Jim and Chad, Part 2 - 20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

 

At about 10:30 I'm tired of waiting, so I decide to start the movie early. I tell myself that if he asks someday, I'll just lie to him. So I open up the box for "Brokeback Mountain" and try to retrieve the DVD itself. On top of the DVD is another note that says, "You can open the envelopes if you wish, but the only thing I really ask is that you start this at 11 and not before. For some reason, knowing that you're watching this at the same time as I am will keep me company, even if we are in different time zones. I know you're probably bored (and haven't taken a shower), but I really need you to do this for me."

 

The feeling hits me suddenly--an intense anger takes over my body. I want to rip the DVD out and break it into pieces, but I scream at it instead. "GOD DAMN YOU. LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!" Then I slam the case shut, throw it down on the coffee table, narrowly missing a half-full milk bottle, jump up from the couch, and stomp over to the door to look outside at the snow. Abruptly I turn around and walk back to the table, look down at the DVD and scream at it some more. "I WISH I'D NEVER MET YOU. YOU WEASEL YOUR WAY INTO MY HEART, THEN FUCK ME AND LEAVE ME. AND YOU HAVE THE BALLS TO CONTINUE TO SAY THAT YOU LOVE ME? COME BACK AND STAY WITH ME FOREVER IF YOU LOVE ME THAT MUCH, ASSHOLE."

 

I walk back over and open the door about six inches, enough to look outside and see the snow still blowing by, making random horizontal and vertical shapes with the trees as a backdrop. Although my eyes are enjoying the view, my mind is having a difficult time trying to suppress a song that keeps popping into it. It's a song with incredibly beautiful harmonics by Diamond Rio from their album "One More Day." As I think about the lyrics and the melody, the anger drains from my body, those feelings being replaced with an even more intense sadness.

 

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Soon I feel tears chilling my face. The words are haunting me, not only because of Chad's leaving, but also because I remember the first time I heard them--it was on a wet, dreary day a couple of months after my wife and kids were killed. Last year, Chad had been nearby to help chase away the depression of the dark months of winter, so they hadn't affected me too much. However, with this winter's dark months looming ahead, I'm sure I'll be repeating them in my brain all too much.

 

I close the door, turn and put my back against it, and slowly slide down until I'm sitting on the floor with my arms on my knees. Emotions overwhelm me as I think, 'I miss them so much.' I put my head down on my arms and once again let those emotions wash over me in waves, choking me in the pain that has once again become part of my life.

 

My mind wanders over images of the wife and kids, how we all worked, played, and laughed as a team, as a family; how we meant so much to each other, how much we apologized to each other after our angry moments had passed, and how much our hugs meant to each other. At then I think about how well Chad and I had worked as a team, and as our own small family; how much the spark had grown and then diminished between us, and how much our hugs meant to each other. I cry a little harder when I realize that it's those hugs I'm going to miss the most.

 

After a while, the memories begin to fade a little and a part of me says, 'I'm tired of this. It's time to put away the tears and emotions, and begin a new life.' At the same time another part laughs hysterically and says, 'If it were only that easy. You have a good-paying job, a condo, and a house that you were going to share with Chad, lots of friends, and your wife's family nearby. Leaving is going to take more time and energy than you have.'

 

I quickly tell those voices to go away and get up to check the clock. It's now 10:55, so I go over to and open the DVD case, take one last look at the note before removing it, then pull the DVD from its case and pop it into the player.

 

At exactly 11:00, I start the movie, then grab a box of tissues, crawl on the couch, and surround myself with a couple of pillows and the comforter from the bed. As always happens with me and this movie, I'm drawn into and get lost in the haunting sounds of the guitar, the lush mountain scenery, and the compelling story between these two guys. I'm a ghost standing next to them, feeling their pain as life forces them apart, temporarily at first, then permanently at the end.

 

Before I really realize it, the movie is over. I find myself staring at the ceiling during the closing credits, the tears clouding my vision and my nose running constantly as I try to forget the image of those two shirts, one inside the other and close together. "Damn those fucking shirts," I say to myself, while another part of me says, 'It's only a movie. Get over it.' But the low grumbling in my stomach gets me started toward the fridge again. Seems that everytime I get stressed out with food nearby, I eat. And given the latest stress, I'll be putting on a few pounds this week. However, as I stand at the fridge making a sandwich, all I can think of is 'Fuck it all.'

 

I put "Silverado" into the DVD player and start it while finishing my sandwich. Soon I'm drawn into it as I was the previous movie, except this time my adrenaline kicks in some as I relive the conflict between the good guys and the bad guys. Part of me thinks that living in the past would have been a cool thing to do, while another part of me likes--no, loves--the conveniences we have today, especially indoor plumbing on a cold day like today.

 

Soon the credits for "Silverado" roll by. I look at the clock and see that it's now about 3:45. I'm feeling okay again--maybe the worst is over as I swap the DVDs for the last time today. Out comes "Silverado" and in goes "Spark of Insanity" with Jeff Dunham. I know some people like the physical comedy of "The Three Stooges" or "I Love Lucy", but the mental duels between a smart, snappy comedian and his straight man is something I really enjoy. As I lie back on the couch and listen to the opening monologue, my laughter soon begins to override all other emotions, and I think 'Yes, our world can always use more laughter.'

 

When the third DVD finishes, I glance over at the clock and see that it's about 5:15. At first I try to remember what I need to do next (yep, "old age" is hitting kind of hard right now), then remember that it's time to open the second envelope. Slowly I sit up and reach over for the envelope as I think 'Okay, I'm opening it late, so what. Wonder what he's going to have me do next.' I flip it over, take a deep breath, and slide my finger under the sealed edge to open it. Then I pull out the note inside and read it.

 

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Immediately after reading the note I think, 'Damn, he knows me better than I thought. He almost knows me better than I know myself. Keeping me busy will keep me from thinking about him too much. And he caught me on the shower thing, too.' After a short pause, I say out loud to myself, "He's good, he's always been too good." I fold the note and hold it against me, then lie back against the couch, my vision becoming cloudy at the thoughts I have of him, of how much I want to hold him, of how much I want his arms around me again.

 

More quickly than before, the little voice of reason inside my head pipes up and says, 'It's okay to cry about this, but you've already done enough for today. It's now time to put yourself back together, get up, take your shower, and go have dinner. Chad has done this for you, and you need to follow through with it. Don't waste his money.' And with that, I soon find myself standing and moving away from the couch and headed toward the bathroom.

 

After taking a shower and putting on a set of clean clothes, I leave the cabin and head for the lodge. Although I can't see too much because the sun has already set, I notice that the snow has disappeared and it feels dry outside. I also notice that the wind is gone and it's not too cold, but still cold enough that I need the heavy coat I'm wearing.

 

When I arrive at the lodge, a clock at the entrance shows a little after six. I'm greeted by a stunningly good looking young lady who stands a few inches shorter than me, with shiny blond hair, a cute oval face, sky blue eyes, which turn me to mush, and a gorgeous 36-24-34 figure. I glance down over her body, then back up over her breasts to spot the "Vicky" name tag on her shirt.

 

I hope that I haven't been too obvious in my visual tour of her body, but when I look back up, her face has a smirk which says 'I caught you looking me over.' From what I can tell, she's perfected that smirk from many previous encounters with dirty, old men like me. Suddenly I feel foolish and my face mirrors the feeling by flushing into what I'm sure is a bright red.

 

When she sees me blushing, Vicky's smile changes to a genuine smile. She says, "Please follow me," then looks me over slyly as if to say that she can play the game, too. But before I can recover from the surprise inspection, she's already turning away to lead me to a table in the corner which has an incredible view of the house lights a little farther down the canyon.

 

Before I get lost in the view out the window, Vicky puts a hand on my arm, drawing my attention back to her. She quietly says, "Enjoy your meal, Jim" then winks before turning and walking away, my eyes following her body as she moves away. Inside my brain, part of me is wondering how she knows my name, another part of me wants to get to know her better, but the overwhelming majority of the opinions there say, 'Quit it. She's younger than Chad and so totally out of your league.' So I sigh and sit down at the table.

 

The waiter almost immediately appears with my first drink and a Caesar salad. I'm definitely impressed with the quickness, but I'm also thinking that Chad must have paid a fortune (which I know he can't afford) to get me this kind of service, especially knowing who I am without having to ask.

 

The main course arrives a few minutes later: ten ounce filet mignon cooked medium; baked sweet potato, steaming with lots of melting butter running through it and a little brown sugar on top; and another rum-based drink. I smile and dig in while thinking, 'Mmmmmm, this is the life. Good view, good food, good drink, good friends. . . .'

 

When I realize (again) that my "friend" isn't here, panic and that all-too-familiar emotional pain sweep through my body. I put down my knife and fork, put my hands over my eyes and rub them for a short while. 'Damn it, will this feeling ever go away?' I ask myself. Another part answers, 'Yes, but it'll take a while. Just relax and think about dinner only.' So I take a deep breath and start in again, resolving to let nothing ruin this meal.

 

All too soon the steak disappears along with the potato and the drink. I must have been hungrier than I thought. But the rum, even as strong as the drinks have been, hasn't affected me at all. In that instant, I decide that more alcohol, mind-numbing alcohol, is what I need, no matter what Chad may say. I don't want to get falling-down drunk, but I need enough to alter my state to that point where I really don't care anymore.

 

I wave to the waiter and when he arrives, he asks, "Yes, sir?"

 

"Is there any way you can change the payment on this check to another credit card so I can get something more to drink?"

 

He chuckles, then says, "The note I got for this check said, and it pretty much said that I can't allow anyone to charge the meal to any other card or pay for it with cash."

 

I laugh out loud. Typical Chad, stubborn and bull-headed as ever, gets his way again. "Okay, can you close the check for the meal and start another?"

 

"Yes. What would you like?"

 

"I'd like to go sit on the deck which means I need something hot to drink, with lots of rum in it, preferably in something to keep it hot. What do you suggest?"

 

The waiter wastes no time in responding. "The bartender here makes a killer, hot buttered rum, and we have insulated mugs just for that purpose. Would you like that?"

 

"Sure."

 

"I'll be right back."

 

After what feels like just a moment or two, the waiter returns with the drink, steam rising from the top. "Please be careful. The drink is very hot," he warns.

 

I leave a good tip on the table, then make my way out to the deck and the cold. Although the deck isn't lighted, enough light filters out of the lodge's windows so that it's no problem to see and navigate. While looking for a place to sit, I find that I'm temporarily fascinated with the large, billowy clouds that form in front of me when I breathe out of my mouth. Realizing my fascination with them, I think, 'Finally the alcohol is beginning to take effect.'

 

After looking around for another moment or two, I find a tall chair and a tall table at the edge of the deck. I put the drink on the table (which I see is only about two feet in diameter), then adjust the chair to look out over the deck railing into the canyon below. When I sit, the cushions are chilly at first, but they soon warm enough that I'm comfortable. The feeling is so comfortable that I get out of the chair and drag another one around in front of me to use as a makeshift ottoman. I finally get everything adjusted, my butt in one chair and my feet propped up in another, everything mostly comfortable in the chill of the night.

 

I take a look out at the canyon from the deck: the house lights all up and down the canyon are twinkling in the night air. The vision looks kind of like white Christmas lights all randomly placed on the landscape below me. As I follow the lights down the canyon, I notice that where the house lights end, the stars begin. I follow the twinkling stars back up over top of me and find those very few constellations that I know: the Big and Little Dippers and Orion. With my head leaned back against the back of the chair, I just look all over the sky at the stars, wondering what it's really like out there.

 

Ever since I was a teenager on those backpacking trips I took in Boy Scouts, the stars have held a special place in my memories. They always made me feel "one with nature." We backpacked in places where our flashlights were the only man-made lights within seventy-five miles, and I remember seeing all the stars, including that long, broad band of stars across the sky we call the Milky Way. I wish that I had learned more about them back then, but my brain just wasn't interested. As an older man, however, the prospect of space travel and life forms beyond our solar system keeps me wanting to learn more about the stars.

 

A shooting star going by surprises me, so I point to where it was and excitedly say, "Chad, did you see that?" Then I look across the table to where Chad sits, or as it hits me, where Chad should have been sitting. But Chad isn't here, he's gone back home, and I've been left behind. The joy and wonder of looking at the stars is quickly replaced with a pain in my throat and stomach, a pain which turns into a panic that sweeps through my entire body as I remember what the situation really is. "Damn it," I mutter to myself.

 

I try hard to control all the anger, loneliness, and sadness, but their effects, along with the pain in my throat and stomach, soon have my lower jaw trembling and tears flooding my eyes. I desperately push back against the sudden intensity of it all, trying to keep the feelings from controlling me, trying to keep some semblance of control. Soon I find that it's not working, so my face also flushes with embarrassment while I hope that no one will see me in my moment of weakness. However, as I quickly find out, real life can sometimes be far more embarrassing, or cruel, or funny, depending on your point of view, than you could ever dream.

 

"Mind if I join you?" the rich, deep voice with the slight Texas drawl quietly asks.