I have these memories in my head that linger with a breathtaking magnitude wherein I'm sure the other participants have long forgotten the moments. There's this longing to clue them in so that they can share the feeling but I'm always worried that I'm incapable of conveying the same feeling I have for the moment. While I'm sure that time has glossed over some of the more unpleasant relevant details the images themselves stand out as clear as a photograph printed on high gloss paper.
One such memory is during the beach vacation in Mexico at the end of my summer of study there. I had spent the entire summer flirting with my now-girlfriend Mandy and the promise of a drunken beach weekend before parting ways was packed with expectation. We spent the whole of the first day together doing whatever we felt like doing. Most of what we felt like doing involved drinking. Flashes of beach, pool, vibrantly colored drinks, shops, a crowded restaurant, night clubs, moonlit beaches, the carbonated waves of the black ocean lapping at the shore, a kiss while standing fully clothed and chest deep the water, and waking on the balcony of my hotel room alone. After I was finally able to wrestle movement from the mouth of the single worst hangover I've ever experienced in my life I went searching for her, thinking that she was just out enjoying the day. As the hours pressed on I realized that while she was out enjoying the day she was also avoiding me. I tracked her down going into her room later that evening. I asked her if last night's kiss was just a kiss because that's all that it could be given the circumstances. She said "Yes," and went into her room. I took my hangover and my sunken heart back to my room and went to sleep. The next day I found her roommate and best friend from the trip, Amity, aimlessly wandering about the hotel. We proceeded to spend one of the best days of my life walking around the beach, shopping, eating, just being tourists. It was one of those rare moments that I felt completely at ease. Most of my side of the conversation was trying to analyze why Mandy wouldn't want to spend more time with me in our last few days together. Amity talked about how our time in Mexico had changed her life forever. We were two people in awe of things much larger than ourselves, like people standing at the feet of a colossus that we couldn't see, even when we leaned back as far as gravity would allow. Despite the thick coating of alcohol that stands between my brain and the memories from that long ago I still remember what she was wearing, each place we went, what her hair looked like, and her facial expression when I crash-landed the parasail that we rode on into a beach umbrella. It was never love, it was simply wonderful. The next day we boarded buses and she disappeared into the distant fog like a character in Grand Theft Auto. I wish I had a way to thank her for that day and apologize for the version that she certainly remembers of it, spending a day with a mopey twenty year old bitching about how he didn't get laid.
I wouldn't know where to start to thank people in my life for these moments. The day my college roommate Paul came in to our shared room in the fraternity. It was a gorgeous spring day and the lights were out because the sun was able to overpower the shadows in spite of the smallish windows. I was sitting with the TV on but not watching and Paul sat down and asked me if I would talk to somebody out of a favor to him. Looking back I can tell that he had spent hours carefully choosing vanilla words to keep me at ease as he was telling me that he was worried about me and wanted me to see "somebody," but even in the fog that I was living in I knew that "somebody" meant "therapist" and that "worried about" meant "I think the road you're on ends in suicide or accidental death." Judging by the struggle I'm having nearly ten years later to type these words in front of this anonymous, inanimate computer screen I can't imagine how difficult that must have been. Had he not done it I'm afraid that I probably would have proved him right. Despite reliving that moment every so often I've never thanked the kid that sat there in an old white soccer tournament shirt and red shorts and told me in not so many words that he wanted to help save my life. I have never thanked him. Nor have I thanked my other friend Matt that had donated his courage to Paul to have that conversation and did the grimy legwork of finding somebody for me to talk with. I don't imagine that they think about that moment any more.
These are but a few of the dozens of moments that helped to shape who I am and it's odd to me that in some cases the people that helped to smooth out the ridges and repair the cracks in my clay aren't even aware that they did so. The only thing stopping me from looking them up right now is the inadequacy of what I would have to offer in return. Some kind words and a humble thank you seem to pale in comparison to helping a person define who they are and how they fit into the world. I should host a parade. One with gigantic inflatable Mighty Mouses and floats constructed of thousands of flowers. I should hire marching bands and military jets for a flyover. Of course this is all preposterous. A parade with depictions of these moments from my past should surely be banned for public decency concerns. Huge, inflatable liquor bottles. Drunken float riders swinging shovels at each other. Think of the children.
No comments:
Post a Comment