Episode 24: And a juice box and a pare tree

Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house, not a creature was peeping, not even her mouth….*cough cough*…not even a mouse, the stocking (as in singular) was hung by the chimney with care, in hopes that St. Nick soon would be there.

I don’t think I will ever reach the age of being old enough to stop reading that story. I mean here I am with my footie pajamas and juice box in an empty apartment reading “The night before Christmas,” as I if I was still a kid dreaming of the masses of presents under the tree. Well I guess it’s not quite like that anymore. Christmas Eve wasn’t too eventful this year. Besides the fact that my scrooge of a boss made me work late so that payroll would balance out, I didn’t really have anything planned. I went with my parents to the Christmas Eve service at church, then enjoyed a nice warm meal that didn’t require me getting in a fight with the plastic covering on stouffers macaroni and cheese. I love stouffers don’t get me wrong, but a good meal comes at a great price. I think the company had the idea to make everyone work for their dinner. ‘First we’ll make’em cook if for 4 hours, then have it sit for another 20 minutes, and if that doesn’t piss’em off, we’ll add a hint of static cling to the scorching hot plastic wrap to really make’em want it.’ I swear it’s in their company mission statement.

I drove out of the Chili’s parking lot after dinner with my family trying to think of the things I could use to keep me entertained for the rest of the long evening while I wait for Santa. I thought about being an old fart and going to bed right when I got home, but something didn’t settle well with going to bed when it was still light out. I always made fun of my parents for it, and here I am contemplating doing it. I toyed with my phone, gently coaxing the buttons contemplating the idea of asking her to grab some last minute coffee. I had her convinced at the Christmas party that coffee and cookies was a Christmas Eve necessity, but she just looked at me like I was some twisted moron who got flavors all mixed up. It isn’t my fault I like some of the strangest things.

I mustered up enough courage to dial her number and let it ring a few times. I was hoping to let it get to three rings then hang up, but she answered almost immediately. It was similar to her answering the door right before I knocked the evening of my best friends wedding. She seemed much better tonight then she did at the Christmas party, at least over the phone, but phone voices can be deceiving. Unfortunately that’s all I have to rely on some times; if that at all. She agreed to meet for coffee, so we decided to go to the coffee shop where all hell broke loose the day I spilled coffee all over my baby blue jeans. I figured I have been through enough counseling and solitude from the place that hopefully no one would recognize me. I can just imagine walking into the place and seeing a giant wanted sign with a reward for $3000 to whoever brings in the moron that stained the carpet.

Just as I hung up the phone I heard a knock at my door. I didn’t expect any company especially on a night such as this where most would be spending time with their friends and family, but I rushed over to the door to find my landlord holding a giant box that said “please deliver on Christmas eve.” I was somewhat shocked to find my landlord delivering this to me now considering he probably had much better things to be doing than visiting the love hating loner with no life. I thanked him for bringing this to me as I unintentionally slammed the door as he left. The wind draft in the apartment was strong enough to give the large door a slamming effect on any victim who renders their path to the swing of the door. No wonder no one ever comes up here.

After I devoured the 300 layers of packing tape, I opened the package filled with 4 tons of packing peanuts and a small envelope. The envelope was plain white with scribbling on the outside that I think said my name. Underneath what seemed to be the name was the instructions “Do not open till Christmas eve.” Well whoever this package was from must have thought I wouldn’t have any plans Christmas Eve, who would’ve thought they’d be right. I tore open the envelope to find a neatly folded half sheet of paper. I unfolded the sheet of paper and read what it said. “I know this may be inconvenient, but it’s part of your Christmas present. You will never get too old for scavenger hunts, by the end of the hunt you’ll understand.” I had really mixed feelings about what was going on. I didn’t think it could possibly be her, because of the circumstances surrounding her life at current, but I wasn’t sure who else it could be. I just eliminated work from all the possibilities. I only really got along with 3 people and they are all happily married in their early thirties. Who would wanna take time out of their busy Christmas schedule to make a scavenger hunt for me?

I thought about calling her back and trying to shoot for a later time considering I now have this adventure to embark on, but something made me feel like I shouldn’t call. I got in my car and drove to the location of the first clue. It was a park on the other side of town. I was somewhat skeptical of the place because this was the place where she and I officially started dating….right there on the swings. I haven’t been here in forever. I guess I tried to avoid coming here with every effort to repress the memories of the times we spent here. I walked over to the swings and found another white envelope. Inside was another set of clues to the next location. I got back in the heated car and drove back across town to a deli shop. I walked inside and the gentleman at the desk immediately handed me an envelope. I wasn’t sure where the deli shop tied into anything, but I figured I would play along.

I was supposed to meet her in 20 minutes at the d-day coffee shop, but I wasn’t sure if this was one of those scavenger hunts where I could put it off for a while and come back to it. You never know on these things. I would feel bad to take a 3 hour coffee break and find someone sitting on bench in the cold wondering how stupid I am when it comes to reading clues. I wasn’t sure what to do so I decided to continue on the scavenger hunt and hopefully she will call with some other brilliant plans for the evening that would count me out. I drove to the flower shop on the corner of 13th and main. Again, I have no idea how such a place tied into the scheme of things; I had never been there before. Who knows I could be aimlessly running errands for someone I don’t even know.

I walked into the flower shop and the lady behind the counter handed me a boutonnière and another envelope. At this point I was starting to piece together what this could possibly mean. I was only hoping she was behind all this so I could at least kill two birds with one stone. I ripped open the white envelope that said “Final Clue” on the outside of it and read the contents. It was an address. I wasn’t sure where it lead, so I plugged it into mapquest on my phone and let the Deloris the navigator coming from my speakers guide me the rest of the way.

As I pulled into the coffee shop where I had spilled coffee all over my baby blue jeans, my jaw nearly dropped at the sight of it. I had always loved the way the coffee shop looked at Christmas time, but tonight it was especially pleasing to the eye. I opened the door and the bell chimed as it made its natural swinging path towards the flush wooden frame. I walked in and saw her standing there with a corsage. I walked over with the boutonnière and slipped it on her hand. She pinned the corsage to the outside of my flannel shirt trying desperately not to stab me with the giant needle. The shop was empty besides the man working behind the counter with a bright smile; helping her make this whole thing happen. It was quite the coincidence we managed to end up in the same coffee shop where it all began; well not really began but re-began. I wasn’t sure what to make of this just yet. Everyone knows I read too far into things, and I was hoping this would be more than just another spoof like the last one, and I really wanted to know what he said to her on the phone the night of the Christmas party.

The room was lit with candles and dim lighting all decked out for the holidays. She took my hand and the music began to play. “Whatever it takes” by lifehouse filled the room as we danced. I was still rather apprehensive about what she was really trying to say with all of this. As the song ended we say down at a table and laughed until we cried. It was a Kodak moment as far as I’m concerned. One without embarrassing coffee spills and dozens of eyes staring right at the giant wet spot on my baby blue jeans. Once we finally calmed down she got rather quiet again. I got nervous knowing what that has meant in the past. She stared right at me and simply asked: “why did I waste my time?” At first I didn’t know what she meant by that. Taken back by the shocking statement I asked her to clarify. She looked back with tears in her eyes and said: “with him.” I honestly had no idea how to respond to such a thing. I thought staying quiet might be the best idea at this point because I have managed to put my foot in my mouth multiple times before by saying the completely wrong thing.

“The other night when he called, he was just informing me that he found someone else. He said he thought it would be a good idea for me to know so that I wouldn’t be in shock if I ever saw the two of them together. He sure did move on fast. It makes me wonder if he ever really did love me. (still crying) I wish I could take it all back.” I sat back still in shock wondering how in the world I was supposed to react. I felt kinda bad for him at this point; knowing I have done the exact same thing. “But all along you were there” she continued. “why?” I was taken back not expecting to have to answer such emotionally charged questions. I decided to take the safe route and said: “Because that’s what friends are for.” She smiled and took another sip of her coffee.

We continued to talk about the past week and all the things we have to look forward to doing, and we even got into our own futures for a while. I was still trying to figure out if it was even possible that our futures could even go in the same direction. I think now isn’t the best time to be thinking about such things.

The man behind the counter came up informing us there was 10 minutes till closing time. She leaned down under the table and grabbed a small package from under her chair and slid it to me across the table. She smiled and said: “Don’t open until Christmas.” I smiled back and grasped the package. We both walked out of the coffee shop and headed over to our cars. We hugged goodnight and I made my way over to my car. As I was driving home I couldn’t help but think about how she must have been feeling after getting news like that. I can only imagine how it must feel to have to sit back and watch that.

I pulled into the apartment and climbed the stairs to my door and opened it slowly. I set the package on the table and stared at it for a few moments. As I diligently remembered her instructions, I grabbed the package and placed it under the tree. I sat back on the couch and watched the flickering lights until I silently fell asleep. Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.

To be continued…

Episode 23: Beauty and the Bleak

I threw the tux jacket on the counter top and sat down to undo the cufflinks on my shirt. I glanced over at my rather large bag of camera equipment wondering when I would find the time to recap the memories of the evening; or if I even wanted to for that matter. I untied my shoes trying not to think about the blunt realization that it was in fact over. I can’t really explain the feeling. It’s the feeling of being so out of control that there is absolutely nothing you can do to change any of the circumstances, but at the same time you get the gift of front row tickets to watch the romantic tragedy unravel before your very eyes.

It was a picture perfect wedding; I should know I was the photographer. There was something strange about walking around all night being the obnoxious paparazzi trying to capture the essence of this melancholy event, but she wanted everything; even down to the confetti on the tables. I wasn’t going to argue, after all she was my friend, what am I to do? I can remember it perfectly; which doesn’t say much considering it took place a couple hours ago.

I can remember very vividly the hour and a half I stood in front of the mirror half motivated to get dressed, while the other half of me wanted to curl up in a ball and sit in a small dark corner away from the world. I might as well get it over with. It was bound to happen one of these days. I just wasn’t fast enough to prevent anything from happening. That has always been my problem. I was always one to think too much before taking any action. That could explain the numerous times I contemplated asking the perfect person to prom, but spent too much time planning, that I was far too late. My life story I guess.

I gathered all of my equipment and threw it in the trunk of my trusty Honda as I drove off into the sunset to endure a long night; one to which I feel I could never really enjoy. I arrived at the cathedral an hour before the wedding was scheduled to begin. I was trained to take practice shots before I actually started taking good pictures. Supposedly it helps you get a feel for the environment. The only feel I got was the devastation and regret stirring around in my stomach. I stood in back as the guests began to enter through the large mahogany doors to the cathedral. I tried to capture as much of them as I possibly could. I wanted this to be a night she would never forget, so I figured the best way to do so was to make sure everyone who came was in her wedding album.

As the procession started I made my way to my front row seat and glanced back to get pictures of the corpse bride entering during the wedding ballad. She had a nervous look on her face, one that almost looked unsure at most. I was hoping and praying as I recollected images from the “runaway bride” inside my head while snapping a few good pictures. I could only hope her cold feet needed a jog to warm them up. The groom stood motionless in the front of the stage next to the pastor. He had a look of fear and excitement as his bride-to-be walked down the aisle. I thought about all the embarrassing things I could do to the poor sap while he was standing there. You know, pull out a good headstone catalogue and flip through its dusty pages, or fashion a noose out of my pink poka-dot tie. Anything to grab his attention, and raise any last minute red flags in his head. But he stood tranquil with that chessy smirk on his face that was the rubbing alcohol to my wounded heart.

The Pastor began the ceremony by opening with a word of prayer. I felt terrible snapping pictures while the man was praying. I was only hoping no one was watching. She just mentioned she wanted the opening prayer to be included in her album; like I said, she wanted everything. The ceremony continued and they begun the vows. This of course is the most popular part of weddings; the part where some display the oo’s and ah’s at the romantic nature of the vows, and others just sit and bawl relentlessly at such a “happy” occasion. I was the latter. At first I really got into the vows. I guess the vows are my favorite part of weddings. I always enjoy listening to the vows, especially the ones of people who write their own. It’s my way of keeping them accountable. Who knows one day when he’s in a nursing home and she’s too stubborn to go see him, I’ll wave her wedding vows in her face saying “in sickness and in health.” But the truth is, by that time, I’ll probably be in a nursing home too. After I realized what was really going on, I started bawling like the 99 other people in the room, but not for the same reasons.

There is something not all that settling about sitting behind the tripod of a camera snapping pictures of the infamous “you may now kiss the bride” moment. Even worse is watching the person you love be that bride behind the veil. Yes I finally did admit it, I do love her. Not that it matters now. I had that sharp familiar pain prance along the inside of my coronary arteries as I watched this Hollywood moment take place. My camera was really acting up on me tonight. For some reason during this moment, half the pictures I took were in black in white while the others were in color. I didn’t know my camera had such a setting. Oh the things I learn while shooting photography at a wedding; even the things that have nothing to do with photography.

They walked down the aisle arm and arm to the exit ballad and as they got to the doors they were showered with black and white rose pedals. I guess that was somewhat odd to me considering the run-in with my camera earlier, but I guess they wanted to the theme of the wedding to be black and white. I stood at the end of the line of people outside the cathedral capturing the images, all the while avoiding taking part in encouraging this lovely event.

Everyone piled into cars and drove to the clubhouse over looking the city. It was all decked out in black and white balloons, crystal chandeliers, and elegant lighting. The dance floor was vacant as many were still on their way. I tried to get there before everyone else. I guess I just needed a few moments to remember the last dance we had on the polished wooden floor. It was the night of my best friends wedding. I can remember it perfectly. We were placed directly at the center of the floor. I was shocked she asked me to dance considering the clever prank I pulled on her convincing everyone she didn’t speak English. I can vividly remember the thought I had flash in my mind that said: “not yet, just wait it out.” I guess now I see why.

The guests arrived, and the building filled rather quickly. I walked around the room snapping more photographs, and talking to random out-of-towners I didn’t even know. I could run a muck if I really wanted to. I’m pretty sure I spoke to 80% of the guests, the other 20% were his relatives; enough said.

The moment came when they got to feed each other cake…how romantic. Nothing says “I love you” like smashing flour, sugar, and water into each others faces with the arms intertwining. Where in the world does that come from? Who thought it would be fun to make it a wedding tradition to feed each other cake? What’s next? Arm wrestling? I guess that might be kinda embarrassing if the guy loses that one. Then again it wouldn’t surprise me with him. I sat back and watched as they shoved cake in each others faces as the black and white frosting coated their smiles. As I continued to snap pictures, that old familiar pain continued to dance on the inside of my chest as the evening progressed. I sat down at a table and watched the multitudes of exuberant people enjoying the festivities of this funeral to be. I would rather sulk in my cynical attitude towards the whole thing.

I got a break for a while. Everyone was simply enjoying dinner, dancing, and sparkling conversation, as I sat at a table with a glass of sparkling cider, and half eaten piece of black and white cake. I am a big people watcher. I cannot help but notice the interaction between human specimens. It was so intriguing. Half the entertainment was watching people attempt to dance. She was really the only one worth watching, considering it was something she could do better than anyone else in the room. I guess that had something to do with being in dance a good portion of her life. As I started to zone out the DJ silenced the music, which was my cue to pull out the camera and start working again. He mentioned that it was now the time for bride and groom dance. I rolled my eyes and turned on the camera as they walked to the center of the dance floor. The DJ popped in a disk and “I’ll be” started playing as they started dancing. My hands were trembling. I had to fight through the shakes to get a few good shots as they waltzed the night away to my favorite love song. I almost wanted to walk out and hand my camera to a ten year old to finish the job, but something in my gut just wouldn’t let me leave. It was as though I was trapped in the twilight zone of nightmares. The dance concluded and I found myself sitting back at the table with my head buried in my hands as I was bombarded with masses of people asking me if I was “ok.” I kinda figured the best generic excuse to use was to tell everyone I had a headache, and I am sensitive to certain shades of lighting. They all offered shots of Tylenol PM, Asprin, Excedrin, the works, but they just didn’t quite understand the conditions I was undergoing. I politely refused their offers and continued to sit with my head in my hands staring down at the black and white design on the carpet below.

The evening continued and I glanced up every so often as they were signing the marriage contracts and tattooing each other’s social security numbers on their foreheads to symbolize there is no backing out now. Ok so they really didn’t do the social security numbers. I of course had to get pictures of this of this, even though I really had no desire to do so. They finished the signatures and the night continued. Filled with more dancing, eating, sparkling cider, shallow conversation, and black and white wedding cake.

She got up on a chair gripping her bouquet tightly in her hands. She looks back and our eyes meet for the first time in what seems like ages. I am holding my camera ready to capture the split second of her throwing the bouquet, and the look on her face told me something just wasn’t right. I gave the half-hearted smile as I fingered the trigger button on my camera ready to take the shot. She turned her back to the crowd and took a deep breath. She threw the bouquet of flowers into the crowd as the mosh pit of hopeless romantics elbowed and scratched at each other for the prized possession of flowers that would only last another week. She got back down from the chair and turned back around facing me again. Her husband walked over and grabbed her hand while subjectively glaring at me as if I had some mischievous motive for looking at my friend. I walked back to the table and sat back down. The night slowly came to an end. The DJ called for the final dance of the night. He walked over to his mother because he promised her the last dance on his wedding night. She looked rather lost and alone on the dance floor, but I didn’t want to get shot for asking her to dance, so I just sat back at the table and watched people find their dance partners for the final dance. She slowly walked up to me and motioned me onto the dance floor. I stood up still holding my glass of sparkling cider. I wanted to make it look as informal as possible, so holding a glass of cider as we danced might help. She didn’t seem to mind. The DJ started to play “I hope you dance” as I began to awkwardly move my feet in a dancing kind of manner. As the song continued, she shared her thanks for my hard work in putting together the album for her. As we continued to dance, her face started to drop in disappointment. I wondered if there was anything I said to offend her. I responded as simply as possible to everything she had to say, but something was distinctively wrong.

I asked her if everything was ok. “I guess,” she said with a distraught look on her face. We continued to dance and she grew rather quiet. She drew her head into my ear and as a tear rolled down her cheek she softly said: “Why did you have to wait?” I became weak at knees and collapsed onto the floor. The glass of sparkling cider shattered on the ground and the cold cider inched closer to my face. As the cider touched my skin……

I woke up in a cold sweat. I looked down at my kitchen counter and saw the pool of water dripping off my face and off the countertop from the overturned glass. It was only a dream? It just seemed too real to be simply a dream. I glanced over at the clock and it read 12:13am; just a few moments past midnight. I walked over to the kitchen table and read my list of things to do before Christmas. The first item on the list was to call her. I remember now how things ended after the party. She got off the phone with him as I walked into her apartment to pick her up. He wanted to make things right. I was rather confused when she told me this because I didn’t think there was much more to the story then her getting fed up with him being too obsessed with his job, and not showing her much care about the wedding. She told me there was so much more to tell. So I suppose calling her to get the story might be a good idea. I grabbed a towel and wiped the water off my face and headed off to bed. I pulled the black and white sheets over my head trying not to anticipate the story she has to tell.

To be continued….

Episode 22: Annual Office Extravaganza Christmas Party...Annual...Duh

I tore open the small hallmark sized envelope as I walked back from the mailboxes. I don’t get mail often, so opening a letter is like an eight year old on Christmas day. It was an invitation to the “Annual Office Extravaganza Christmas Party.” The word annual was actually in there too. Someone must have gone graduate school to figure out that Christmas parties usually only take place once a year. I gotta give the person some credit for photoshopping a picture of my bosses face onto the Santa Clause silhouette; it was legit. I wondered why in the world they sent out invitations for a mandatory Christmas party. It’s not like we had a choice, or at least not if we wanted to keep our jobs, so why waste all that paper and glitter glue making cards that will end up in the garbage bin 2.5 seconds after reading them? I have always been really hesitant about going to Christmas parties. Dangerous things happen there. You know karaoke with people who don’t know how to sing, conversations about finance reports by the water cooler, and my bosses attempt to be funny when telling dirty Christmas jokes. Not amusing at all. I found myself feeling repulsed by just the idea of going to this party. Although it was a substance free party, that means nothing when you know my boss. He doesn’t need substance to make a fool of himself.

I penciled the party on my calendar and immediately threw the invitation in the trash. It was a white elephant gift party, and for all of us single people (as noted in the invitation), try to bring a date. Not that I needed any more reminders of being single or anything. Out of the 40 people at my branch, me and two other people are the only one’s who are single. The only reason I know this is because I was responsible for creating the “demographics of the office” survey. Talk about building self esteem. I got to expose all of the already sensitive areas of my life; how much I get paid, my marital status, how long I’ve been working for the company, how many classes I failed in elementary school…the works. It was like college applications all over again. My favorite part of the college applications was the essays. I get to tell the prestigious universities anything I wanted about myself in high hopes of getting into the school. Back then I wasn’t real bright when it came to writing a college essay. I’m pretty sure I wrote a poem for 30 of the 31 schools I applied to. That’s a lot of poems. I finally got smart when the school I actually got accepted to gave me the topic to write on. I hated writing then. Maybe because I wasn’t very good at it; not much has changed. The topic on the essay was about ethics. They wanted a 300-500 word essay on the ethics surrounding a private college campus. I think this was the most brilliant essay I ever wrote. It isn’t hard to write about ethics when the college believes the most of the same things you do.

I thought about all the things I had to get done between now and the Christmas party. There were two details about this enchanted night I was not looking forward to attempting to complete. The first was finding a date. It was homecoming week all over again. I guess making a scavenger hunt with roses and sticky notes isn’t all that practical in the business world, and posting them all over downtown probably wouldn’t go over too well with the city. This of course is assuming I have a date in mind. I wasn’t sure if she would be willing to go with me. I figured now wasn’t the best time to force her into an emotional roller coaster being surrounded by 40+ happily married people, and newlyweds at an already obnoxious Christmas party. So I had to try to think of someone else. The second was coming up with a world class white elephant gift. Enough said.

I sat down at the kitchen table and thumbed through all of my contacts on my expensive 14 year old flip phone the size of a Hershey’s king-size chocolate bar. I came across a handful of candidates, but none of them really struck me as the type who would be willing to go with me to an office Christmas party. Most of them I hadn’t seen in years. I narrowed it down to 3 people to call. I planned on waiting a while before I bombarded their lives with my extemporaneous invitation. Besides I still had to write my manuscript so my phone conversation wouldn’t be as awkward as it usually goes for things like this. “Hey (insert generic name here), I know its been a few years, but you wanna go to an office Christmas party with me? It will be lots of fun, Karaoke, food, punch, bad jokes, and finance reports…(long pause)....really?...bummer… What are you doing that night?.......Surprise?....for who?.....oh I understand, I wouldn’t want there to be a slight chance of my secret getting out either….(pause)…well have a good day…..*in a nasally voice* bu-bye.” I can just see it now.

I sat back trying to gain enough confidence to call my first candidate. For some reason I couldn’t gain the courage so I decided to take a break from all this party business and grab some coffee someplace. I put on my coat and pulled the keys from the table, carefully closing the door behind me. I figured with only a few weeks before Christmas, I wouldn’t want anyone breaking into my apartment and stealing my microwave. That thing does wonders to stouffers macaroni and cheese. That will be the first item on my inheritance will for my kids….considering that day comes.

I popped the ol’ Honda into gear and backed out of my tight parking spot. I drove for a few minutes trying to find some random coffee shop that I’ve never been to before. All the other ones haven’t served me well in the past. I blame my psychological and emotional problems on them, just in case you were wondering. I drove for a bit longer but all I could find was Starbucks on nearly every street corner. I finally gave in and pulled into the lot of the 7th Starbucks I spotted in the last five minutes. I opened the door and was immediately attacked by the above-door-fan. You know that obnoxious fan that blows cold air on you just as you walk through the door. I’m not really sure what that thing is actually for but I have my ideas. I suppose if some decides to drive their car into the front of the store at least that fan will dry off any unwanted liquid residue. It’s not a car wash pal. Or it could be for all those people who have bad hair days. You know the days when some looks like a cockatoo or Dennis the Menace? I thought I was going to coffee shop, not a hair saloon.

I ordered my drink and patiently waited by the receiving counter to receive my holiday blend in a to-go mug. I looked down at the vibrating sensation coming from my pocket and pulled my phone from its dark bed of dryer lint. I answered the phone and sat down at an open table in the corner of the shop. She sounded really chipper today. I’m hoping it wasn’t just the pain pills talking, but considering the circumstances, I wouldn’t be surprised. She called asking if I wanted to grab some coffee and talk. I smiled and informed her I was currently sitting inside a coffee shop hoping she wouldn’t ridicule me for supporting Starbucks when there are much better coffee joints in town. I told her where it was and of course I got the snide comment of the day: “You’re where?...that desperate huh?” I laughed and continued to describe the building. “well it’s a brown building with large glass windows, and there are big green letters that spell Starbucks.” She laughed and promised she would be there shortly.

I hung up the phone questioning whether my sarcastic humor was a good idea at that time. Oh well. Sometimes I wonder if I’m the one who feeds the fire. I sat back in my chair and patiently awaited her arrival.

My mind started to think back to the antique box and the mysterious object sitting at the bottom. I honestly didn’t know what to think at first. After all, it was just a piece of candy. Back in high school she used to tape candy to my locker, and this particular type was called sweeties. I can vividly remember the candy violently wrapped in scotch tape with a note placed in perfect juxtaposition (that is contrast) on my locker above my name. The note had her cursive handwriting that said: “You’re such a sweetie,” and at the end of the note was a smiley face made from a heart. I am either over analyzing like I always do, or she was leaving some subliminal message in my parent’s Christmas box that I was to decipher.

The loud fan from the overhead car/hair dryer above the door caught my attention as I glanced over to see her entering the premises…red alert! I stood up giving away my position and she came over to give me a hug. I left my coffee at the table and stood in line with her as she took a few hours to decide what she wanted to get. So many choices, so little time. I already knew what she was going to get, but I decided to let her order for herself. She told the barista the order, and as she was rummaging through her suitcase to find her card, I slipped the cashier a five dollar bill with a mischievous grin on my face. When she finally found her card, she attempted to hand it to the cashier to pay. The cashier smiled and said: “It was already taken care of, enjoy.” She glared back at me with the half angry half smile on her face. She should just know she can’t win at things like this. She got her drink and sat down across from me. She seemed like she was in a good enough mood to talk. So we caught up on all the minuscule details of our every day lives.

The whole time she was talking, I was toying with the idea of asking her to go with me to the “Annual Office Extravaganza Christmas Party.” I figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask and she would have a day to think about it. I asked her if she would be interested in going. Without hesitating, she agreed to go. I had multiple flashbacks at that moment of my best friends wedding, but I hoped this time I wouldn’t be bombarded with emotion as I was then. We continued to talk and she seemed somewhat antsy. Not that I’m psychoanalyzing her or anything, but it was noticeable. She smiled intently back at me as I described the fun festivities of the party. I didn’t think they sounded all that appetizing, but if she did, I wasn’t going to discredit them. She asked me if I found the piece of candy in the bottom of the wooden box. I smiled and asked her what that was all about. She smiled and said she just found a random piece laying around the house and she decided to put it in the box for old times sake. That was a rather interesting answer considering the only time she gave me those in the past was when we dated. I smile back and decided not to open that can of worms. We finished our coffee, and started to conclude our conversation. You can always tell when the conversation is coming to an end when people start packing up their things, and answering your questions with one word. Although I was still apprehensive as to why she was so antsy I figured more subliminal messages would be on their way to interpret. I told her I would pick her up at her place the following night for the Christmas party. We said our goodbyes and parted ways.

The rest of the day felt rather surreal to me. I ripped up my prompt for the phone calls of the three candidates to move on to the next level in “So you think you can be my date to a lame Christmas party.” I ran a few errands the rest of the day preparing myself for the public humiliation that would occur the following night at the Christmas party. I can only imagine the look of amazement and disbelief when I, the cynical, anti-love, village idiot, walk into the party with a date as stunning as her. The idea of it all kinda made me chuckle.

I fell asleep that night thinking about the piece of candy wrapped in scotch tape placed at the bottom of the Christmas box. I still wasn’t sure what to think of it. I tossed and turned until I wore myself out enough to eventually fall asleep. The blaring alarm clock woke me up at exactly 7am. I got dressed for work and stood in front of the mirror with an evil grin on my face as I neatly tied my “How the Grinch Stole Christmas” tie. I grabbed my coffee a la cart and headed towards another busy work day; one which would most likely be spent setting up cheesy Christmas decorations and taking Starbucks orders from my fellow co-workers.

The day was just as I imagine. I walked in and the first statement someone made to me was: “I would like a tall vanilla bean frappucino.” I grabbed pen and paper and people wrote down their orders. I traveled back down the elevator and walked across the street to the local Starbucks. I got everyone’s drinks and made my way back to the office hoping two things wouldn’t happen. The first thing that would just make my day would be dropping 20 Starbucks orders in the middle of a busy street. The second would be getting harassed by the two bonehead office security guards making jokes about me showing them my ID. Fortunately none of these things happened so I was basically home free. The day continued just as I imagined it. I set up the cheesy decorations, called the catering service, made more coffee runs, and took ridiculous orders from my boss. I left the office at exactly 4pm to go home and get ready. He was nice enough to let us all go home early knowing we would be back later that night.

I stood before the mirror tying a more elegant tie for this occasion. I was tempted to throw on a bright orange tie to throw off the dynamics the party. I can only imagine the comments I would get during the photo. “Can we photoshop him out?” “Why does he look like Halloween?” Oh the possibilities. I decided to find something with a low profile. I finished up getting ready and drove to her apartment to pick her up.

I knocked at the door and a few moments later she answered the door and motioned me inside. She was on the phone when I arrived and as I came in to sit down she went to the other room to finish her conversation. I sat at the table humming the same old Brad Paisley song: “waitin on a woman,” but no death glares came from the other room. She came out finally ready to go and apologized for her rude circumstance of being on the phone as I arrived. I thought nothing of it and we walked down to my car.

As we arrived at the party the first table we stopped at was filled with sharpies and name tags. I have always liked those “hello my name is” name tags. I have always considered getting a tattoo of one over my left pectoral muscle…or whatever you wanna call it, and leaving the name blank. That way I could take a sharpie and fill it in based on the occasion. That way I can finish it later when I finally figure out who I am.

We mingled through the crowd of 40+ happily married and newly weds, and I introduced her to the handful of the people I could actually stand. They asked her embarrassing questions like: “so how long have you two been dating?” and “being Christmas and all…do you think he’ll pop the question? *wink wink*” She didn’t quite seem her festive self as she tried to explain that we weren’t dating. She honestly tried to avoid the questions about marriage all together. I don’t blame her. Aside from the embarrassing questions, I just noticed something wasn’t quite right. She was somewhat quiet tonight. I could tell her effort to make jovial conversation was a sad attempt to cover something up, but I couldn’t quite figure it out. The night continued as planned, and all the karaoke, conversations about finance reports over the water cooler, and bad jokes from my boss carried out as I knew they would.

We all sat in a circle for the white elephant gift exchange. I thought mine was rather original. I was giving away a courtesy clerk apron from the grocery store I worked at. I was sure no one would want it, but it was actually rather popular….for all those who needed gifts for other white elephant gift parties. The evening came to a close and I said my goodbyes to the few people I interacted with. We made our way down the 13 floors in the claustrophobic elevator. The elevator’s doors were gold on the inside and they were shiny enough to see your reflections in the doors. The elevator was taking unusually long tonight. I couldn’t help but notice a tear rolling down the side of her cheek. I thought it would not be a good time to ask so I sighed and kept quiet.

She took a deep breath and turned to me. She started to blurt out sentences all the while holding back tears as she said: “Remember when I was on the phone earlier tonight…? Well….It was him….and…”

To be continued….

Episode 21: Hustle and bustle....why God made elbows

The humiliation surrounded me as I brought myself back to my feet. Not only was I in the middle of an icy parking lot trying to regain my footing on the glazed over street, but my nicely fashioned black blazer was now coated with water and dirt. I was completely fine other than the three hundred pairs of eyes staring down my wet back as I made my way into the mall entrance. Its been a while since I’ve slipped on the ice….at least unintentionally. The other twenty times I’ve done it in the last month have been mere exercises. My sensei says it helps strengthen the back muscles and increase humility….Ok so I’m not really in Karate, I just like to make it sound like my accidental falls were sincerely intentional. It was a nice attempt.

            I walked through the large metal framed glass doors across the food court. I had one goal and one goal only; that was to get in and out of there without getting mauled to death by kiosk salesmen trying to sell me diet pills and face lotion. Christmas season is in the air, and I mean literally in the air. You know the smell of cinnamon and nutmeg surrounding all the coffee shops and Christmas stores. I can only imagine the amount of work put in on a daily basis during the holiday season to make the place literally smell like Christmas. I can envision the masses of men in bright yellow jump suits carrying what looks like pesticide spray puncturing the air with “Christmas aroma.” This is all of course a day-dream. Not that I have those often or anything.

            As I made my way through the crowds of robotic people screaming at their kids while talking to themselves on Bluetooth, I was eagerly searching for a place to hide my face. I don’t ordinarily go to the mall, especially during the Christmas season, but I do have my duty to actually buy gifts for friends and family other than ugly sweaters off of ebay. I haven’t quite acquired the taste for shopping during the Christmas season. Shopping isn’t all that appealing at all to be completely honest. I was looking for the perfect gift for my parents. I passed by all the places I have gone to in years past to satisfy this task, but this year I wanted to go above and beyond to show them that I cared.

            I found myself entering into a large art gallery store. My parents love paintings, and I know adding another one to their collection wouldn’t be such a bad idea, but there was something rather unsettling about going with the ordinary. So I stepped outside the store and continued along my quest to Camelot…or some place of the sort. I passed by numerous stores that all seemed to scream the same consumer message. I thought about all the great things I could buy for them, but in the end, it’s just stuff. I wanted to do something more than just “stuff.” I was reaching the end of the mall and I sat down in a resting area by the fire place to regain my thoughts and immense creativity.

            I was sitting by the fire when a familiar face started approaching my position. It wasn’t too familiar at first until I finally recognized who it was. It was the man from the Victorian house. I wasn’t sure if he would remember who I was, but he came over and greeted me anyways. He asked me how things were going. I sat back and laughed as a split second of a thousand memories flashed through my mind. He sat down by the fire and I began to share.

            “Well sir, a lot has happened since we last talked. I can vividly remember that day sitting in your house sharing my life story.” The old man smiled and eagerly awaited my update. “Where do I begin? Ever since that day back at the Victorian house, things got rather complicated. At first they were going quite well. We didn’t have a problem communicating and meeting for coffee every once and a while. Despite my cynical attitude towards the whole thing, at least she was pursuing me…for once. I guess I took that for granted before that cold fall day. She ran into an old “friend” of hers (I did make sure to put quotation marks around friend as I told the story). From that day forward, our relationship became more of a game of go fish. She had her cards in hand, and I was apparently guessing all the wrong ones.” I tried not to take up too much of the old man’s time, so I made the story as concise as possible. “She and this male nurse eventually got engaged. I’m not really sure where things went sour from there, but long story short, they are no longer engaged. I think it had something to do with his obsession with his career, and her need to be affirmed in more considerate ways.” He looked at me with that twinkle in his eye that basically says: “I told you so.” Although he spoke no words, I can only imagine the thoughts running through his mind. I concluded my story by telling him about all the strange occurrences the day of the accident, and the painful realization that the blinding light at the end of the dark tunnel was closing in to my scorched retinas. He simply smiled at me and said: “looks like things are right on track.” I was taken back by his comment because it seemed as though he knew something all along. I figured it was just metaphorical speech telling me that life will go on as planned and there is simply nothing I can do about it. He looked at me again and said: “Just remember what I said: ‘you never know what you truly have until it’s gone.’” I smiled back at the old man as he stood from the fireplace and firmly shook my hand. He started to walk away then suddenly looked back, winked, then said: “hang in there kid.” I smiled and waved as he walked away.

            I stood up from my place near the fire and began to make my trek back down the other side of the mall. I was trying to concentrate on finding the perfect gift for my parents, yet the whole time all I could think about was his comment about things being “on track.” I wasn’t quite sure what he meant by that. I continued to walk down the crowded walk-way occasionally having to ignore the salesmen convincing me I needed a hair straightener. I would love to flash some kind of sign or badge that says: “I am on the DO NOT BOTHER list.” You know, the kind of list you can sign up for so telemarketers don’t call your house…like that really works. No matter how many times I explain that I am signed up on that special “leave me alone” list, they still call me asking me to answer survey questions about the community trash service; I live in an apartment, it doesn’t apply to me.

            The mall became busier as the hours passed and I still haven’t found the perfect gift. I walked through a few potential stores, but found no potential in any of them. My failure to find the perfect gift was soon becoming a reality as I made my way down the last wing of the mall. I stepped across the threshold of a small antique store in the back corner of the mall. This was probably the one place that didn’t smell so much like Christmas as it did like home. I walked through the door and was immediately taken back to my childhood days of waking up Christmas morning to the smell of my mothers perfectly cooked breakfast casserole. The Smell of coffee brewing mixed with the cinnamon potpourri brought the sweet aroma of Christmas memories back into my nostrils. I entered the small store hoping to find something worthwhile.

            As I rummaged through the piles of old antiques and photographs I noticed a small wooden box. On the outside of the box was an engraving of a small country house with the words: “Home is where it comes together.” This was perfect. I opened up the empty boxed lined with maroon suede material and thought this would be the perfect place for my parents to put Christmas cards. I took the box to the counter and handed it to the lady working behind the counter. “Excellent choice,” she said to me with a smile on her face. I smiled back and paid the money. As I walked out of the store back into mass chaos of people fishing for the perfect gift, I made my way back down the walk-way back towards my embarrassing spill scene. Opening the large glass doors a second time, I cautiously made my way across the icy parking lot back to the car. I sat in the car for a few moments trying to collect my breath after a long encounter with American consumerism.

            I pulled out of the mall parking lot and drove back to my apartment. As I was driving home, my phone rang a familiar tone. I answered the call without looking at the number on the screen. Her soft voice on the other end made my heart jump. It had been a while since I heard from her. She was in the process of recovering both physically from the accident, and emotionally from her other circumstances. I tried my best to focus on what she had to say rather than remember the words she whispered in my ear at the hospital the day of the accident. I pulled out my wallet and glanced down at the photo she handed me that treacherous day. I slipped it neatly back into its hiding spot behind my drivers license….shhhh you weren’t supposed to know that. She asked me if I would be willing to come over to help her move a few things around. The doctor apparently doesn’t want her to do any heavy lifting. I don’t see what the big deal is with lifting anything heavy on a broken leg. It’s been done before….just not by me. I agreed to help and made my way to the nearest exit to back track my way to her place.

            I pulled in to her apartment complex and parked the car under the structure. She was waiting for me as I approached her front door. This wouldn’t be the first time she opened the door before I got the chance to knock. I’ve had that creepy encounter before. I stepped across the threshold into the kitchen where I sat not too long ago humming Brad Paisley’s “waitin on a woman.” I could still see the death glares I got from the next room as I waited patiently for her to get ready for my best friend’s wedding. These memories were tattooed to my brain no matter how hard I tried to rid them from my memory. She and I sat down at the table for a few moments. I couldn’t help but look at the lacerations above her eyebrow and the hard shell brace she had to wear to protect her ribs from further injury. These were of course temporary scars, but I couldn’t help but think about the scars that wouldn’t go away; the scars from the man she thought was the one walking away. Sometimes I wonder if I was that man, and why did I ever just walk away? She smiled, but not the kind of smile you would want to see. It was the smile that said: “everything is going to be ok, its just going to take a while.” I wanted to be there for her in any way that I could, but I realize this could mean not being there at all for a period of time.

            We sat at her kitchen table for a few moments longer and she told me all the things she needed to have moved around. I got up from my place and began to move things around; all the while thinking about what she told me that day in the hospital. I can vaguely remember the exact wording, but I can vividly remember the feeling in my heart as it jumped thirteen stories to the tip of my tongue.

            I finished moving her things and my goodbyes. She asked me if we could meet sometime in the near future to talk. I hesitantly agreed and walked out the door. As I pulled out of the lot, I turned up the radio to drown out the voices in my head. I drove back home with my head in the fog trying to sort through the wording of what she told me. She pulled me in closer that day in the hospital to simply say: “you never let go, so neither will I.” I guess it makes sense considering the circumstances. I guess I just thought I was better at hiding the way I truly felt about things than I really was. I pulled into the familiar apartment complex and grabbed the box from the back seat of my car. I wiped away her finger prints from when I showed it to her earlier today and carried it to the top of the stairs.

            Just before I began to wrap my parent’s gift, I opened the box again just to envision the contents that may one day fill its void. As I stared down into the box, my heart jumped again as my eyes connected with the object sitting at the bottom of the box. She must have placed it in there when I was moving some things around in her apartment.

            I quickly closed the box and stood up from the table. I paced the room a few times and sat back down. Yet another beginning….

 

To be continued….

Episode 20: Flight for life....or death...

I came to an abrupt stop at the intersection of 12^th and main as the ambulance whizzed right in front of me. Naturally I thought it was just another ordinary day where someone got into an unfortunate car accident, and I just got caught in the cross fire of red and blue flashing lights. The light turned green and I continued in route to work. I found my way to my usual parking spot and put the car into gear. As I got out of my car a second ambulance passed by the parking structure. I guess I was just letting it get to me. Not only were the echoing sounds of the siren bouncing violently off the walls of the parking structure, but I couldn’t help but think of all the lives her fiancé was saving today. Great, I thought to myself. I’m really starting today off with a positive attitude.

            I brushed the light snow off my blazer and walked through the double glass doors towards the elevator to the 13^th floor. I swiped my security card as I passed the attendants desk, and they were staring right at me as if they knew something terrible was going to happen to me. Just before I pressed the button to elevator, yet another ambulance passed by the building. I haven’t quite seen that many ambulances before in a span of ten minutes. It would be a terrible thing to say they were in some kind of race, but the fact is, that would actually be a true statement; a race to beat death. As the doors opened to the abyss of the 13^th floor, the secretary motioned me to her desk. She handed me a few slips of yellow message paper before I proceeded to my office space. Message slips were not uncommon but today I had three of them. This was a miracle. Normally I have one…and its from my boss telling me to come immediately to the morning meeting; as if I had no idea what I was supposed to do after 3 months of working here. I sat down at my desk and started to read my messages. Just before I could start my phone vibrated. It was a text message. I opened my phone and stared at the message again. You know some people are not very bright when it comes to sending the same message twice. Most messages I receive more than once have that helpful disclaimer at the top that says *duplicate*. Just throwing that out there. It was the same message from the night before. Again my heart jumped as though it was being revived, but I couldn’t figure out why. Like I said before it was just a simple message. Now that I think about the message doesn’t even make much sense. I set the phone down trying not to blame the dumb phone companies for delivering messages multiple times.

            I continued to read my messages from the secretary. The first was of course my boss informing me of the morning meeting that takes place in about fifteen minutes. The other two were rather strange. One of them was from my mom. She simply left me a message saying: “Sorry I missed you while you were out of the office, I was in the area and wanted to stop by. Hope all is well. ~Love, Mom.” It was only strange because she didn’t call my phone. Oh well. The second message I couldn’t comprehend. The pencil markings were fading and I didn’t have a Rosetta stone handy. I made out as much of it as I could, but all I got was: See you soon. I set down the messages and made my way to the conference room for the meeting. Again I sat there watching snowflakes fall outside the window as the busy streets below were busting with cars. As the meeting concluded, a patrolman stuck his head in the door and requested to speak to me. I made my way out into the lobby, and the officer began to talk to me. “I’m sorry to be the one to have to inconvenience you with this......” The rest of his words faded out. I bolted back to my office and grabbed my coat. I made a mad dash for the stairs and ran down 13 flights of stairs to the parking lot. I was shaking with fear as I turned the ignition in my car and popped it into reverse. I sped out of the parking lot and made my way to the hospital. As I ran through the lobby, I was yelling out her name hoping someone would guide me in the correct direction. I made my way to the stairs still shaking from the adrenalin. As I climbed the stairs I couldn’t help but have a million flashbacks all the way back to the beginning. I opened the door and saw my mother sitting in the lobby. She came over and embraced me as tears were flowing down my face. She assured me she was going to be ok, they just didn’t know at one point if she was going to make it. I left in such a rush, the officer didn’t have time to explain what happened. All I heard was: “sorry I have to be the one to inconvenience you with this…” then I ran off. The nurse came out and sat down with my mother and I in the lobby. She told us there was a severe accident on the highway. Nearly 30 cars were involved. It took place at the on ramp for I-121 exit 3. She apparently couldn’t stop due to the ice and her car hit the guard rail and flipped over the side onto the grassy shoulder. In the process this created a game of dominos behind her. The nurse explained that she had 4 broken ribs, a broken leg, severe cuts, and a mild concussion. In the process she lost a lot of blood, and needed to be airlifted to the hospital.

            I started to piece together the events of the morning. The three ambulances passing the office building were heading towards her crash. The reason my mother left a message at the office, was because she was on her way to the hospital and couldn’t get a hold of my cell phone. Come to think of it, the phone was on silent most of the way to work, and the only time I glanced at it was the vibrating sensation in gave when I received a duplicate message. I felt like an idiot remembering the comment I made about her fiancé saving all those lives today, not really thinking about the fact that the life he was really saving was hers. I sat down in the chair and cried. The nurse came out about an hour later as I was still sitting in the same spot. She told me everything was fine and she was only asleep now. I couldn’t help but continue to try to piece together the text message she sent me the night before and again today. It just didn’t make any sense. All it said was: “I’m sorry about everything, thanks for waiting.” I tried to decipher what she meant by that anyways. I would think she might have meant, “thanks for being patient with all my ridiculous requests, and multiple pointless phone calls where I answer all my own questions,” but all it said was “thanks for waiting.” My mom came back with two large cups of coffee. She sat down and explained the story goes a lot further than where the nurse stopped.

            I sat back and listened as my mom explained everything going on. She told me the wedding had been postponed…indefinitely. I sat back in shock, and before I could open my mouth to ask any kind of questions, she already started to answer them. She explained that everything came down to his obsession with his career, and her need for someone to love her in more affirming ways than his ten minute power-breaks, and sticky notes on her car window.

            I wasn’t sure if this was something I really wanted to hear today. I was already in enough shock that a good friend of mine almost died, but now having to hear that the light at the end of my dark tunnel was starting to blind me in the eyes once more. I wasn’t sure if I could take it. I sat in the same spot for 9 hours and 30 minutes. I couldn’t believe that while she was in her unconscious state that everything boiled down to whether or not I was being tested again. Yes, I have been here before. Think all the way back to the coffee shop; yeah the one where I spilled coffee all over my baby blue jeans. Was that just another publicity stunt? Am I simply just another contestant on a reality TV show called “Survivor: hopeless romantic version.”

I sat and contemplated this all day long. The nurse came out again and told me she was awake. I contemplated whether or not it would be good for her health, or mine for that matter for me to go in there. I felt bad for all the subconscious jokes I made in the past about getting hit by cars to relieve myself from this misery, because I look at this now as a very apparent reality. My mom bought flowers for her bedside for me to give to her while I sat in a chair with my head buried in my hands. She set them on the coffee table next to me as I cried. There were no words to write in the get well card, so I thought it best to do without for now. I walked through the door and set the flowers on the table. I pulled up a chair and sat quietly by the bedside. She glanced over at me with those soft eyes. I felt that sharp familiar pain I felt when I received her message last night and this morning. I didn’t like what I saw. Other than the fact that she looked like a character out of the mummy, I didn’t know what a body cast looked like until today. She smiled at me as I continued to sit in silence. I wasn’t sure if she was going to have enough strength to speak, but she finally started talking. “Did you get my message?” she asked me. I looked back in amazement realizing that her physical state wasn’t as important to her as me getting her message. I nodded and smiled back at her. She told me very quietly and tiresomely that she had a lot of explaining to do and hopefully when they let her loose, she will be able to catch up. I applauded her ambition for thinking she would be out of here tomorrow, and chuckled back subconsciously saying: “you wish.” She asked me to lean over close so she could whisper something in my ear. As I leaned in I notice she was grasping on to an old photograph. It was one she told me she had kept from the journal she sent me, but wanted me to have it. As I leaned in to hear her secret, she slipped me the photo. She whispered a line in my ear, and my heart jumped again, as it did before, but this time out of confusion.

I left the room holding onto the photo and I pulled out my wallet to find a safe place for it. I tucked in neatly beneath my drivers license, picture of my mom, and a concise list of all the interpretations of the colors on the mood ring. I walked out to the lobby to find my mom standing there again. She gave me a warm smile and a hug. We walked out of the hospital together, and as we walked she asked me if I got both her messages at work. I told her I only got the one. Then I remembered the one that needed a Rosetta stone to interpret. I asked her to repeat what the second one said. She smiled back and said: “Dear son, come quick, you may never know what you truly have until its gone, see you soon.” I had flashbacks of the old man in the Victorian house telling me the exact same thing and started to think about why this was such a reoccurring theme. My mom and I parted ways and headed back to the office to gather my belongings and get chewed out by my boss for missing a complete work day. I pressed the button to the 13^th floor and the doors to the claustrophobic box of death closed firmly in front of me.

I stepped across the threshold to an empty office and I made my way to my office space. I noticed a card on my desk. It was from my boss. I tore open the card and read the sympathy note followed by….“see you tomorrow morning at the meeting.” It kind of made me laugh knowing that is exactly the kind of thing he would say. I grabbed my things and left the office.

On the drive home I turned up the radio and heard the recap of the day’s news; including the 30 car pileup at the on ramp for I-121 exit 3. I started to parallel the pileup of cars to the pile up of memories from when I glanced at the photograph she handed me earlier. I pulled into the apartment and walked up the icy stairs to my front door. As I shut the door firmly behind me I came to the realization of what she meant when she whispered in me ear earlier today. I sat down at the table and cried myself to sleep from a near death experience with life and with love. 

Episode 19: Spewing white crap...

The windows frosted over and the snowflakes outside the window beat relentlessly on the glass. I tossed and turned pulling the covers over my head for one more attempt at battling insomnia. Sleep deprivation is no match for me. I have my Coffee and Red bull to counter any attacks on my invincible immune system. Ok so that was a bit exaggerated. I looked outside the window on the snowy streets below. You can always tell its snowing without looking at the ground. The sky makes this vague orange tint reflecting off the streetlights from the city. I rolled over once more and glanced at the time on the clock. It was 12:13. This means that in exactly six hours and two minutes, that small box that simply tells me what time it is will be screaming in my ear.

            Unfortunately work isn’t like school. We don’t get snow-days for work. Chances are I won’t see the name of my company on scrolling on the bottom of the TV screen during “Good Morning America.” And I’d be willing to bet my boss won’t be calling me telling me to take the day off. No, just another typical day at the office, the only difference is today I get the honor of being put in near death situations while getting my car dirty. We really know how to kill two birds with one stone.

            I pulled into the office complex and made my way to my designated parking spot. I took my time making my way to the elevator to reach the 13^th floor. I was hoping two things wouldn’t happen today. The first thing I hoped for was that my boss wouldn’t ask me stupid questions, especially today. Well wish #1 didn’t come true, the very first thing he said was: “So why were you late?” Well sir I got in a fight with Mother Nature, and I lost. Because I lost she decided to spew frozen white crap all over the place causing hundreds of people to slam into each other, I am deeply sorry.” How does a human respond to a dumb question like that? I tried to contain myself by responding with: “Well my small car was having a bit of trouble making it to work fast enough this morning, along with a million other people.” I take it he didn’t like my response when he asked me how long it took me to get from my house to the local Starbucks drive through. I knew I should have destroyed the evidence. Naturally I was holding a twelve ounce morning brew in my hands as I was formulating brilliant responses to his rather stupid questions. My second wish of the day could quite possibly come true. All that requires of me is not leaving the office building, abandoning my car, and finding a new address. All of these places have brought such bad circumstances the last couple of weeks in light of the wedding. I never thought there was such a thing as a photographer-on-call. She decides to bring joy to my life by calling every fifteen minutes with details about photos. I wonder if she was simply trying to feel more important since her fiancé thinks legal separation is in order if I don’t leave her alone. I get it, I’m just additional baggage.

            I sat in the conference room staring off into space during the meeting trying to count the number of times water from the drain would drip off the rooftop. I counted 930 drops. Its not that what my boss has to say isn’t important, its just that I will hear all of it again frequently throughout the day at least 3 different times. He just wants to make sure “we are on the same page.” What does that even mean? What if we’re reading two completely different books? Which half the time is the truth. I have since neglected my duty to take notes in the meetings. Aside from the notes, I feel as though I am the one person in the office who will put up my boss rambling on for hours about things he said in the meeting, just to make sure he made a point.

            I set down my paperwork and glanced at my watch. It was 12:13, and time for lunch. I made my way back down the elevator to the car. I felt like it was worth driving the car to lunch today. Not only would I feel more experienced by avoiding all the California drivers slipping and sliding on the ice, but I was kinda tired of the same old lunch spots. I figured now is a better time than any to start to move on. It was only a week before the wedding and there is pretty much no chance things will stop now. I drove to the edge of the city to a small Mexican restaurant I read about in a magazine at Jiffy Lube. Supposedly this place has exquisite cuisine. I thought I would test my senses and give it a shot.

            As I pulled in to the parking lot I looked for an open spot and drove around till I found one. After a what seemed like forever, I pulled into the closest place I could find. All I needed to do was get a bus ticket, cross over three county boundaries, and inquire the troll at the bridge before I could enter the restaurant. Lets just simplify that and say I parked a million miles away; well maybe not a million, but close enough.

            I opened the large mahogany doors and made my way to the hostess standing at the desk. She led me to a table-for-one, and I sat down to and began to glance at the menu. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a familiar face. So much for wish number two. I guess she didn’t notice me when I waved, but then again her fiancé might have a restraining order against me; me the love struck serial killer. I focused in on her face and it looks as though she had been crying. She took the corner of her napkin and patted the underneath section of her eyelid. She dialed a number on her phone and sat quietly waiting for the recipient to pick up. All the while, I was restlessly thumbing my phone in my pants pocket hoping to hear the sweet sound of Edwin McCain playing “I’ll be.” A few more seconds passed by and she began to speak. I looked away and took another glance at the menu. After carefully deciphering the menu and it’s contents, I made a selection and told my waiter what I wanted. He took my menu and made his way back to the kitchen to get my drink. What is going to keep me entertained now? If she sees me I will have no excuse as to why I didn’t come over. I can’t just make something up like: “Oh wow, I didn’t see you sitting there, I was too focused on the physical state of my follicles.” I glanced up again to see her wipe away more tears from her eyes.

            Now this was driving me crazy. Not only was I being the selfish guy not going over to acknowledge her existence, but I was also making up lame excuses as to why I “didn’t see her.” I decided to be the bigger person and go talk to her. She was still on the phone talking…hopefully not to what’s-his-face. All he does is makes things worse. But that doesn’t mean I’m not biased.

            I got up and made my way over to her table trying to think of a more mature introduction than: “Hey, fancy meeting you here.” She might think I was a total creeper. We finally made eye contact and she gave me one of those half smiles. You know the ones I’m talking about. The smile that says, “greaaaaate…check please.” I told her I didn’t want to bother her but I just wanted to say hi. I thought maybe talking about the wedding would help cheer her up, but when I opened my mouth to speak, she stopped me before words came out, and simply said: “can we not talk about the wedding right now?” I agreed and tried to think of another subject. As we continued to talk, she glanced down at her hands and started to cry. I asked her what was wrong and if there was anything I could do, and she simply said: “no I just can’t talk about it right now.” She simply wouldn’t tell me what it was that was bothering her. She told me she had to go, and she abruptly grabbed her things and headed for the door. I half yelled goodbye across the room, and she reciprocated before disappearing into the spewing white crap outside the large mahogany doors. I made my way back to my table and ate my lunch. I asked for the check and paid the $12.13 that I owed.

            The rest of the day was a complete blur. I tried to get work done, but nothing was getting accomplished. I clocked out after the work day was over. After I made it safely home through the obstacles including: ice, cars, helpless pedestrians, and inanimate objects, I sat at the table and tried to unpack the day in my mind. My cell phone beeped indicating a text message. It was from her. I read it out loud to myself. My heart jumped a little as though someone was trying to revive me. It was a sharp kind of pain, but not the sharp pain I expected. It was unexplainable. I spent several hours at the table working on projects for the next day. I finally decided to pull the covers over my head at 12:13am. I tossed and turned trying to understand the message. It didn’t make any sense. It wasn’t anything all that special. All it said was: “…

 

To be continued…

Episode 18: Shower caps and body bags

The room fell silent before me. Not just the absence of voices talking, but dead, complete silence. The kind of silence you would envision in a nightmare where you stand before a crowd of people wearing a shower cap and a speedo. I was on the phone with my mom during my work hours….mistake number one. My mom asked me about her…mistake number two. As you very well know the last few months have been dedicated to her wedding planning. I was the starving photographer with no sense of humor, according to her on occasion, and she was the bride-to-be of a successful male nurse….oh the irony. Mothers have a way of asking the toughest questions at the most inconvenient of times. You know questions like…why didn’t you do anything about it? Or my personal favorite, do you still have feelings for her? This was the question that got me in trouble today. As I was on the phone my mom popped the question….no not the one you’re thinking of, she asked me: “do you love her?” That was a blunt question to say the least. I wasn’t honestly expecting my mother to pull a stunt like that. She continued to drill into the sensitive areas of my life to the point where I had no choice but to stand up and yell: “OF COURSE I LOVE HER, BUT WHAT DOES THAT WORD EVEN MEAN ANYMORE?!?!” This was the most awkward 5 seconds of my life. All of the young aspiring future lovers, and folks who have been married for 50+ years were staring right at me as if I were the devil.
Needless to say I was never able to answer the question: “what is your most embarrassing moment” until now. I think I’ve got it nailed. I wasn’t really trying to bash the idea of love, don’t get me wrong I’m all for it. Thanks to the day in February where I dress in sackcloth and pour ashes all over myself, I love Valentine’s Day…there I go using that word. The office couldn’t have been more awkward the rest of the day. Now my coworkers think I’m a high school reject slowly turning into a love struck serial killer. It’s not my fault I swear, I just haven’t had the best of luck with love.
Lunch break finally came. I was able to escape the office with a few minor incisions. I walked down the busy streets watching the workers take down my favorite fall decorations. The reality that winter was really coming became all the more clear as I felt the cool crisp air beat against the back of my throat. I sat down at my favorite corner bakery about ready to enjoy my favorite soup of the day. Chicken noodle day was always the best. It doesn’t matter how old I get, I will never forget the days where I pretended to be sick so I could stay at home, eat chicken noodle soup, and watch cartoons all day long. I wasn’t that mischievous as a child, I just knew how to play my cards right.
As I was enjoying my cup o’ soup, my phone rang. I looked at the caller ID, low and behold it was her. Naturally my mind begins to think of glorious sarcastic things to say as I answer, but this time the only witty remark I could think of was: “Speaking.” As I sank down in my chair for another tedious conversation with Martha Stewart’s wedding planner, the door to the bakery flung open. The cool air redirected my attention to the door. She stood at the entrance of the bakery looking around the room as she always does….you know becoming aware of her natural surroundings, most confused mammals have to do this over and over when reentering a familiar place. I thought this could be the perfect time to have some fun.
I interrupted her and tried to make a comment about her jacket. Naturally she just kept talking. You know that phrase that says: “If a woman can’t her a man speak, is he still wrong?” This is exactly how I felt. I’m pretty sure she was on auto pilot. Knowing she would continue to talk even if I didn’t give a reaction, I set the phone down on the table (while she was still talking), and walked over to the door. When the time came for her to order her food, (while she was still “talking to me”) I tapped her on the shoulder from behind and said: “Excuse me MISS (at least for now), please order your food.” She looked at me for a second trying to put together the puzzle. I couldn’t possibly be standing right behind her if she was talking to me on the phone. She finally caught on and started laughing. A few seconds later, the door to the bakery opened again. I muttered under my breath: “who called the nurse?” as he approached her. His first statement to her was: “what is he doing her?” well excuse me, sorry for breathing. She quickly explained that I was finishing up my lunch and she just so happened to come into the same bakery today. He looked at me in disbelief and motioned me outside.
“I don’t want to be rude, but I would really appreciate it if you stayed away from my fiancé, we were talking about it, and we really can’t afford to bring any baggage into the marriage….don’t get me wrong, I really appreciate your support for her, but when there’s a line, there’s a line.” He said to me with those big brown eyes and baby blue scrubs. I really didn’t comprehend that last part… “when there’s a line, there’s a line.” Well no kidding. My guess is when there isn’t a line, chances are, there isn’t a line. I looked back at him and simply said: “you got it chief.” I don’t think he understands the language of someone sarcastic by nature. We walked inside, I bid her farewell and walked back to the office. As I sat at my desk the rest of the day, I couldn’t get his comment out of my mind. Who greets their future wife with: “what’s he doing her?” I thought I was the one who didn’t understand love. After a few moments…ok a few hours of procrastination, I began to work on my end of the month report.
My phone vibrated indicating I had a text message. She wrote me saying: “I am terribly sorry about earlier, I’ll have to explain later.” I closed up the phone and continued to work. The end of the day came, and I passed by all my angry coworkers on my way to the elevators. I made my way into the claustrophobic box and hit the button for floor number one. I stood patiently and waited as the large silver doors close symmetrically in front of me. As they reopened on a new canvas, I stepped across the threshold and found my way to the parking lot.
As I approached my car she came out of nowhere and called my name. I turned around to see her standing here. The only reason this caught me off my guard was because she didn’t have work today. I was a little bit surprised after her fiancés little speech at lunch that she was still willing to talk to me. I was still holding his comment in the back of my mind. Maybe she was unsure about things. Maybe she was questioning whether or not she was making the right choice. All of these possibilities flooded my mind as I sat and attempted to listen to her speak. She apologized for his “actions” today as she explained that he was having an off day. I always love it when someone else has to apologize and ultimately justify his “actions”; he didn’t really “do” anything per say, its more what he said. But the more I think about it, I wouldn’t be any different. I probably would beat the crap out of anyone who came within a 50 foot radius of her. Then again I’m the love struck serial killer with no backbone.
She leaned up against my car as if she was going to be there a while. All I wanted was to go home. I had next to the worst day of my life, and she wants to “talk”, how convenient. I popped open the trunk and threw in my work bag….on top of the two body bags already stacked there……wait never mind that comment. I turned around and surprisingly caught the tail end of her wiping away a tear off her face. This really sparked my attention. Not only was she there on his behalf apologizing for something I probably wouldn’t have handled any different, but also facing the reality that this was the person she would spend the rest of her life with. This would have been the perfect time for me to convince her that he isn’t the one, and take all the bold steps my mother talked about, but I found myself wording and rewording my response over and over in my head.
I finally found a time to reply: “You know these things happen all the time. I probably would have told any other guy the same thing if he came arms length of you, but he probably wouldn’t be as fortunate as I was. He cares a great deal about you, and because of that, he’s willing to do whatever it takes to protect you. These feelings of doubt are completely normal. Most would call them cold feet.” As I continued to talk her face dropped ever so slightly. The kind of drop when you know you’ve said something the other party just didn’t want to hear. Regardless of what she wanted to hear, I felt like that was exactly what she needed to hear, at least for then. That way she would know when the time would come to make her own decision.
I pulled away from the parking lot, looking face forward at the road ahead. The drive home was slower today. Not any slower than usual, just my perception of it appeared a lot slower this time around. The familiar parking structure at my apartment welcomed me with a halt. I pulled my work bag out of the trunk, and made my way to the top of the stairs.
The doors closed behind me…..

To Be Continued…

Episode 17: Regression...The more the merrier

The large mahogany doors swung open to the open aired room. The ceilings were larger than life, and the sound of the echoing voices made me feel like I was in a 13^th century European church. The downtown cathedral was a large building and a popular one as well. It must have cost her an arm and a leg to rent this place for a few hours…..this I could only hope if it would slow down the process to her baton death march. She wouldn’t stop smiling as the coordinator pointed out all of the neat things about the church. You know the unnecessary details that make absolutely no difference for the wedding. For example, No one cares that the stone floors were all imported from Spain; Whoopy-freakin-doo. I rolled my eyes as the “tour-guide” continued his historical rampage. We finished up in the church and I took a seat in the front row. I made sure she reserved that seat for me. I was going to go through with this, the least she could do is give me front row seats to the circus….excuse me wedding. I was the photographer for it. I think she strategically planned to make me the photographer ever since princess charming asked her to marry him. “Lets give him a camera and let him run around.” Its like giving a child a package of gum; “That’ll get ‘em to shut up!”, “Here chew on this for a while.” She told me it was because of my elegant style, that and she didn’t want to pay thousands of dollars for some paparazzi to stick a lens in their faces for their first kiss….or is it? I found myself scoping out all the spots to place my tripod during different parts of the recession….I mean ceremony.

We left the cathedral and walked to the small deli shop by my work. Good ol’ memories, I thought to myself being reminded that this was the spot she told me he was interested in marrying her. We ordered our food and sat down. I was a bit apprehensive when meeting with her today. All she wanted to talk about was the wedding, and all I wanted to talk about was euthanasia….that was a joke by the way. I haven’t quite figured her out. Every so often she remembers that I’m the one she told she still had feelings for not too long ago. It’s during those days that she asks me: “So how are you doing with things?” The strange thing is, I would almost rather have those days than ones like today where every other question consists of: “So are you totally excited to take pictures for the wedding?” I now imagine what it must feel like to watch your favorite football team lose the Super Bowl to the archrival and then have to write a newspaper article on how amazing the winning team played.

We finished up our food and made or way to the street to walk around while her other half finished picking the colors for his dress…..ok so he was still at work. I tried to stay positive as we passed the multitudes of memories from the past few months of my life. You know, the coffee shop where I spilled coffee all over my jeans, the Italian restaurant from my schizophrenic dream, and the bottom of the elevator inside my office building where she would stand in a creepy manner at the exact moment I stepped over the threshold. I could feel the tears well up inside my eyelids, so I slipped on the aviators and continued to walk. Why aviators? Well they are bigger, and I there is a lot larger distance that the tear has travel to reach a visible state, and I hoped the reflection of her eyes would distract her from my own.

We reached the hospital and he walked out of the automatic, double sliding glass doors and came over to her. He kissed her on the lips….yes I dare say on the lips….So much for the paparazzi moment. We walked back to the church for another round of insane asylum tours, so that he could fully experience 100 years of place he would spend a few hours not even looking at his natural surroundings. We opened the large mahogany doors and made our way inside to see the familiar face of the same guide we had last time. He intently looked at me and smiled like some creeper from the morgue knowing I would some day occupy one of his body bags. I felt like every comment was directed at me throughout the entire tour. I’m sure it had something to do with me falling asleep for the first hour while he talked about the 200 pilgrims who supplied the wood from a forest outside of Pennsylvania just for the pews.  

We finally finished the tour, and the sun was setting on another not-so-beautiful fall day. Despite the fact that it was bitter cold, my day wasn’t even over yet. Normal people go home and go to bed when the sun sets, but she insisted we visit the place for her reception. She said it would be a place I would enjoy. We drove around until the surrounding area became a bit too familiar for my comfort. We pulled into the parking lot of a familiar clubhouse. I guess she doesn’t know the meaning of “be original”, because it was the same clubhouse where my best friend and his wife shared their wedding reception. Was this some sort of sick joke? She told me she thought I would appreciate it because we shared some good laughs here….Well who’s laughing now? It certainly wasn’t me. We walked around the place, and the aviators weren’t quite doing the job. Not only was she and her future husband my ride back home, but I was imprisoned by the concrete memories of Bob and Carol and their stellar Spanish accent. I took a walk over across the dance floor listening to the voice in my head repeat the same thing it told me that night: “not yet…just wait it out.” I excused myself to the restroom and completely fell apart. I needed a perfect excuse to explain the crimson red eyes being shielded by the unnecessary sunglasses. I couldn’t stop the pounding of my heart and the shaky feeling in my legs as I watched them practice their waltz. This was really it. Maybe this was what the voice inside my head was trying to tell me. I guess it was trying to save me from a world of hurt. It did to some extent, but the reality is, I still feel it, even now as I sit on the sidelines watching my favorite team lose the Super Bowl.

She came over and sat down at the table as doctor what’s-his-face negotiated the prices for renting the club. She started to talk about all the great memories we experienced her not too long ago. I was about to explode. I am curious if she is simply oblivious to what she is really doing, or if it is just some plan to get me back for all the years of silence and pain I caused her. I stopped her mid sentence and said: “Now is really not a good time to talk about this.” She looked at me rather puzzled. As I turned my face away, she caught a glimpse of the tear trail rolling down my face. “What’s the matter?” she asked as if she had no clue at all. I tried not to be silent, but I had no words. He came over and took her hand. She guided him to the center of the dance floor and placed his hand on her lower back to dance. I felt like I was in a nightmare. He looked over at me with that ugly twinkle in his eye as if he was visually taking ownership of her. I guess this is the part of the movie where I go over and punch his lights out and sweep her off her feet, but the reality is, I couldn’t find enough strength to even say a word. They finished the last dance and we all made our way back to her car. He went on and on about how beautiful the clubhouse was, and how perfect it would be for the reception. I sat silently in the back seat staring out the window. I counted how many times her eyes ventured to the back in the rear view mirror.

We pulled up to my apartment and said goodbye before stepping out. I made my way past the infamous picnic table, and climbed the stairs to my apartment. I opened the door and stood silently in the entry way as the teardrops slowly hit the floor beneath my feet. It was pitch black in the room, but my mind was filled with faded pictures and memories of the distant coffee shop and my baby blue jeans, the yellow brick road to death and the automated carwash where I beat my head on the steering wheel. I could hear myself humming “waitin on a woman” and “bittersweet symphony” as the darkness continued to fill the room. The voice in my head telling me to “wait it out, not yet” taunted me as I stood in silence. I collapsed to the floor and fell asleep. The song from the waltz and his eyes meeting mine kept my heart beating relentlessly on the floor as she spun around smiling in circles in my head. Only a few more weeks, and it really would be the end….finally.

Episode 16: Shattered Glass....in more ways than one

Glass was everywhere. I carefully stepped over the shattered pieces of what was once a picture frame and found my way to the closet to get a broom. There was still some what of a form left to the picture frame I dropped. It was a complete accident. It were as though my heart skipped a beat and my hands just lost grip. I was able to salvage the faded photograph from underneath the rubble of shining destruction. I glanced at it for a few more seconds and placed it facing up neatly on the counter. I cleaned up the mess and took a seat at the kitchen table. I thought for a few moments about the picture itself, yet deep inside I wanted to forget it all. My mother always used to tell me to get up and do something every time I was prone to start thinking. So I got up and made my way down the stairs to courtyard of the complex. By this time I was noticing my head starting to feel very light, and my eyes were beginning to dim in and out of focus. I took a few more steps and then…..

 

            I woke up in a hospital bed. Glancing around the room I saw a vase with flowers, and a few cards. My hand was somewhat sore and when I looked down I noticed the IV pumping some kind of medication. It all looks clear to me. For all I know they could be pumping water and out of the needle just to tell someone they are doing their job. My head was wrapped in gauss and I could only see out of one eye. I don’t really remember what happened to be honest with you. All I can remember was walking through the courtyard escaping memories, and then here I am. The doctor came in and gave me some more medication. All they told me when I tried to ask what happened was to get some rest. Chances are they are only stalling so they can make me pay for every minute I am in the bed. No wonder hospitals cost so much. I laid there for a few more moments staring at the ceiling. Not much activity was entering my mind at that point…..ok well I lied, there was a lot going on up there. I thought I was doing my self a favor by leaving the house and getting out….apparently not. I looked over and noticed my favorite book sitting on the nightstand next to my glass of water, dentures, and bed pan (ok maybe not dentures….or the bed pan….at least I hope not). I picked it up and found a sticky note on the cover from my mom telling me she broke into my apartment. What a great note to get from your mom while lying in a hospital bed: “hey sweetie, hope everything is alright,….by the way I broke into your apartment.”             I’m pretty convinced they had me on some kind of pain medication. I was feeling rather loopy, yet still didn’t have any answers as to what happened. I leaned back and began to read my book. It was a few moments later that there was a knock at the door. It couldn’t have been the doctors, they just barge in without knocking. I was hoping it was my mom coming to tell my of all the great things she discovered while meandering around in my apartment “looking for my books.” However, it wasn’t my mother. I guess I drew the short straw, as I happen to do often. She came in the door and stood still for a few seconds. She came over and sat down in the chair by the bedside. I didn’t say a word at that point. I was just ready for her to make a dumb joke about always finding my way back to the hospital. Funny thing is, she hasn’t the slightest clue why…hmmmmm. She looked at me for a few more seconds before saying anything. The first thing she said to me was: “are you alright?” I guess something must be right with the world if I was able to come up with a sarcastic comment…at least to myself. I looked back and responded: “I guess so, I don’t know why I’m here, they just took me here, outside my of will.” She smiled knowing that at least the sarcastic part of me is still working. I’m pretty sure my grave stone will have something about sarcasm written all over it. “Here he lies….Finally.” I’m not so sure how many people would enjoy that, but it would make me grin, even if I wasn’t there to see it.

            She said she heard I was in the hospital and thought it would be best to come by. I felt a part of me smirk sarcastically on the inside saying: “You have no idea.” I thought I would get the subject off of me and ask her how planning the wedding was going. She looked down and gave me the half hearted response: “It’s going ok, not much to it yet.” I laid back listening to her talk a little bit about it. She didn’t seem too enthused. I was more prone to believe she wasn’t sure of anything anymore. Just as she finished up the conversation her phone rang. It was her bride to be….excuse me groom to be. I shut my eyes for a moment and when I woke up she was gone. I found a note by my bedside reading: “Sorry I had to go so fast, he wanted to meet for dinner, and you dozed off.  Hope everything is going well, let me know if there is anything I can do.” I read the note and started to wonder which of the nurses forged her signature. I guess I believe it was her. It sounds exactly like something she would do; leave in short notice with little or no explanation. I rolled my eyes and fell asleep.

            I woke up again to the doctor sitting at my bed side. He held a small plastic bag in his hands. I focused in on him as he was glancing at my file. He looked up and said: “you must really like us here; this is your second time back this year.” It was inevitable someone was going to crack a dumb joke. I was really tempted to tell him the source of the problem, but he wouldn’t get the joke anyways. “It was good they got to you in time, did you not notice you were bleeding? We pulled this out of your elbow.” He held the plastic bag with a small piece of glass in it. “You lost just enough blood to pass out; unfortunately you hit your head on a picnic table on the way down, which hopefully explains the gauss.” I guess that explains a lot. I wasn’t very careful cleaning up the glass from the kitchen floor. I told him what happened and he put on his reading glasses as if he was going to start lecturing the second I finished my sob story. He told me next time I needed to wear proper eye protection when cleaning up glass, as well as latex gloves, foot coverings, a plastic hair net, and a protective anthrax suit (for the full body protection). It was like a “Martha Stewart: How to be safe in the kitchen” lecture. Which I guess was necessary considering I didn’t notice the piece of glass lobbed in my elbow, or the dripping blood on my nice white shirt. Its ok, I’m not to bright, I ride the short bus….whenever possible; free animal crackers and apple juice.

            I made my way down the hall toward the front desk of the hospital. I checked out and they gave me my receipt for the stay. I almost wanted to faint again after looking at my bill. There goes my honeymoon, oh wait…I guess that’s not that big of a loss considering my luck so far. I got on the elevator and pushed the button for the first floor. The doors opened and I made my way past the security desk and towards the sign for the parking lot. As I peered around the corner, there she was…again. I almost wanted to say: “Sorry I’m kind of in a hurry, I have things to do, people to see, places to go,” but before the words could come out, she said: “I thought you might need a ride.” I guess I forgot I didn’t drive my self to the hospital while fully unconscious. That would have made for a great game of two truths and a lie: “I once drove my self to the hospital….unconscious, I collapsed at work in front of 20 customers, and the girl of my dreams (both metaphorically and literally) told me she still loved me after 3 years of silence.” Well none of these would work because they are all true, at least they were.

            We walked back to her car and I got in hoping she wouldn’t ask if I wanted to go grab lunch. I just got out of the hospital for goodness sake, the last thing I wanted was to repeat my bloody freefall. She stayed really quiet the entire drive back. I was really surprised. Not that she talks a lot, but she was more quiet than normal. We arrived back at my apartment. I thanked her for the ride and made my way past the courtyard glancing at every possible place where I could have made my plunge into the abyss of memories. I reached the top of the stairs and opened the door. Inside I found my things just as I had left them…all except one thing. The photograph on the counter was flipped over, and on the back was some writing. I figured either my mom wrote me an encouraging note, or this has been there for a while. It simply said: “This was the best day of my life.”

            The phone rang from the next room as I sat at my desk pondering what the quote meant, or when it was written. I picked it up and heard my mom’s voice on the other line. She asked me how I was feeling, and if I was able to get her note on the book. I asked her if she moved anything around when she came through my apartment. She said she went straight to my office and then left. I sat puzzled hoping she forgot she moved the photograph and flipped it over. She hung up the phone and I moved to the next room. I found the photograph sitting face down on the counter and noticed a small bit of engraving at the bottom. It wasn’t enough make out an entire sentence, but I found the words “yours truly” at the bottom left of the photograph. I flipped through the pages of the journal and found the final entry signed: “yours truly.” This was awfully strange considering I received the picture framed not in a journal. However, the grooves matched almost perfectly, I’m no “Mr. CSI” or anything, but “yours truly” was written more like a signature, which is how I knew it matched. Apparently she pulled the photo out of the journal before sending it to me 2 years prior.

            I put the photo and journal back on the table and sat down in the next room trying to escape the events of the day. “Just maybe,” I thought, there was a chance she intentionally sent me the picture at the time she did. I stood up and paced the house trying to put together the pieces to this seemingly impossible puzzle. Lets just hope I don’t cut myself on the glass….