The legal stuff: Don't read if you're not allowed to do so in some bass-ackward Red State. Don't steal it. Check with a copyright attorney if you don't believe that little "c" with a circle around it really means anything. Won't take any flames on this one either... sometimes ya just gotta write it down.
Jon Elmore jonelmore3rd@bellsouth.net
"...The Unforgettable"
by
Jon Elmore Copyright 2005
It's Saturday. We've ended our weekly breakfast at Pauly's Diner are standing around in the parking lot, chatting. Bryan's there, and John, and Joe, Chris, Doug, Lee and Rick. The usual suspects.
Seth arrives with some friends and walks by me on his way in. He does a double-take, stops, turns and stares. I'm standing there with my friends and my cigarette. His friends notice him noticing me. He takes a couple of steps nearer, his head thrown to one side like a confused Cocker Spaniel. He takes another step closer. "Johnny?" he asks. "Johnny? Do you remember me?"
I first met him on Labor Day weekend, 1979. He was 40; I was 22 - almost 23. I take a long drag from my smoke. "Well," I begin, the exhale clouding around me, "for starters, I haven't been `Johnny' for twenty-something years."
"And for `finishers'?" Bryan chimes in. (He knows me so well!)
"For `finishers,'" I pause, emphsizing his name, "Mister Seth Jones. How could I forget the unforgettable?"
Seth is a bit taken aback. Amazed, yet he seemed pleased that I do remember him. He's trying to say something but can't seem to form words. He does a great imitation of a landbound trout. Groping, gasping, trying to form words. He resigns himself to settle for two: "Oh, Hell!"
In the next second his arms are around me, his chin on my left shoulder, his hug so tight it's about to deny me respiration. He's weeping. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!"
"Shhhhh. It's okay," I reassure him. As I embrace him one hand finds its way to the back of his head. Patting and comforting. "It's okay. You had other things to do. So did I."
"Uhhh..." Bryan breaks into our reverie. "I take it you two know each other?"
"For twenty-six years."
Seth and I are still in our hug. One I've wanted to be on the receiving end of a hug like this all those years - and only from him.
"Labor Day weekend, 1979," Seth says over my shoulder.
I pull us apart and look into his eyes.
"You remember?"
"How could I forget the unforgettable?" Touche. Those piercing dark eyes are seeing into mine to the very core of my soul. All the disappointments, fears, failures and... a future? He looked like he felt comfortable there.
"You were forty," I began.
"You were almost twenty-three."
"Only seventeen years' difference." I emphasize the "only."
"The Palms bar in Greensboro."
"I came over and introduced myself to you."
"We shook hands."
"I fell in love with you in that moment."
"So you told me."
He grabs me and is gloming onto me again.
"I never should've let you go!" He kisses my cheek.
By now, our friends are looking and acting uncomfortable. I notice them and I notice something else: How much smaller than me Seth really is. I drag his arms from around my neck, keeping my hands on his shoulders.
"Here... Lemme get a look at you."
I hold him at arm's length and whistle.
"Damn!" (It comes out, "Da-yum!") "The years have certainly been good to you!"
He cups my face in his hands.
"You, too."
"Sure. If you don't count fat, gray and toothless!"
"You don't look a day over thirty!"
The smile he throws my way is genuine and sincere and loving.
"A cynic after me own heart."
"Was too afraid to go after your heart. before."
"I know. I know." My right arm encircles his shoulders. "Folks!" I call out to my gathered friends, "This is Seth Jones. Seth... These are my friends, Bryan, Chris, Doug, John, Lee and Rick."
Seth introduces me to the couple he arrived with, "These are my friends Michelle and Jack."
We exchange pleasantries. Chris pops in with, "Is this `the Seth'?"
Seth cuts his eyes to me, obviously aware that I've been talking about him to these people.
"Yep," I confirm, "this is `the Seth.'" By now, I can tell that his friends want to go eat and my friends just want to go.
"Where are you going?" Seth asks. He sounded concerned that I'd just walk away and another twenty-six years would pass years before we met again.
"Just headed home."
"Where's that?"
"About three blocks that-a-way," I point south, toward Oregon Street.
"Do you mind if...?"
"Of course not!"
Seth turns to his friends. "I seem to have lost my appetite." They are aghast that he would even consider going off into the sunset with me.
"Seth! Are you...?"
"I'll be fine," he reassures them. "I have my cell phone. I'll call you in an hour or so."
"Where do you live?" I ask them.
"Ferncreek," Jack replies.
"Between what and what?"
"Weber and Marks."
"In the blue condos?"
"Yes."
"We'll find you. I'm on Oregon between Portland and Shine --- three blocks from here."
"Do you still want a ride home?" Bryan asks.
I turn to Seth. "Are you up to walking three blocks?"
"Sure."
"We'll just walk," I tell Bryan.
"Okay."
Everyone goes their own ways; to their cars and into Pauly's. I head toward Mills Avenue with Seth following. Halfway down the block, I feel his arm encircle my waist. I don't stop him, but I do comment on it.
"You really don't want me to get away."
"Nope. Gonna hold on to you for all I'm worth!"
"You've certainly come a long way."
How much time would we have together?' I wondered Maybe 20 years? I guess that would depend on the longevity of his family of origin. But, the question also burns: Do I have another 20 years in me? I would like to think so... now. It wasn't all that long ago that I really didn't care one way or the other whether I lived or died. What I did know is that I did not want to continue to live as miserably as I have for this part of my life.
"I guess."
"I know. Look, Seth. I've grown... grown up over the years. I have a nice little life here. It's uncomplicated, uncluttered and unfettered. I'm not saying that there's no room for you, or room for some compromise. I'm glad we've re-encountered each other, but I still have a lot of dreams and goals. Can you understand that and accept it?"
"Yes. I can. I don't want to change you, John..." He almost said "Johnny" again. "But I think, after all this time, I'd better start listening to my heart and not so much to my gut."
"Well, it's not always a bad thing to listen to your gut."
"No. But for me, it's the more practical side; maybe too practical."
"Again, not a bad thing. But I can identify. only in reverse."
"How so?"
"Because I listen to my heart more Going with the `romantic,' the ethereal and forgetting the practical. I see already that are a few things I'd like to learn from you."
"Oh?"
"Well... After all, you were a teacher for a long time."
"How'd you know that?"
"I `Googled' you. It came up with an article about your retirement last year." We're almost to my place. "I have to tell you: I live in two rooms with a small dog and a cat. They're an important part of my life. I don't have a car. I don't need one right now. It's a little inconvenient, but I make do."
"I'm not here to change you, John. I'm here because I want to get to know you and the person you've become. I can't know Johnny' anymore, but it's not too late to learn about John.'" He smiled.
"Fair enough."
We crossed through the carport and rounded the corner to my front door. I unlock it and Gracie greets us in the kitchen with fuzzy face and wagging tail.
"Hey, Gracie! How's my girl?"
She hops up on Seth and he gives her a scratch on her head and neck.
"She's cute!"
"She's my lifeline to reality."
Seth looks at me curiously and I explain how Gracie got my ass moving after I had pneumonia since I had to walk her twice a day.
For some reason, I'd folded up the hide-a-bed this morning before going to breakfast. I offer Seth the sofa and sit in the office chair across from him. I notice that he sits to one side of the couch, as if making room for me to sit next to him. Gracie hops up in my stead.
"Tell you what: I'll go put on a pot of coffee while you get acquainted with Gracie." I come back into the living room while it's brewing. Gracie is licking his face!
"Traitor!"
"What?"
"I'm talking to the dog. She won't give me kisses."
"That's okay, I'll pass them along to you." He grins real big at me.
"Seth... there's something you should know."
"That you're HIV-positive?"
"How...?"
"You're cute, very outgoing, and sincere. No doubt you had your share of fun in the eighties."
"No doubt." I'm a little hurt and frustrated by the accuracy of his observation.
"Besides, you shouldn't keep your Truvada' on top of the frige for all to see."
"Oh." Then, realizing: "How'd you know about...?"
"I've been taking it for years."
"I see."
He snaps his fingers and Gracie jumps off the couch. "Now," he says, patting the cushion next to him, "come over here and sit next to me and let's talk."
I wander over and sit next to him. His left arm goes around my shoulders. We're silent for awhile.
"One of us should start," he says.
"I don't know where to start. Where do we start, Seth? Twenty-six years is a long time! Just so you know: I spent the rest of my twenties drunk, most of my thirties crazy, and now, at the end of my forties I've just come to realize that I simply am!"
"I'll start with this: I love you."
"You do?"
"Always have, but I didn't want to be one of those..."
I cut him off with a raised hand.
"I understand. You weren't ready to deal with a twenty- something in the early 80's who really didn't give a rat's ass about much of anything."
"Yeah. That's close."
"Close?"
"Johnny," I let it slide, "you were always so open and genuine and free. I wasn't, and I wasn't about to jeopardize the path I was on. You were ready to give your entire life over to me and I didn't feel up to the challenge nor up to allowing you the same consideration. That's why I didn't open myself up to you."
"Seems like you've gotten beyond that, Mister Jones."
"Yeah. I have." He picks up my right hand in his. "I meant what I said back there at the restaurant, John. I'm so sorry."
"Well. If there's one thing I've learned over these twenty- six years, it's forgivness, Seth. First for me, then for others."
"For you?"
"You have no idea what I put myself through. I used to think I was quite a weakling But looking back, I realize I must have had a stainless steel backbone and an iron gut to have survived it all. Most of it -- if not all of it -- was of my own making."
"So, where do we go from here?"
"Well, let's see. We've been together for about an hour and we haven't killed each other. I suppose that's a good sign."
The cat jumps up in my lap. I greet him with a "Hey, boy." Seth smiles.
"Yeah. You're right about that."
I rub the cat behind his ears; his favorite thing.
"And what's his name?" His hand joins mine on the cat's ears.
"George."
"You have `George and Gracie' in your house?"
"I've always wanted to live with a comedy team."
"John, you're too much!" He chuckles.
I go on to explain that the cat's full name is "Charley George," since he was born on August 13, 2004. the day Hurricane Charley blew through. I look at him and still see those dark eyes traveling to my soulcore again. He knows I still love him and haven't stopped. He may have taken a backseat from time to time, but I never stopped loving him.
"Seth, I want to know everything about you. What you like, what you believe, who you are. I know I can't find all that out in an afternoon. I doubt I could find out in years!"
"I know that. It'll happen. You'll know me."
"I just know my track record." I had not told him of my three failed relationships. He knew what I was talking about anyway.
"You didn't love them like you love me."
"And another thing: All you have to do is look at me to see into my very soul. I don't have that ability. Here I am with no defenses, lying open and bleeding and vulnerable. If you have a cruel streak in you, you could very easily do me in."
"I wouldn't do that."
"Maybe not.. You say you wouldn't do that. But I seem to have a talent for bringing out the worst in people."
He picks up my hand and kisses it. "I don't doubt that. It's probably because you seem to expect the same goodness out of others that you expect and offer from yourself. You also probably get a little hostile when you don't get that goodness from them."
"Shit!"
"What?"
"It's just that you already seem to know me. I don't know anything about you."
Seth manuvers himself to reach for his wallet in his back pocket. He opens it and begins digging into one of the compartments and pulls out two sheets of paper and carefully, almost reverently unfolds them. His own personal Dead Sea Scrolls. He hands the sheets to me. I look to see it's a composite of handwritten pages reduced so that six of them fit on two letter-size pages. There are ten pages condensed onto the two. I can hardly read anything, it's so small. I do, however, recognize my own handwriting.
"What...? This is...."
"It's the first letter you wrote to me. I kept it. I had it copied so that, whenever I feel down or threatened or unsafe or just plain `blah,' I pull this out and know I'll be okay. I have the others, too. But this one means the most to me. This is me, John. This is me through your eyes."
"It's hardly legible."
"That doesn't matter. I have the original. I just take this out and realize that, no matter how down I might be feeling in the moment, I always knew that I was loved. Not for who I was or what I could do for them. But just... loved."
I fold the papers and hand them back to him. I smile and, for the first time in my life, in his eyes, I saw into another person's soul. I was a little awed by it. But what I could see was honest and pure and real. I could see it in all it's rawness with all the jagged edges exposed; like a sculptor's stone before chisel was put to it. It was there. The realness. The beauty. The honesty. It just needed a little polishing.
Unforgettable.