All Of Him?

Unbeknownst to me, my youngest took the liberty of listening to me proof-read this, and upon its completion said, “I want to be with you – I want to see what you see.”

One who already sees far deeper than I will ever be able to, I really love that kid.

With the prompt in bold, here is this week’s Write On Edge response – I hope you enjoy…

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He didn’t smell exactly bad, mind you, but he didn’t smell entirely “right” either. It might have been the damned John Legend song in that moment spewing lies overhead tainting my assessment, but to me he smelled sad. He smelled musty. He smelled – well – he smelled alone.

And at that moment at least, with the possible exception of me, he was.

But I’d the feeling that he was alone most all of the time, that his aloneness was a state constant. A permanent scent that accompanied him. A shadow that always stood immediately behind, whispering softly into his ear, “I’m here. It’s just you n’ me kid.” A constant reminder that his death would be much more a release than a burden. Much more a connection with those loved, than a separation from those lost.

As he stood swaying at my register, complete with tattered grey plaid vest, blue ball cap (emblazoned with one of the two infamous Buffalo losing teams that so many locals seem to love regardless), and worn-through red and white blotched flesh, I found myself wishing even then, that I could remember the music he was purchasing in CD format, as it somehow felt integral to this tale.

But much like his face itself, the purchases seemed to have immediately faded from memory, leaving only my recollection of those confused eyes and scattered beard.

His eyes were the dug-in sort that said so much, whilst the beard-encrusted mouth said so little. Damn it Troy! THIS is a lesson you’ve learned often, and yet – being bred apparently of the hard-knock school – one that you seemingly refuse to graduate from. If there was ever anything that the ex said true, it was that (in the hands of the devious or arrogant at least), “they’re only words.” Not that this customer could be counted amongst that ilk, all the same he was in the end, far more communicative in eye than in speech.

And those eyes spoke volumes. His babbling diction and scent screamed at me as well, but it was those eyes that made me see truly and finally – as was told to me by a friend, advice provided them by their wizened grandmother: “As you are, I once was. And as I am, you will someday be.”

Christ, don’t let me end like that – like the man I think I see standing before me. Please hear my prayer for him, and hear it please for me.

Making change, I made certain our hands touched at least once. So I could know that he who stood before me was real – not some sort of future self ghosting back in warning – so I could unite with that perceived loneliness, begging that it not remain a shadow constant to either he nor I.

As he paid in cash, I’ll never know his name – never know his story, outside of our brief disjointed engagement. But while he wobbled off, that damned John Legend song was still blaring arrogantly overhead. A song that spoke of a love I’m guessing neither he nor I truly wanted to trust in anymore. But I thought, possibly a love that we still both hoped might – in some realm or fashion – be somehow true.

•••

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19 thoughts on “All Of Him?

  1. Fear of being alone. You tapped right in on that one..but, you also tapped into my very bleak and diminishing hope of love.

    • Diminishing is different than extinguished though, right? And I’m finding that Love wears many suits, most of which are far different from what we’re looking for, but much more rewarding and real as well.

  2. No Troy that wasn’t you, or even a shade of you. He represented one possible path out of many paths. You stand at a fork in the road. You’ve even told me so. The path you take is a decision you alone must make but make sure that you choose the path and the path doesn’t choose you. Don’t be passive in regards to your future. See you Thursday. Broadway awaits.

    • Confound your wisdom David! Confound it, and bless you for sharing it =)

      Now, on to the more immediate concern: for Broadway, white heels, or black?

  3. Alone is the fear of many of us, that whatever and whoever we are won’t be remembered or worse will be thought of as “sad” and “lonely”. I am not sure which is worse.
    The style of this was good, the POV , as if you were speaking to us worked so well, I was taken into that moment, almost felt myself touch his hand.
    I’ll admit, that I love John Legend and I adore that song. I believe in that song. I like thinking of someone (and I know someone, actually a lot of someones) love my “perfect imperfections”. Such is the life of a hopeless (hopeful?) romantic.
    Keep believing t, you’re perfect in your own imperfections to many of us.

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