Should I Fall Away
(Written Sept 1997)
The day was beautiful, but in a subtle way. It was one of those days when you wake up feeling good for no particular reason at all. You decide not to look at it too closely, you don’t want to know why you feel good. You just know that you feel that way now, and you want it to last forever. That particular Saturday was just such a day.
It was late September. I had always loved the month of September since childhood, though I haven’t the slightest idea why. The wind was from the north and very light, so much so as to be barely noticeable. The sky was blue. Not a particularly brilliant blue, more watery than anything, but striking in it’s own way nonetheless. It was speckled with a few, silver-light, almost transparent clouds that drifted lazily across its countenance. We had just left the last of a few antique shops that she had wanted to see. We were in my truck headed west, with no specific destination in mind. It was still early in the afternoon, and we had the rest of our lives ahead of us.
I was thinking of her, as she sat beside me. She had wrinkled her nose and called the last place we visited a “junkyard”. I think that was just a little more of the spoiled girl in her coming out. That last place, the junkyard, as she called it, had been my favorite. The others were too polished, too perfect. They resembled museums more than curious little shops. This last place was complete with dust, broken pieces and broken pasts; memories and character. I liked these places. Each of these trinkets had a past, had something about them that kept people from throwing them away. They did not have the sterility of new things. These objects had already had a life. They now looked out of place, like from a distant time or some different place.
Even the proprietor of the store looked like he stepped out of the movie “Easy Rider”. His once blonde hair was well beyond shoulder length and graying. He had a long handlebar moustache; the rest of his face had not seen a razor in some days. He seemed genuinely disinterested in us until I noticed a replica of the USS Constitution in the window on a dusty ledge. It sat there haphazardly leaning to the starboard, with it’s mainmast in dire need of repair. I had always held an affinity for ships. As a child I mused that I was meant to be a pirate somewhere, two hundred years before. A glance at her face pulled me out of my thoughts. She was clearly ready to go. I made a casual remark to her about the ship as we were walking out.
“Old Ironsides”, he said, his pale blue, slightly crossed eyes looking past my right shoulder and at the ship. “I remember that my teacher in the fourth grade had us write a poem for class. Mine was on that ship”, he said, a dreamy look coming over his face. “She was impressed, really impressed.” A long moment of silence passed and his gaze never left that ship, his mind drifting back to the fourth grade. I got the feeling that words of praise were few and far between in his experience, and that moment he was reliving was a moment most precious to him. If I had any thoughts about buying that ship for myself, they quickly vanished. It was a symbol for him of better days, and I could not bring myself to take that from him.
I glanced back at her over my left shoulder and she gave me THAT look. I decided it best to leave my fellow dreamer to his dreams. A quick thought flashed through my mind that maybe, one day long ago, he and I might have been pirates together.
Once back outside in the sun and the breeze, she put on her sunglasses and looked at me. “Let’s take a road trip” she said, smiling.
And so, we headed west, not going anywhere in particular. She had decided she wanted to see a bridge, so we were going to find some.
About twenty minutes into our drive, she digs around in her purse. She produces three cassette tapes and looks at me. She asks sheepishly if we can listen to them. I say, in an exaggerated voice, “No!” I was just playing with her, but she reacted in a manner I could not have predicted. She immediately became silent and withdrawn. I let her do so without a word.
There had to be some reason, of course, that she was behaving this way, some hidden, yet important reason that I needed to think about. I had seen this coming. She had been pushing me lately. She was not trying to fight, really. It felt more like she wanted to see my limitations. At different times, she had tried, guilt trips, indifference, alienation and persuasion. Sometimes she is capable of affection that melts me completely, and sometimes she is unbearably frigid. I think she wants to see my shape, the total shape of who I am, and as a consequence, what our relationship really is. Perhaps this is about terms of depth. Perhaps she wants to see how deep we really are.
When she reacted badly over the cassette thing, I let her and offered no comfort or resistance. I was determined and rigid, but out a certain sense. It was an important contrast to my normal suppleness regarding her. She needed to be able to appreciate the contrast. Such moments should never be taken for granted.
When she decided to talk to me again, it was pleasant. We spoke of the houses we saw and dreamed of what we wanted to live in one day in the future, when we were fully blossomed into the adults we weren’t sure we were ready to be. A sign approached that read “Holter Lake”. I turned.
I love the water. I mean beyond it’s primordial elemental magnetism. It holds some deeper attraction for me. There is a lake in North Carolina near where I grew up. I would drive there sometimes and watch the sunset. The blue on blue would give way to shades of crimson streaks on a palette of gold, platinum and violet. I loved it and took it for granted at the same time. Since leaving North Carolina, I rarely found myself appreciating the moments like I did then.
It was a beautiful lake before us. I probably took it for granted as well, but it affected me nonetheless. It gives me the first peace I had felt in months. It was my long lost blue come home to me. I park the truck and we get out. She pauses briefly and then begins climbing the hill towards the peak, looking out over the lake. I watch her move, easy and determined, up the hill. I stay at the bottom and think to myself. I remember the night before. I close my eyes so that I can see it clearly.
It was probably 3 am. She had asked me if it were possibly for me to love “us”. By us, she had meant herself and her 2 year old daughter. I told her that I was trying. Naturally, she got offended. I held her closely and said nothing. I knew that I could love them, and recognized the pattern developing within myself. I am patient where she is not. I allow the patterns to form and fade. I let the flowers blossom when they are ready.
I open my eyes and see that she is nearly out of sight. I start off after her since I want to be near her. I want to follow her, but at my own pace.
I met her at the crest. She comments on the beauty of the view. It is indeed beautiful. I can see the lake on either side of the saddle. The slopes on both sides are spotted with occasional wildflowers and evergreen trees. The terrain is dominated by the distant, grandly sloping hills that surround the lake. I mention that I prefer the view from the valley.
“What?” she asks, frowning.
“You know. The high-minded mountains are the thought patterns of the rational mind. The Tao is the mind that is in the valley. That is where life really is.”
“I wish you could just see things as they are sometimes,” she says with a sigh. She began to walk down the mountain.
That is the funny thing. I do see things as they are. The way she sees things is also how they really are. They both exist at the same time. That is something she does not see yet. We both exist at the same time, being a part of the same things, viewing the same world, but seeing it differently. I respect her opinion and care for her deeply. She will likely never understand that either. It is not necessary that she understand it; only that she accept it.
"Softly falls her love on me
With gentle warmth like angel’s wings
Should circle break or time should fade
Hold me fast should I fall away "
We never did find her bridge. We never did find that love we both thought so much over. I never saw my pirate-brother, the junkyard dreamer, again.
Somewhere, somehow, we all just fell away.
