what happened to Landon, because the story would only cause more pain. Though Landon is still alive, he has still not come to grips with his childhood and is now estranged from his parents as well.
The second of the three (which actually happened first) was a call from a former friend of mine my freshman year. We had been friends in 4th thru 6th grades but had drifted apart. He was a jock, I wasn't, and after about 7th grade jocks are not supposed to have other friends. He called me out of the blue crying. I didn't even know who it was at first. He told me that he couldn't think of anyone else to call. It seemed he went to his girlfriend's house earlier that night and had been able to get a couple six-packs of beer. She drank two, he drank about eight, and they started fooling around. She was still a virgin, he had lost his about a month before, a "gift" from his older brother. One thing led to another, they wound up naked. He wanted sex, she wasn't sure, and in his condition he decided it didn't matter and he raped her. He left her there crying and bloody and ran home. He called me about an hour later having come to the conclusion that he was going to end it all because there was no way he could face anyone ever again. I wanted to rip his heart out of his chest and show it to him for what he had done to her, I had never hated anyone as much as I hated him at that moment. But deep down I knew that him committing suicide was not the answer. He clearly regretted what he had done, and as he sobered up recognized what a terrible act he had committed. And while squeezing the life out of a teddy bear with one hand to keep from screaming I talked him out of killing himself. I wish this story had a happy ending, but how could it? He wound up with probation and community service and had to move to another state. She was so ashamed that she left the city as well. To my knowledge neither of the will touch a drop of alcohol to this day, and I myself cannot become intoxicated unless I am with people who I would trust to kill me if it came down to it. Because of the events of that night, I have only been under the influence with five people in my entire life. Ted, Laverne, Todd, Keith and Amanda. There have been other people present on occasion, but unless one of those five people has been present, I do not allow myself to reach that point.
The third case is the hardest for me to talk about and I am likely to make more typos while I write it, because I feel like if I don't get it all out in one breath it will not come out at all. So bear with me please, IO think if I try to edit this in any way I will wind up ersaing al of it.
In the spring of my junior year in high school I was smitten with one of tthe cheerleaders. Not the prettiest one, though I thought she was cute to,. I was smitted with a girl that I will call Ruby. I have kept her secrets this long and several of the people who are likely to read this actually know her. So she must remain Rubby for now.
Ruby and I spent a lot of time my junior year during seventh period which we both had free, talking about life and school and shitty boyfriends and parties and colleges and sports and whatnot. I knew what color Ruby's underwear was every day of my junior year, because in one of the bravest moments of my youth I asked her what color they were on the first day of school that year. And she didn't even flinch, though she did have to check, They were blue. and the next day I jokingly asked again, and after that it didn't take any bravery at all, it was a part of our relationship.
I wanted Ruby to be my girlfriend more that anything in the world that year. And I suffered through more refrains of 'why can't i find a guy like you?' than I can possibly count. Because it was impicit in the question that she didn't actually want me. We talked about all of her boyfriends. She was the third cheerleader to lose her viriginity at our small Catholic high school, doing so just before school started. She told me about him, and about the next boyfriend, and the next one, and the next one. None were from our school. I guess familiarity breeds contempt because almost none of our girls went out with guys from our school. They all went elsewhere. Or so it seemed.
Ruby didn't sleep with a second guy until the January just before coming back from the 3 week Christmas break. The second guy was actually a lot like me and it gave me hope for my own success, though deep down I knew that the relationship Ruby and I had was more special to both of us than anything she had with her beaus.
She came up to me in a panic one afternoon in February, telling me she had to talk to methat night. She wouldn't tell me why which was weird, so we did our AP American History homework and then I went home. She called me around 9 or so and told me she was pregnant. Apparently the last time that she was with him over Christmas break they were really horny and did it three times in about an hour. But he had only brought two condoms. They figured there wouldn't be much left and she was due for her period in a couple days so the timing should have been okay and they went ahead. Well her period didn't come, but she didn't worry much as she missed at least one or two cycles a year because she was so thin. But when it didn't come in February she freaked and bought a test and found out.
Her plan was to kill herself because she didn't think she could live with herself if she had an abortion and knew that her parents would freak if she had the kid. As soon as she told me I started to freak because I had no idea what the hell I could do to help her and this was someone that I thought I was really in love with. I don't think she would have gone through with it, but she had pills there with her, I could hear them rattling in their bottle while she would cry. After a couple hours she promised me that she wouldn't do anything that night.
We talked for five hours after school the next day, walking laps around the track while trying to figure out what she could do. And she eventually decided that she could deal with having the abortion better than she could deal with having the child. We were both products of the Catholic school system and were both strongly pro-life in theory. But theory went out the window when I walked around the track with Ruby that day. And I agreed to help her however I could. I had no car, and neither did she, so I offered to ride the bus with her to the clinic. She had an aunt she felt she could trust, who was only 6 years older than we were, and she decided to call her the next day to ask for the money.
She didn't come to school the next day, so I called her during lunch to see if she was okay. She sounded fine when she answered, but started crying immediately afterwards, and she told me that she had lost the baby that night. She had gotten up around 2am needing to pee, and then felt cramps on her way to the bathroom. It was over in minutes and she sat crying on the toilet until early that morning. I wanted so badly to go to her and hold her, but she felt like she needed to be alone, and so I stayed away.
Our friendship changed that day. I knew that there was no way that she and I would ever get together, though I couldm't really say why. And I also knew that she would always be there for me and me for her, no matter what. I haven't seen Ruby in several years. I don't even know what state she lives in now. But part of me knows that if either one of us ever needed anything the other would be there.
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When I got married my mother was terrified. She was 41 years old and was not happy about the concept of becoming a grandmother so soon. Laverne and I knew that we needed to wait before having kids. We were both still in school and didn't have insurance and certainly didn't have any money. The main reason we got married when we did instead of waiting another year (though we had already been engaged for 18 months) was to save money on student loans for school.
My wife went into full fledged meltdown by the end of our first year. Her body had a reaction to the birth control medication and it screwed up her thyroid gland. She put on over 100 pounds in 18 months despite starving herself for most of the time. One of the side effects of the condition was that she slept nearly 12 hours a day. All of her work ethic and drive shriveled up and she lost her job, her ambition, her identity, her soul. She saw dozens of doctors and they all said it was in her head and she should go on a diet.
I almost left her many times during the ordeal. Not because having a fat wife bothered me, but because I was worried that I was the cause of the problem. She had been so type A and I had been so type B that I worried it was all my fault. It wasn't until 6 months later that they discovered the thyroid problem. She had gone two full years by then, a shadow of her former self with no idea as to why.
As soon as she discovered the problem and got like 7 prescriptions and came home to tell me what the problem was, I hugged her like I had never hugged her before. I was so relieved that it wasn't me. That I was not the problem. I try so hard to be the solution in my friends' lives that living with the guilt that I might be at fault for her problems was tearing me up.
It took almost a year for her body to adjust to the medications. Some of the weight came off right away, most didn't. But the narcolepsy and the fatigue and the loss of drive gradually went away, and she set about to reclaim her life. I stood by her side every step of the way, proud to help her when she fell, proud to carry her spirits when they needed lifting, bragging to my friends about what a great wife I had.
After a year or so of stability we set about to the question of children. I want three or two, she wants two or three. They will all be boys unless we adopt, due to a quirk in genetics. But we made the decision to stop preventing pregnancy. The first time without a condom in five years was an awfully quick experience. I had gotten used to the lack of sensation and the amount of emotion running through both of us made it a passionate event. But we adjusted to the change as people do and set about our lives.
She got pregnant for the first time about 4 months later. She was about five or six weeks in when she lost it. She wasn't even sure if she was until it was over. We held each other and cried that night, and then held each other with all the love that two people can share.
The second time was a few months later and lasted about as long. We had just finished a bout of particularly passionate love when she started to get cramps. A couple hours later she told me that she must have been pregnant and the activity was too much. Her mother had had 8 miscarriages before having Laverne's brother and the family history certainly shows that it will be painful for us to see this thing through.
It's easy not to cry much when it's only a few weeks in. not that you don't cry at all, but if you haven't gone down the path, picking names, and clothes and paint swatches and ultrasounds and everything that goes with it. If you haven't gone down that path very far, it's easier somehow.
The third and fourth times we're not even sure if they count at all. She was late and then it came much heavier than normal and she had the other signs. But you don't know whether to even count them or not. We know that I am fertile and we know that her eggs are good. But her uterus is not. For genetic reasons every time down this path will be difficult.
The last time was about 8 months ago now. Just after the new year. She went so far as to buy a pregnancy test. Because rather than being late she viewed herself as pregnant. We tried not to get excited. There was a lot going on. Her job was stressful. I had employees threatening both my life and my business, and in amongst all of that there was this chance. But we couldn't anticipate success. Life doesn't work that way. And so when the cramps came again, we held each other in the dark and we faced the unknown together.
She has lived away from me for months now and our marriage has been troubled. Every month that ticks by is another missed opportunity. And we know that we cannot plan, cannot start taking temperatures and charting days on a calendar. We know we cannot. But I secretly plan, and secretly wish, that at some point I will have the chance to see what a great mother my wife will be. A chance to prove people right that I can be a good father. We will soon be reunited, and will soon have a chance to try again. But I hope we are not too late.
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My father-in-law will be dead within 3 years. He had a heart valve installed in 1987 that normally lasts only 10 years. Virtually none of the valves have ever lasted 15. The doctors would like to replace the valve with a new one, but because of his prostate cancer and the medications he takes to keep it from coming back, his system would not survive another heart surgery.
My own father has had six skin cancer surgeries in 4 years. Twice the tissue that was removed had begun to spread into the surrounding tissue. He must now see a dermatologist every month for the rest of his life. And even with monthly visits, two tumors formed last year. It is unlikely that he will make it five years unless medicine can find the 'magic bullet' for cancer. Research improves every year, but for millions of people it is already too late.
My mother had a quintuple bypass surgery in 1995. Her recovery has been spectacular, and my father was inspirational in his care for her during that time. All the hatred I had for him as a youth was washed away in those months of watching him care for my mother. She is better now, but still a shadow of where she was. Stresses affect her sooner. She is sick more often. And she is tired much of the time.
If my firstborn child arrives in the next couple years, four grandparents will have a chance to see him. He will not have a chance to know all of them (as I knew my own grandparents) but they will see the miracle of life continue. My son will in all likelihood know his maternal grandmother very well. She is the hardiest person I have ever met and may very well outlive me. My son will be better for knowing her.
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Five weeks ago, someone I call friend abandoned me. At first I was angry, and hurt, and confused. But I soon realized that someone needed her much, much more than I did. Someone needed her more than any of her other friends did. Someone who was hurt and confused herself. Someone who needed far more than a scoop of ice cream and a kiss on the forehead to make it all better.
When I realized what had happened, I called a friend that I hadn't called in almost six years. Someone who I knew I could trust. Someone who would not judge me for what I was about to ask. Someone who had known me at my best and at my worst and did not judge me either time. I told that friend everything. About the store. The wife. My employees. My new friends. My depression. Everything. That friend listened to me cry for six hours while I poured out my heart about where my life had gone. About what Mike had taken from me. About the mistakes I had made. About the things I had done. About the person I had been, and about the person I wanted to be again.
In the dark, on the couch, I asked my friend for forgiveness for what I was about to do. I had to choose between the law, my wife, and my word to the friend who abandoned me for such a higher purpose. I had juggled everything in my life to try to pull off the move to Oregon. I had the money balanced just right. I had just enough labor. I had just enough time. But lying there on the couch the 6th day of September, I knew that I no longer had what it took. As badly as I needed my friend to help me with my move, someone else needed her more. I couldn't move to Oregon at all. Not without breaking my promise to my friend. The only way I could pay for everything to get to Oregon was to break my promise to her. And if I didn't get to Oregon on time, I would likely lose my wife, forever. There was no legal way to raise more money. And there was only enough money to do one of the two things.
There in the dark, this friend who I had not spoken to in years, asked me what I wanted to do. Asked me what would hurt less, asked me what I could live with. And there in the dark I made my choice. That being who I needed to be was more important that who I was with. Laverne and I have always felt that if circumstances dictated that we should not be married any longer then we simply would not be married. It wouldn't be about a fight or anything else. We just wouldn't be married anymore. But she would not want to be married to me if I were not the fiercely loyal friend that I have always been. She has seen the lengths that I have gone for my friends, and Michelle, Steph and Sandra, you are all part of stories that I tell in the dark. Laverne has resented each of you. And there have been times when she saw you as competition. But it's one of the things she loves about me, that I will not leave you, any of you, ever. I have asked her forgiveness a number of times when I knew she would not give permission. And she has forgiven me each time because she knows how passionate I am about being loyal to my friends. Had I broken my promise to the friend who had abandoned me for a much nobler purpose, none of you would have forgiven me. And Laverne would not either. Michelle, you wrote in your journal last week that you were terrified of going back to graduate school and that it helped you to know that I would be there for you if you needed it. How would you have felt if I had let her down? Do you see why I came to you two weeks ago? Do you see why I was so torn up? I couldn't face any of you.
There in the dark I realized what I had to do. And I took the money that was set aside to move my life back home, and fulfilled the promise I had made. All of you will hear the story eventually. Too many stories probably. She has heard plenty of stories about you. So it's only fair. You'll get to hear the stories about her prom, her bus trip, animal cookies, the opera, two spider bites, the times her incompetence made me want to strangle her, the times she dazzled me with more competence than I could have ever imagined, her new car, the hair-brushing, her love for a red-headed woman (no not my wife!), the time one of my employees told me she was stealing, and what I said to that employee when I found out it was a lie. Mostly you will get to hear stories about everyday things that don't matter much in the grand scheme, but are everything in their own way. But I would not have felt right about telling those stories if the last story I could tell was the one where I let her down. Because letting her down would be the same as letting all of you down.
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A few days later, she came to me again. This time for the friend she had abandoned me for. She came to me on her friend's behalf asking if I could help. I had deduced the situation a while earlier and had expressed concern, so I was not all that surprised when the request was made. Her friend is not someone that I like all that much, but she is someone that I love. For reasons I cannot explain and for reasons that I can, there is little that I would not do for her if she asked. The simplest reason for my love for her is how much joy she has brought to my friend. Without her light shining on my friend's world I am not certain at all that I would have survived the past few months. So many people have brought pain to my friend's life that the joy this beautiful brings to her is worth any price.
My friend's friend and I have rarely gotten along. After all, we compete for my friend's attention. At times she wins, at times I win, and we resent each other occasionally for it. But there is a common bond of love for our friend and it is worth setting aside our differences for her.
So when the request came, to help her friend. I gritted my teeth, and prepared to write another story to be told. I had already stretched my limits financially and emotionally, and had reached a point that I choose never to reach. I was in a position in which a friend could come to me for help and I might not be able to provide it. So I called you, Steph. And I called you, Charene. And I asked you for a favor that you surely never thought I would need. And Michelle, do not feel bad that I did not call you. I knew that you would be unable to assist me no matter how much you might wish to. And we all know what Sandra is going through right now with her brother still among the missing.
Steph told me she could have the money to me around the 10th of October. Charene couldn't get it to me until the 15th. Both dates were too late to accomplish what I was being asked to do. Charene offered to borrow money from someone else for me, but I hesitated to have Charene ask her friend for money for me to give to my friend to give to her friend to give to the people she needed to give it to. Ted arrived here on the 20th and I discussed the situation with him. But he didn't even know if he would have a job next week. Thankfully it appears now that he will.
Through all of it I hesitated to ask the one person who I could have asked from the beginning. I know Laverne's thoughts on money and family and friends, and I know that she had other problems with it as well. I knew I would never get the money back, and getting the money back wasn't even an issue for me. I would never even ask for it back. I was surprised a little that she felt our relationship was strong enough to justify asking me. I am not a bank. This is not a matter of asking me because I was the one with the money. Red McCombs has a lot more money than I ever will and he wasn't the one being asked. I was being asked because of the personal relationship. I was being asked because I might say yes. And the fact that she felt enough of me as a person to think that I might say yes was enough to make me want to say yes. If Ted asked me to strangle my dog, I would. Because I know that he would never ask me to do such a thing unless he absolutely had to. And I knew that I was being asked here not because I had money, and not because I could do this thing. I was being asked because there was a good chance I would do this thing.
It made me feel good that in spite of our differences, and in spite of our rivalry for our friend's affection, she thought enough of me to ask.
I decided that I would help her. Even though I didn't have the money. My uncle years ago told me that you have to be a hero in someone's life sometimes. There are times when helping someone purely for the sake of helping them makes the world a better place. The nature of her request was painful to me. But it was a request that I would find a way to provide.
So I went back to juggling my move to Oregon and finding a way to make everything work. And decided that the simplest approach was to borrow money from the one person I should have asked in the first place, my wife. I told her it was for my friend, and that was that. She would have to bounce a payment to either a student loan or the electric company, but she would spot me the money to give to my friend and I would turn around and borrow money from either Steph or Charene and pay her back, then pay Steph or Charene a month or so later. It would cost me about six dinners out to eat, and better presents for Charene's little one come Christmas, but I had found a way. Five people would pull together and we would help my friend's friend.
Then on Saturday, when I was trying to field a phone call about the way things would work out, Laverne overheard something that didn't sound right and all hell broke loose. I immediately told her the truth and why I had lied in the first place and explained the situation. She was virtually silent, but told me the deal was off and that she would talk to me more about it later. We didn't discuss the subject again until Sunday morning when I left for work and she told me she would be talking to my friend about the story I had told her.
Saturday afternoon I came up with the only solution available to me. My friend's friend was calling repeatedly to confirm my help, help that I was now uncertain whether I could personally provide. I knew that I could find a way if I had to. I had already placed a call to a local member of organized crime to borrow money to loan to my friend. The interest would run me 40% for a week, but my word was worth more than that to me. But the loanshark was out, probably dealing with last minute action on the college football games and didn't call me back until it was too late. But my friend's friend needed an answer right then, and with my wife in the room I couldn't discuss the loanshark over the phone. I also couldn't very well tell her that I had the money myself since she knew I would be lying.
So I told her I needed to talk to her friend, to run the potential solution past her. She refused to wait and I was put in a situation of having to explain a plan involving someone else who had not even agreed to participate. All hell broke loose again with both of them; even though the plan itself was workable, no one likes to be put in that position. Sandra I think you remember the debacle with the Tigerfest dance junior year?
So I resigned myself to the fact that I had lost a friend over the situation. And that I had let down a friend of a friend who thought she could trust me. What irritates me most about the whole situation is that yesterday afternoon I got the call I have been waiting on for two weeks and my money situation has now been fixed. On October 10th I will have all the money that I need to make things work. And because I know that the money will be there on the 10th I can afford to finagle a few things between now and then as well. It frees up about $1200 that was tied up in the move that I couldn't access.
A couple weeks ago my friend worried that I would not come through for her. She doubted whether when push came to shove I would be able or willing to do what I had promised to do. This same friend once told me that my store would never be forced to close because I somehow always found a way to make things work. Charene, you know better than anyone that sometimes I can't come through for you right away, but things do get taken care of in the end. My friend was right. I closed the store to move it, it never did close because it was forced to. And if my friend's friend asked me for the money today, I would have it to give to her, for the first time in two weeks, beating the deadline by a couple days. But the fact that I could not give her that answer two days ago has cost me her respect and perhaps cost me my friend as well. Sandra, you know full well that Remi never forgave me for what happened that April, even though everyone knew within a week what had really happened, and what I had protected her from for months. But she had made up her mind.
Ted, Charene, Sandra, Michelle, and Steph: I love you. All of you. Very much. And damnit I expect you to come visit me in Oregon!
To people who found my journal randomly: God Bless You, whatever God(s) you may believe in. Be nice to one another, and life will be better for all of us.
To my friend: I am sorry that I misunderstood your request. Know that whatever you do and wherever your life takes you, you will be in my thoughts. And if you need me, I will be there for you no matter what has happened in the meantime. Charene knows what I am talking about.
To my friend's friend: In all the time I have known you, I have never said an unkind word about you, and I will not do so now. I do not judge the words that come from pain. I love you for all the good you have done for my friend, and for the beautiful person in you that some people refuse to see. This journal entry is written to five people who have never met you who all volunteered to help you in whatever way I asked them, without judging you or your plight. You can take pride in the kind of person you must be to convince our mutual friend to ask me to ultimately ask them to assist you. And all five of them agreed without question.
To the acquaintances of my friend and her friend: Thank you for being there for them. They are good people who have found companionship in a world that so frequently tears good people apart.
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This closes my final journal entry on this site. I may return to this site under another name at some point down the road. But there is little more that I can say here now.
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It's an easy enough thing to say... that life is precious. And in this month of tragedy, it has become painfully obvious how true it is.
I can't say that I lost anyone close to me in the September 11th attacks. I knew a couple people in buildings near the World Trade Center, and one of my classmates works at the Pentagon, but none of them were in any real danger and all escaped physically unharmed. People have been saying that nothing will ever be the same, that we have lost our innocence, that we will go on, but that our lives have been forever altered. I doubt that is true. This has been a painful time for billions of people and a time of intense pain for thousands. But life does go on. We all fly our flags a little more, and get teary-eyed at the playing of patriotic songs, but for most of America, the events of two weeks ago were not life changing. In January 1986 they said life would never be the same, and today, the launch of a Space Shuttle is not even a news event. Stories of September 11th will be told for generations, but for most Americans, life goes on. As it must. For if it did not, then the terrorists would have truly won.
During my time in high school, I talked 13 people out of suicide, two of them twice each. Though I cannot take credit for the fact that they are alive today, after all, most suicide attempts are cries for help and attention, I did take pride that I was the one who was called. Perhaps too much pride, but pride nonetheless. I took it to mean something that people felt they could count on me, that they could trust me, that I could help them. Five of the thirteen people were not even people I would consider friends. They were friends of friends, or people I had shared classes with. People who had to get my phone number out of the phone book rather than the speed dial.
Most of the calls were not about life-changing pain. Most were just about the poorly timed buildup of emotion that can happen during the teen years. When coincedences lead young people down a path that they cannot see a way out of. Three of the calls however were about the kinds of pain that does not go away. One was a male friend of mine who had been sexually abused until he was 7 years old by his uncle. He had repressed the memory for several years until his parents were going out of town and wanted him to stay with that uncle. Everything rushed back to meet him and he felt completely overwhelmed. His uncle was the wealthiest member of the family and his parents were indebted to him in many ways. He called me at midnight to tell me that he felt the only way out was to end his life so that his parents would not have to suffer. I wish I could say that the story has a happy ending but it does not. My friends get tired of hearing my stories, Michelle, I know you in particular are tired of hearing the Chris Howerton story, but the only stories I tell are the ones that turn out okay. And I don't tell the story of what happened to Landon, because the story would only cause more pain. Though Landon is still alive, he has still not come to grips with his childhood and is now estranged from his parents as well.
The second of the three (which actually happened first) was a call from a former friend of mine my freshman year. We had been friends in 4th thru 6th grades but had drifted apart. He was a jock, I wasn't, and after about 7th grade jocks are not supposed to have other friends. He called me out of the blue crying. I didn't even know who it was at first. He told me that he couldn't think of anyone else to call. It seemed he went to his girlfriend's house earlier that night and had been able to get a couple six-packs of beer. She drank two, he drank about eight, and they started fooling around. She was still a virgin, he had lost his about a month before, a "gift" from his older brother. One thing led to another, they wound up naked. He wanted sex, she wasn't sure, and in his condition he decided it didn't matter and he raped her. He left her there crying and bloody and ran home. He called me about an hour later having come to the conclusion that he was going to end it all because there was no way he could face anyone ever again. I wanted to rip his heart out of his chest and show it to him for what he had done to her, I had never hated anyone as much as I hated him at that moment. But deep down I knew that him committing suicide was not the answer. He clearly regretted what he had done, and as he sobered up recognized what a terrible act he had committed. And while squeezing the life out of a teddy bear with one hand to keep from screaming I talked him out of killing himself. I wish this story had a happy ending, but how could it? He wound up with probation and community service and had to move to another state. She was so ashamed that she left the city as well. To my knowledge neither of the will touch a drop of alcohol to this day, and I myself cannot become intoxicated unless I am with people who I would trust to kill me if it came down to it. Because of the events of that night, I have only been under the influence with five people in my entire life. Ted, Laverne, Todd, Keith and Amanda. There have been other people present on occasion, but unless one of those five people has been present, I do not allow myself to reach that point.
The third case is the hardest for me to talk about and I am likely to make more typos while I write it, because I feel like if I don't get it all out in one breath it will not come out at all. So bear with me please, IO think if I try to edit this in any way I will wind up ersaing al of it.
In the spring of my junior year in high school I was smitten with one of tthe cheerleaders. Not the prettiest one, though I thought she was cute to,. I was smitted with a girl that I will call Ruby. I have kept her secrets this long and several of the people who are likely to read this actually know her. So she must remain Rubby for now.
Ruby and I spent a lot of time my junior year during seventh period which we both had free, talking about life and school and shitty boyfriends and parties and colleges and sports and whatnot. I knew what color Ruby's underwear was every day of my junior year, because in one of the bravest moments of my youth I asked her what color they were on the first day of school that year. And she didn't even flinch, though she did have to check, They were blue. and the next day I jokingly asked again, and after that it didn't take any bravery at all, it was a part of our relationship.
I wanted Ruby to be my girlfriend more that anything in the world that year. And I suffered through more refrains of 'why can't i find a guy like you?' than I can possibly count. Because it was impicit in the question that she didn't actually want me. We talked about all of her boyfriends. She was the third cheerleader to lose her viriginity at our small Catholic high school, doing so just before school started. She told me about him, and about the next boyfriend, and the next one, and the next one. None were from our school. I guess familiarity breeds contempt because almost none of our girls went out with guys from our school. They all went elsewhere. Or so it seemed.
Ruby didn't sleep with a second guy until the January just before coming back from the 3 week Christmas break. The second guy was actually a lot like me and it gave me hope for my own success, though deep down I knew that the relationship Ruby and I had was more special to both of us than anything she had with her beaus.
She came up to me in a panic one afternoon in February, telling me she had to talk to methat night. She wouldn't tell me why which was weird, so we did our AP American History homework and then I went home. She called me around 9 or so and told me she was pregnant. Apparently the last time that she was with him over Christmas break they were really horny and did it three times in about an hour. But he had only brought two condoms. They figured there wouldn't be much left and she was due for her period in a couple days so the timing should have been okay and they went ahead. Well her period didn't come, but she didn't worry much as she missed at least one or two cycles a year because she was so thin. But when it didn't come in February she freaked and bought a test and found out.
Her plan was to kill herself because she didn't think she could live with herself if she had an abortion and knew that her parents would freak if she had the kid. As soon as she told me I started to freak because I had no idea what the hell I could do to help her and this was someone that I thought I was really in love with. I don't think she would have gone through with it, but she had pills there with her, I could hear them rattling in their bottle while she would cry. After a couple hours she promised me that she wouldn't do anything that night.
We talked for five hours after school the next day, walking laps around the track while trying to figure out what she could do. And she eventually decided that she could deal with having the abortion better than she could deal with having the child. We were both products of the Catholic school system and were both strongly pro-life in theory. But theory went out the window when I walked around the track with Ruby that day. And I agreed to help her however I could. I had no car, and neither did she, so I offered to ride the bus with her to the clinic. She had an aunt she felt she could trust, who was only 6 years older than we were, and she decided to call her the next day to ask for the money.
She didn't come to school the next day, so I called her during lunch to see if she was okay. She sounded fine when she answered, but started crying immediately afterwards, and she told me that she had lost the baby that night. She had gotten up around 2am needing to pee, and then felt cramps on her way to the bathroom. It was over in minutes and she sat crying on the toilet until early that morning. I wanted so badly to go to her and hold her, but she felt like she needed to be alone, and so I stayed away.
Our friendship changed that day. I knew that there was no way that she and I would ever get together, though I couldm't really say why. And I also knew that she would always be there for me and me for her, no matter what. I haven't seen Ruby in several years. I don't even know what state she lives in now. But part of me knows that if either one of us ever needed anything the other would be there.
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When I got married my mother was terrified. She was 41 years old and was not happy about the concept of becoming a grandmother so soon. Laverne and I knew that we needed to wait before having kids. We were both still in school and didn't have insurance and certainly didn't have any money. The main reason we got married when we did instead of waiting another year (though we had already been engaged for 18 months) was to save money on student loans for school.
My wife went into full fledged meltdown by the end of our first year. Her body had a reaction to the birth control medication and it screwed up her thyroid gland. She put on over 100 pounds in 18 months despite starving herself for most of the time. One of the side effects of the condition was that she slept nearly 12 hours a day. All of her work ethic and drive shriveled up and she lost her job, her ambition, her identity, her soul. She saw dozens of doctors and they all said it was in her head and she should go on a diet.
I almost left her many times during the ordeal. Not because having a fat wife bothered me, but because I was worried that I was the cause of the problem. She had been so type A and I had been so type B that I worried it was all my fault. It wasn't until 6 months later that they discovered the thyroid problem. She had gone two full years by then, a shadow of her former self with no idea as to why.
As soon as she discovered the problem and got like 7 prescriptions and came home to tell me what the problem was, I hugged her like I had never hugged her before. I was so relieved that it wasn't me. That I was not the problem. I try so hard to be the solution in my friends' lives that living with the guilt that I might be at fault for her problems was tearing me up.
It took almost a year for her body to adjust to the medications. Some of the weight came off right away, most didn't. But the narcolepsy and the fatigue and the loss of drive gradually went away, and she set about to reclaim her life. I stood by her side every step of the way, proud to help her when she fell, proud to carry her spirits when they needed lifting, bragging to my friends about what a great wife I had.
After a year or so of stability we set about to the question of children. I want three or two, she wants two or three. They will all be boys unless we adopt, due to a quirk in genetics. But we made the decision to stop preventing pregnancy. The first time without a condom in five years was an awfully quick experience. I had gotten used to the lack of sensation and the amount of emotion running through both of us made it a passionate event. But we adjusted to the change as people do and set about our lives.
She got pregnant for the first time about 4 months later. She was about five or six weeks in when she lost it. She wasn't even sure if she was until it was over. We held each other and cried that night, and then held each other with all the love that two people can share.
The second time was a few months later and lasted about as long. We had just finished a bout of particularly passionate love when she started to get cramps. A couple hours later she told me that she must have been pregnant and the activity was too much. Her mother had had 8 miscarriages before having Laverne's brother and the family history certainly shows that it will be painful for us to see this thing through.
It's easy not to cry much when it's only a few weeks in. not that you don't cry at all, but if you haven't gone down the path, picking names, and clothes and paint swatches and ultrasounds and everything that goes with it. If you haven't gone down that path very far, it's easier somehow.
The third and fourth times we're not even sure if they count at all. She was late and then it came much heavier than normal and she had the other signs. But you don't know whether to even count them or not. We know that I am fertile and we know that her eggs are good. But her uterus is not. For genetic reasons every time down this path will be difficult.
The last time was about 8 months ago now. Just after the new year. She went so far as to buy a pregnancy test. Because rather than being late she viewed herself as pregnant. We tried not to get excited. There was a lot going on. Her job was stressful. I had employees threatening both my life and my business, and in amongst all of that there was this chance. But we couldn't anticipate success. Life doesn't work that way. And so when the cramps came again, we held each other in the dark and we faced the unknown together.
She has lived away from me for months now and our marriage has been troubled. Every month that ticks by is another missed opportunity. And we know that we cannot plan, cannot start taking temperatures and charting days on a calendar. We know we cannot. But I secretly plan, and secretly wish, that at some point I will have the chance to see what a great mother my wife will be. A chance to prove people right that I can be a good father. We will soon be reunited, and will soon have a chance to try again. But I hope we are not too late.
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My father-in-law will be dead within 3 years. He had a heart valve installed in 1987 that normally lasts only 10 years. Virtually none of the valves have ever lasted 15. The doctors would like to replace the valve with a new one, but because of his prostate cancer and the medications he takes to keep it from coming back, his system would not survive another heart surgery.
My own father has had six skin cancer surgeries in 4 years. Twice the tissue that was removed had begun to spread into the surrounding tissue. He must now see a dermatologist every month for the rest of his life. And even with monthly visits, two tumors formed last year. It is unlikely that he will make it five years unless medicine can find the 'magic bullet' for cancer. Research improves every year, but for millions of people it is already too late.
My mother had a quintuple bypass surgery in 1995. Her recovery has been spectacular, and my father was inspirational in his care for her during that time. All the hatred I had for him as a youth was washed away in those months of watching him care for my mother. She is better now, but still a shadow of where she was. Stresses affect her sooner. She is sick more often. And she is tired much of the time.
If my firstborn child arrives in the next couple years, four grandparents will have a chance to see him. He will not have a chance to know all of them (as I knew my own grandparents) but they will see the miracle of life continue. My son will in all likelihood know his maternal grandmother very well. She is the hardiest person I have ever met and may very well outlive me. My son will be better for knowing her.
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Five weeks ago, someone I call friend abandoned me. At first I was angry, and hurt, and confused. But I soon realized that someone needed her much, much more than I did. Someone needed her more than any of her other friends did. Someone who was hurt and confused herself. Someone who needed far more than a scoop of ice cream and a kiss on the forehead to make it all better.
When I realized what had happened, I called a friend that I hadn't called in almost six years. Someone who I knew I could trust. Someone who would not judge me for what I was about to ask. Someone who had known me at my best and at my worst and did not judge me either time. I told that friend everything. About the store. The wife. My employees. My new friends. My depression. Everything. That friend listened to me cry for six hours while I poured out my heart about where my life had gone. About what Mike had taken from me. About the mistakes I had made. About the things I had done. About the person I had been, and about the person I wanted to be again.
In the dark, on the couch, I asked my friend for forgiveness for what I was about to do. I had to choose between the law, my wife, and my word to the friend who abandoned me for such a higher purpose. I had juggled everything in my life to try to pull off the move to Oregon. I had the money balanced just right. I had just enough labor. I had just enough time. But lying there on the couch the 6th day of September, I knew that I no longer had what it took. As badly as I needed my friend to help me with my move, someone else needed her more. I couldn't move to Oregon at all. Not without breaking my promise to my friend. The only way I could pay for everything to get to Oregon was to break my promise to her. And if I didn't get to Oregon on time, I would likely lose my wife, forever. There was no legal way to raise more money. And there was only enough money to do one of the two things.
There in the dark, this friend who I had not spoken to in years, asked me what I wanted to do. Asked me what would hurt less, asked me what I could live with. And there in the dark I made my choice. That being who I needed to be was more important that who I was with. Laverne and I have always felt that if circumstances dictated that we should not be married any longer then we simply would not be married. It wouldn't be about a fight or anything else. We just wouldn't be married anymore. But she would not want to be married to me if I were not the fiercely loyal friend that I have always been. She has seen the lengths that I have gone for my friends, and Michelle, Steph and Sandra, you are all part of stories that I tell in the dark. Laverne has resented each of you. And there have been times when she saw you as competition. But it's one of the things she loves about me, that I will not leave you, any of you, ever. I have asked her forgiveness a number of times when I knew she would not give permission. And she has forgiven me each time because she knows how passionate I am about being loyal to my friends. Had I broken my promise to the friend who had abandoned me for a much nobler purpose, none of you would have forgiven me. And Laverne would not either. Michelle, you wrote in your journal last week that you were terrified of going back to graduate school and that it helped you to know that I would be there for you if you needed it. How would you have felt if I had let her down? Do you see why I came to you two weeks ago? Do you see why I was so torn up? I couldn't face any of you.
There in the dark I realized what I had to do. And I took the money that was set aside to move my life back home, and fulfilled the promise I had made. All of you will hear the story eventually. Too many stories probably. She has heard plenty of stories about you. So it's only fair. You'll get to hear the stories about her prom, her bus trip, animal cookies, the opera, two spider bites, the times her incompetence made me want to strangle her, the times she dazzled me with more competence than I could have ever imagined, her new car, the hair-brushing, her love for a red-headed woman (no not my wife!), the time one of my employees told me she was stealing, and what I said to that employee when I found out it was a lie. Mostly you will get to hear stories about everyday things that don't matter much in the grand scheme, but are everything in their own way. But I would not have felt right about telling those stories if the last story I could tell was the one where I let her down. Because letting her down would be the same as letting all of you down.
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A few days later, she came to me again. This time for the friend she had abandoned me for. She came to me on her friend's behalf asking if I could help. I had deduced the situation a while earlier and had expressed concern, so I was not all that surprised when the request was made. Her friend is not someone that I like all that much, but she is someone that I love. For reasons I cannot explain and for reasons that I can, there is little that I would not do for her if she asked. The simplest reason for my love for her is how much joy she has brought to my friend. Without her light shining on my friend's world I am not certain at all that I would have survived the past few months. So many people have brought pain to my friend's life that the joy this beautiful brings to her is worth any price.
My friend's friend and I have rarely gotten along. After all, we compete for my friend's attention. At times she wins, at times I win, and we resent each other occasionally for it. But there is a common bond of love for our friend and it is worth setting aside our differences for her.
So when the request came, to help her friend. I gritted my teeth, and prepared to write another story to be told. I had already stretched my limits financially and emotionally, and had reached a point that I choose never to reach. I was in a position in which a friend could come to me for help and I might not be able to provide it. So I called you, Steph. And I called you, Charene. And I asked you for a favor that you surely never thought I would need. And Michelle, do not feel bad that I did not call you. I knew that you would be unable to assist me no matter how much you might wish to. And we all know what Sandra is going through right now with her brother still among the missing.
Steph told me she could have the money to me around the 10th of October. Charene couldn't get it to me until the 15th. Both dates were too late to accomplish what I was being asked to do. Charene offered to borrow money from someone else for me, but I hesitated to have Charene ask her friend for money for me to give to my friend to give to her friend to give to the people she needed to give it to. Ted arrived here on the 20th and I discussed the situation with him. But he didn't even know if he would have a job next week. Thankfully it appears now that he will.
Through all of it I hesitated to ask the one person who I could have asked from the beginning. I know Laverne's thoughts on money and family and friends, and I know that she had other problems with it as well. I knew I would never get the money back, and getting the money back wasn't even an issue for me. I would never even ask for it back. I was surprised a little that she felt our relationship was strong enough to justify asking me. I am not a bank. This is not a matter of asking me because I was the one with the money. Red McCombs has a lot more money than I ever will and he wasn't the one being asked. I was being asked because of the personal relationship. I was being asked because I might say yes. And the fact that she felt enough of me as a person to think that I might say yes was enough to make me want to say yes. If Ted asked me to strangle my dog, I would. Because I know that he would never ask me to do such a thing unless he absolutely had to. And I knew that I was being asked here not because I had money, and not because I could do this thing. I was being asked because there was a good chance I would do this thing.
It made me feel good that in spite of our differences, and in spite of our rivalry for our friend's affection, she thought enough of me to ask.
I decided that I would help her. Even though I didn't have the money. My uncle years ago told me that you have to be a hero in someone's life sometimes. There are times when helping someone purely for the sake of helping them makes the world a better place. The nature of her request was painful to me. But it was a request that I would find a way to provide.
So I went back to juggling my move to Oregon and finding a way to make everything work. And decided that the simplest approach was to borrow money from the one person I should have asked in the first place, my wife. I told her it was for my friend, and that was that. She would have to bounce a payment to either a student loan or the electric company, but she would spot me the money to give to my friend and I would turn around and borrow money from either Steph or Charene and pay her back, then pay Steph or Charene a month or so later. It would cost me about six dinners out to eat, and better presents for Charene's little one come Christmas, but I had found a way. Five people would pull together and we would help my friend's friend.
Then on Saturday, when I was trying to field a phone call about the way things would work out, Laverne overheard something that didn't sound right and all hell broke loose. I immediately told her the truth and why I had lied in the first place and explained the situation. She was virtually silent, but told me the deal was off and that she would talk to me more about it later. We didn't discuss the subject again until Sunday morning when I left for work and she told me she would be talking to my friend about the story I had told her.
Saturday afternoon I came up with the only solution available to me. My friend's friend was calling repeatedly to confirm my help, help that I was now uncertain whether I could personally provide. I knew that I could find a way if I had to. I had already placed a call to a local member of organized crime to borrow money to loan to my friend. The interest would run me 40% for a week, but my word was worth more than that to me. But the loanshark was out, probably dealing with last minute action on the college football games and didn't call me back until it was too late. But my friend's friend needed an answer right then, and with my wife in the room I couldn't discuss the loanshark over the phone. I also couldn't very well tell her that I had the money myself since she knew I would be lying.
So I told her I needed to talk to her friend, to run the potential solution past her. She refused to wait and I was put in a situation of having to explain a plan involving someone else who had not even agreed to participate. All hell broke loose again with both of them; even though the plan itself was workable, no one likes to be put in that position. Sandra I think you remember the debacle with the Tigerfest dance junior year?
So I resigned myself to the fact that I had lost a friend over the situation. And that I had let down a friend of a friend who thought she could trust me. What irritates me most about the whole situation is that yesterday afternoon I got the call I have been waiting on for two weeks and my money situation has now been fixed. On October 10th I will have all the money that I need to make things work. And because I know that the money will be there on the 10th I can afford to finagle a few things between now and then as well. It frees up about $1200 that was tied up in the move that I couldn't access.
A couple weeks ago my friend worried that I would not come through for her. She doubted whether when push came to shove I would be able or willing to do what I had promised to do. This same friend once told me that my store would never be forced to close because I somehow always found a way to make things work. Charene, you know better than anyone that sometimes I can't come through for you right away, but things do get taken care of in the end. My friend was right. I closed the store to move it, it never did close because it was forced to. And if my friend's friend asked me for the money today, I would have it to give to her, for the first time in two weeks, beating the deadline by a couple days. But the fact that I could not give her that answer two days ago has cost me her respect and perhaps cost me my friend as well. Sandra, you know full well that Remi never forgave me for what happened that April, even though everyone knew within a week what had really happened, and what I had protected her from for months. But she had made up her mind.
Ted, Charene, Sandra, Michelle, and Steph: I love you. All of you. Very much. And damnit I expect you to come visit me in Oregon!
To people who found my journal randomly: God Bless You, whatever God(s) you may believe in. Be nice to one another, and life will be better for all of us.
To my friend: I am sorry that I misunderstood your request. Know that whatever you do and wherever your life takes you, you will be in my thoughts. And if you need me, I will be there for you no matter what has happened in the meantime. Charene knows what I am talking about.
To my friend's friend: In all the time I have known you, I have never said an unkind word about you, and I will not do so now. I do not judge the words that come from pain. I love you for all the good you have done for my friend, and for the beautiful person in you that some people refuse to see. This journal entry is written to five people who have never met you who all volunteered to help you in whatever way I asked them, without judging you or your plight. You can take pride in the kind of person you must be to convince our mutual friend to ask me to ultimately ask them to assist you. And all five of them agreed without question.
To the acquaintances of my friend and her friend: Thank you for being there for them. They are good people who have found companionship in a world that so frequently tears good people apart.
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This closes my final journal entry on this site. I may return to this site under another name at some point down the road. But there is little more that I can say here now.