by Marilyn Grey
“Is that new?” I said to Gavin, pointing at the color photograph hanging above the couch. “You done with the trendy umbrella woman now?”
“Yeah, it’s new. Do you like it?”
I stood closer to the photograph and analyzed the grass. “It’s just a picture of grass, man. What am I missing?”
“Look closer, but don’t analyze too much. You know how it is with music. If you over-think the lyrics you get some strange meaning that never existed.”
“Yeah, I get that, but all I see is grass.”
“You’re right. It’s just grass.” Gavin smiled. “And the picture of summer.”
“Right.” The light gray couch welcomed me. I put my hands behind my head and tapped my foot to the Elton John song still humming in my brain. “I think you need to stick with painting pictures instead of snapping them with that camera.”
“You’re probably right, but I do like the color.” He sat down on the chair across from me. “The black-and-white in here started to overwhelm me, especially with your depressing music every day. Besides, my friend is really good and we decided to teach each other. She’s going to show me how to work the camera, and I’m going to show her how to use a paint brush to capture the same picture.”
“What’s going on with her? Sounds like you two spend a lot of time together. No romantic things happening as you hold her hand and show her how to paint those precious blades of grass?”
Gavin laughed and cracked his knuckles. Typical sign that he’s uncomfortable, but doesn’t want to show it.
“So, what is it? You like her or what?”
“I know it sounds crazy, but we’re just friends.”
“Just friends? Does that mean you like her, but she isn’t interested?”
“You know my feelings on the subject. I’m not interested and she knows that. I don’t think she’s interested. Actually, if things don’t work out with you and Lydia I thought of hooking you two up on a blind date.”
“Nah, you know how I feel about those artsy types.”
“What are you talking about, man? You’re an artist. Musicians are artists too.”
“Exactly. I can’t deal with these types. Too emotional.”
He smiled and walked away. Classic Gavin. He likes to have the last word, and it’s always something sarcastic. One, two, three, cue the sarcasm.
Nothing.
“Whoa. No last words from Gavin today?”
“Too tired. I’m going to shower and watch a movie. You game?”
“Sure. I’ll play a depressing song for you while you shower.”
“You are a good friend. Always know how to keep joy in the house.”
“Hey, welcome back.”
Don’t know what it is, but every time Gavin wanted to watch Braveheart I knew something was up. He isn’t the type to talk about his feelings. I’m sure I do that enough for the both of us. Everything stays inside of him, like a deep well that occasionally shows its true colors when someone draws up some water.
That climactic speech of Mel Gibson’s character. It always gets me too. Makes me want to go and do something. Something important. Which mainly turns into me writing another song for no one.
The credits rolled. Gavin closed his eyes.
I sunk my bucket into the well and gave a tug. “What’s going on in the world of Gavin?”
Silence in the well tonight.
Another tug. “Hey, sometimes it helps to know you get depressed too.”
He opened his eyes. “Not depressed.”
“Then what? Just one word to describe the mystery that you are.”
“Remember when you and Amber broke up?”
“That’s not one word and that’s got nothing to do with you.”
“Right. I’m getting there.”
“Okay, I remember. Of course. What about it?”
“Remember when she gave you the necklace back and you felt like you lost everything in that one action?”
“Why are we talking about Amber? High school romances can’t be related to this time of our life.”
“That night you called me. I still couldn’t figure out what to do about college. Whether to stay or go.”
“What does this have to do with anything?”
“Man, you have the patience of a four-year-old. I’m getting there.”
I motioned for him to go on.
“That’s the first time I ever heard you cry. Last time, too.”
“Yeah. It wasn’t a cry. I just choked up a little. Go on.”
“Well, before that day I never thought much about love or marriage. I enjoyed single life. Maybe I just enjoyed attention, I don’t know. But I thought about 'the one.' You know we always joked about it before, but then you got real serious about it after Amber. You were convinced that someone better, someone right, waited for you out there in the big sea of fish. Then you met Lydia, almost right away.”
I nodded.
“Well, after that, I have been on a search for meaning in my life. Friends always ask me about art or music, saying I need to put my talent to work and get famous. You know, before you called me that day I believed that fame would be the best road in my life.”
“So how did my breakup change your life?”
“It didn’t.” He stood and stretched his back. “It just made me realize that I wanted a woman and I’d sacrifice anything in my life to find her.”
“Okay . . . .”
“What?”
“I didn’t understand the grass in the picture above my head, and I can say that I really don’t see where you’re going here either.”
He laughed. “Everything has to have some kind of logical point to you, doesn’t it?”
I guess that’s why they call it the blues. All this time on my hands, painting endless houses for endless married couples, could have been time spent with my wife. Gavin waited for her. Sacrificed for her. Whatever that meant. And he did it with joy. How is that even possible? I can understand those guys who like to look at everything on the menu and keep going back to the buffet for something new, but guys like us who actually want a nice woman to settle down with?
See, here’s where my analytical nature ties me up and beats me to death. So many people around me, mostly other men, but hey, some of my women friends get pretty cynical too. They believe that life is filled with a bunch of choices and we just have to pick good, better, or best. No one person perfect for us. Just good, better, or best. We can settle for good, or we can wait around hoping for best and end up single until we’re fifty.
I’m not convinced.
Now, I’m sure life is filled with choices. There’s no doubt about it. Choices are one thing, though. And in my humble opinion . . . every choice I make will lead me to the one, the only one, at the right time. The only problem is I can’t figure out how to know for sure when I’ve found the one. Did I already?
It crushed me when Amber gave me that necklace back. Twenty-four years old with the world at my fingertips. I thought I had it all. Beautiful girl, high school sweetheart, great life. And it all crumbled to the ground when her feet turned that city corner one last time.
I did. I’ll admit it. I believed she was the one. Now, I know better. It would’ve never worked. She liked attention, I liked to sit on the sidelines. She liked to smoke cigarettes, I liked to throw them in the trash. This is where my cynical friends get me. They say we create the one out of whoever we happen to fall in love with.
See, life is full of choices. Tons of them. Every day I wake up. I choose what time to wake up and start my day. Then, I choose whether to stop and get a donut or go straight to work. Everywhere, all the time, I choose. Constantly.
And I believe, honestly, that all of these choices make a difference. One day, my choices would lead me to an altar, where’d I’d stand as my bride smiled at me from the big wooden doors.
Some people respond, “What if you make the wrong choices?”
And this is where I stop. I don’t know. I don�
�t know if I’m crazy. I don’t know if the vast majority of people settling for good are right.
But, at least for now, I still believed in one. Just one.
Ch. 5 | Ella
Nothing like the smell of freshly cut grass with the gentle sound of a humming air conditioner. My friend Tylissa’s husband stepped outside to cut the grass and we stayed inside, admiring her growing belly. Her living room matched the light mocha of her skin. Somehow refreshing and warm all at once.
“Still living in the city?” She said, hand atop her little person.
“Yeah. For now. Sarah and I live well together and I’ve gotta stay within walking distance to the shop.”
“How’s the business going?”
“It’s great. I make more than enough for one person.”
She glanced down at her swollen abdomen. “I’m sorry, Ella.”
“No, no. Don’t be sorry. That life inside of you is a beautiful thing. I’m not jealous, I promise you. It will all happen for me when it’s right.”
“Speaking of which, when is it right? Are you dating anyone?”
“You know how I feel about dating just anyone.”
“I know, I know, but I can see it in your eyes. I know you want this.” She looked around the room.
Somehow that one motion conveyed everything she wanted it to. Wedding pictures around the room, trailing up the steps to the room prepared for a new baby to discover its life. No longer his and her furniture, but ours.
“You’re right,” I said. “I do want this, but not with the wrong person.”
“What about the guy you met a few weeks ago?”
“His name is Fred. I can’t marry a Fred.”
“He was nice looking, seemed friendly, and you don’t want to give him a chance because his name is Fred? You think I liked my husband’s name right away? I couldn’t even spell or pronounce it for the first few months.”
“You grew to love it. Mwenye is not that bad. Fred? No way. I can’t grow to love Fred.”
“Come on, girl. Are you for real?”
The back door opened.
“Hey love, come here a second.”
Mwenye entered the room. Ragged jeans and ripped t-shirt hugging him. He smiled so bright you couldn’t help but feel a sense of peace.
“Hello again, Ella.” He wiped the sweat from his forehead, right above his scar.
“Hey, how are you? It’s been a while since I’ve been here. I love what you guys are doing to the place.”
“Thank you, thank you.” He turned to his wife. “Everything okay?”
“Could you do me a favor, please?”
“Sure, what is it?”
“A glass of water would be nice.”
He smiled, bowed his head to me, and trailed off into the kitchen.
“That’s a good man you have there.”
“He really is. I bet Fred is just as nice.”
Over the next half-hour of our visit, Tylissa and I sipped ice waters made with love by Mwenye, as she practically forced me to write down a list of everything I wanted in a husband.
“Okay, let me see it,” she said after I wrote the forty-second quality.
“This is embarrassing.”
“Oh, come on. Just let me see it.”
I handed her the paper. She took it, folded it up without reading it, and ripped it into shreds. One piece after another fell into her lap.
“A list,” she said with a smile, “is silly. No one can measure up to a list, not even you. So, let’s move on with life and give the Fred’s in the world a chance.”
She had a point.
After another half-hour with Tylissa I said goodbye to the family of three and went back to the coffee shop.
“You are kidding me,” Dee said when I walked through the door.
“I guess I have nothing else to do. I’m trying, I really am.”
“You’re trying? Visiting a friend you haven’t seen in months for an hour isn’t my idea of trying.” She walked to me, grabbed my shoulders, and spun me around. “Go. You need to go. I will take care of it. Everything is fine. You pay me well for a reason. Why are you so afraid of being away from the shop?”
I looked away from her gaze. Her eyes could’ve burned a hole right through my mask if I gave her enough time to stare me down. One bad choice, one moment in my life of not being prepared, and look what happened. All of my dreams. Lost. Just like that. I didn’t want to miss anymore chances.
“Go. Really. It will be fine.” She pushed me out the door and walked away.
I walked to the corner of the street, hands in the pockets of my dress, and stood on a corner with four choices. For a few seconds I looked around, then started walking without a destination, without thought. Dee hadn’t the slightest clue. One choice cost me so much. One choice. That’s it. If I would’ve done things differently that day. Gotten ready quicker. Not given that handsome guy in our apartment building the time of day. So many things would be different. I made every bad choice I could possibly make in one day, on that very day. And my life hasn’t been the same since.
The hustle and bustle of rush-hour in Philadelphia. So many cars, so many people. All going about their normal day. I looked up to the sun-lit sky. Not one fluffy cotton ball hanging in the blue expanse. How often do I stop and look up? I wondered. Every day, I ran around doing whatever I could, waiting for love to find me, never taking time to look up and remember that life is bigger than me and dreams of romance. Maybe love would never find me. Maybe I needed to find it.
“Look at you,” Sarah said, camera in her hands. “Walking around the city in the middle of the day?”
“Yeah,” I smiled. “Hell does feel a little on the chilly side today, huh?”
“Chilly? It’s turned into an ice block. What are you doing?”
“Living.”
“Sounds nice. Maybe I can snap a few pictures of you then. Your first day back to life.” She smiled and fiddled with her camera. “I just finished snapping some pictures of a few friends of mine. Some engagement photos, some just for fun. I thought of you.”
“Why me?”
“Oh, just a certain friend of mine.”
I could’ve been standing in the middle of the street and wouldn’t have realized it. “What?”
“I took some shots of him today. I have them here in the camera.”
“For a second I thought you were talking about him.”
“It’s probably not him. Here.” She clicked around and handed me the camera.
“Well, this could be my answer.”
The happy, gorgeous man taunted me.
“Well?”
My eyes welled with tears, not enough to fall, just enough to show me I still believed. “It’s not him.”
“What do you think though? Worth a chance?”
I shook my head. We walked to another intersection. I followed Sarah’s lead.
“So,” she said. “I’m going to take some pictures of you in a graveyard.”
I laughed. “How charming.”
“I have an idea. You’ll see.”
We crossed another street and people crossed our paths. One after another. Where were they going? What were they doing?
“So,” Sarah said. “If you happen to find this man of your dreams, who you don’t even know anything about, do you really think you’ll fall in love and live happily ever after?”
“Not at all.” I continued to follow her lead. She walked so much faster than I did. Out of breath, I continued, “I don’t expect him to be perfect, and I don’t expect our marriage to be perfect either. We’ll have our flaws and our marriage will be flawed, but I just know he’s the person I want to have flaws with.”
“Interesting enough.”
“How do I explain this?” A few cars blurred by as we waited to cross another street. “It’s like this . . . I don’t believe that happily ever after means we never have disagreements or go through conflicts. What I do believe is that there is someone who is wil
ling to stick through all of these things with me, because we love each other more than we love ourselves.”
“And you don’t believe that can happen with any number of men in the world? Just one? And you haven’t even met this guy. How do you know for sure he is everything you think he is?”
“Honestly, that’s something I don’t know the answer to anymore. All I know is I saw this guy when I was still a girl in this world, and after all of these years, I can’t get him out of my head. It’s like his picture is glued to the back of my eyelids and every time I wake up, he’s there. Every time I go to sleep, he’s there. I’ve tried to replace his picture with someone else. Believe me, I’ve tried, but it always shows up again. It sounds romantic, but it’s starting to feel like a nightmare.”
Most of my friends were married. And most of my married friends had children. I can’t tell you how thankful I was to share an apartment with Sarah. She didn’t spend her twenties partying. She hated bars and cigarettes. Always kept the house clean and never got upset at me for leaving my shoes in random places. More than anything, though, she didn’t have a husband. That sounds terrible, doesn’t it?
I always wanted the best for my Sarah. I really did. If she got married and asked me to be the maid-of-honor I would have jumped at the honor. It wasn’t jealousy. It was the fact that one person in my life, the one closest to me, understood the empty feeling of curling up under the sheets and not having a man’s body to drape your legs over top.
Loneliness didn’t consume Sarah, though. She truly enjoyed every second of her life. We spent the next weekend cleaning our apartment together before our trip to Cape May, New Jersey. End of the summer getaway. Something I hadn’t done in years.
As she wiped down the kitchen counters on a sunny Saturday morning, she hummed a cheery melody.
“How can you always be so happy?” I said.
“If I tell you my secret, will you keep it confidential?” She tossed a paper towel in the trash can. “A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down.”
“I think I can keep it between us.” I finished putting the last of the dishes into the white cabinets. “You’ll have to let me know what kind of sugar you use though.”