I remember walking up 5th street on the east side and seeing a Mercedes Benz parked neatly in its space adjacent from its owner's townhome overlooking the harbor. Was it a condo? Patrick and I talked about how we could afford such a car when we had real jobs, not believing it was possible. Not yet knowing that it was a ridiculous goal.
My grandmother wore gold I mean gold flats to church, paired with white chiffon pants and a lime green lady's sports coat. She left church out the back door before the pastor had finished his benediction, without regard to the rite of shaking his hand and thanking him for such a meaningful sermon. No. My grandfather, not as snappy a dresser but just as anxious a church-goer, would win the race to the back door by at least five paces. He would swing the doors wide, and once those hinges were pressed into service the eastern tilt of the sun would turn the lilac blooms into utter late morning intoxication. We would descent the stairs with our grandparents; him telling us that to be close to God was to be close to nature. Her just complaining about the Methodists and their late start time.
The only time I got my father to speak about his life was when we were either camping alone, or he was impossibly drunk with wine.
My grandfather died from drinking too much. My grandmother died from living too long. I will die from either of those two fates, or gunfire. It's the third cause that leads me to participate in the first cause.
I remember standing at the foot of the ocean with Emily, mid-hurricane (though it was farther south) with the waves cresting the steps of the boardwalk that was our home base. I remember looking at the waves and saying if you go in, I go in. We were maybe thirteen.
I have held memories in orbs of amber and have been incapable of being more than their curator.
Today, the worst day, Joe told me about a place he found where the buy-in is around 400K. And then casually brought up my earnings if I were to stay on for another unfathomable amount of time. I nodded, not listening, and thought about my grandmother's lime green church jacket. Her waxen skin when she passed. My mom, sitting alone watching guard until I got there. How none of this means anything.
The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break, it kills. It kills the very good, and the very gentle, and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these, you can be sure that it will kill you too. But there will be no special hurry.
