(5 years later)
The road itself short and straight to its point; hardly less purposeful than those that surround it. The road is lined with oak trees, ferns, and white fences to keep the horses confined and off of the road, limited in its distance, and limitless in its purpose. I pull my little car off to the side of the dirt road, wait a moment for the dust to settle, turn off the engine, exit my car, and walk slowly toward the little stone wall lining the shoulder of the dirt road. I lift one leg over, followed by the other, and catch myself with my cane. I pull the letter out of my back pocket and read it once more for reassurance, or maybe just to continue these few moments with the thought in the back of my mind that this all may just be an illusion or hallucination and I'm crazy. Maybe I'm somewhere else at this moment, drinking coffee in New York, or riding a bicycle through the streets of London. Or, then again, maybe I'm right where I am, next to this wooden gate lining this country road. Spring is just around the corner, and the mixture of the sun on my face and the brisk breeze flows around my skin. My nose tingles.
Leaves blow across the road and the only sounds interrupting the silence are the hooves of the horses dancing around their enclosure and a motorbike in the distance. I awkwardly try to keep my balance on the dirt and rocks below me, and make my way over to the far side of the coral. I lay my shoulder bag next to the oak tree and carefully search for carving that she had once described.
"Follow the dirt road that circles the lake, take a right at the old barn, and just keep going dead straight until you reach the horse coral. On the far side of the fence sits a lonely oak tree where I carved my initials when I was just a kid. I buried something in that spot. If anything is to happen to me, I want you to have it."
I remembering trying to ease the mood by laughing it off, and making some comment about cliches. But, here I am, sitting under this tree, digging for messages from a life ended too soon. Maybe the basis of comparison is skewed. Maybe we just live too long.
I lean my cane against the tree and slowly lower myself to my knees, and begin digging with the hand shovel that I brought with me. As the shovel sinks into the earth, each scoop my curiosity growing and heart racing, I feel the steel hit something hard. I toss the shovel aside and begin to dig with my hands, carefully removing the soil from around the sides of the box. I remove it from the earth and brush off the lid. I unhook the latch, and as the rusty hinges grind together the lid opens. The setting sunlight shines into the box and onto the scraps of paper folded and crammed inside. I unfold the first piece of paper and realize that she had saved every single letter I had ever sent her, in order, and intact. However, there was more than just letters from myself. As I continue reading, pieces of paper strewn around me, I come upon a letter and my eyes quickly scan 'Dear Olivia,' and 'Love Always, Daniel S,' and it is now that I realize what she had been trying to elude to me all along. Our grandparents loved each other, and until now, no one knew.
A black and white photograph of a house I'd never seen, my grandfather and a lovely lady kissing on the porch, lay upon the folded pieces of paper, and on the back written in pencil, December 1942. I lift my head for a moment and notice a flurry of birds shifting direction with the breeze. My eyes follow the birds to the horizon where I notice an abandoned structure just down the road from the horse corral. I pick up my cane and begin heading in that direction, the horses curiously trotting after me. The dirt and rocks crunch under my leather shoes and the house slowly comes into view, the picture still in my hand. As I walk faster toward the house, past the oak trees and overgrown grass, I approach the porch and force the window open. The house is empty but I can feel a familiarity that I can't quite put my finger on. Simona's grandmother was as lovely as she is, and my grandfather knew it. He sent her letters until the day he died, and not wanting to ruin a beautiful thing with superstitions, Simona was aware all along, and never said a word. Olivia moved on with her life and married, had beautiful children who bore beautiful grandchildren, one of them, the most beautiful woman I had ever known. These were my grandfather's wishes, and I suppose I'll do the same. I suppose this is nature's way of getting even.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
The road itself is truly limited in its distance but hardly less purposeful than those that surround it. The road is lined with oak trees, and white fences to keep the horses confined and off of the road, limited in its distance, and limitless in its purpose. I pull my little car off to the side of the road, turn off the engine, exit my car, and walk slowly toward the little stone wall lining the shoulder, lift one leg over, followed by the other, and catch myself with my cane. I pull the letter out of my back pocket and read it once more for reassurance, or maybe just to continue this few moments with the thought in the back of my mind that this all may just be an illusion. Spring is just around the corner, and the mixture of the sun on my face and the brisk breeze flows around my skin. My nose tingles.
Leaves blow across the road and the only sounds interrupting the silence are the hooves of the horses dancing around their enclosure and a motorbike in the distance. I awkwardly try to keep my balance on the dirt and rocks below me, and make my way over to the far side of the coral. I lay my shoulder bag next to the oak tree and carefully search for carving that Tal had once described.
"Follow the dirt road that circles the lake, take a right at the old barn, and just keep going dead straight until you reach the horse coral. On the far side of the fence sits a lonely oak tree where I carved my initials when I was just a kid. I buried something in that spot. If anything is to happen to me, I want you to have it."
I remembering trying to ease the mood by laughing it off, and making some comment about cliches. But, here I am, sitting under this stereotypical love tree, digging for messages from a life ended too soon. Maybe the basis of comparison is skewed. Maybe we just live too long.
I lean my cane against the tree and slowly lower myself to my knees, and begin digging with the hand shovel that I brought with me. As the shovel sinks into the earth, each scoop my curiosity growing and heart racing, I feel the steel hit something hard. I toss the shovel aside and begin to dig with my hands, carefully removing the soil from around the sides of the box. I remove it from the earth and brush off the lid. I unhook the latch, and as the rusty hinges grind together, I open it.
Leaves blow across the road and the only sounds interrupting the silence are the hooves of the horses dancing around their enclosure and a motorbike in the distance. I awkwardly try to keep my balance on the dirt and rocks below me, and make my way over to the far side of the coral. I lay my shoulder bag next to the oak tree and carefully search for carving that Tal had once described.
"Follow the dirt road that circles the lake, take a right at the old barn, and just keep going dead straight until you reach the horse coral. On the far side of the fence sits a lonely oak tree where I carved my initials when I was just a kid. I buried something in that spot. If anything is to happen to me, I want you to have it."
I remembering trying to ease the mood by laughing it off, and making some comment about cliches. But, here I am, sitting under this stereotypical love tree, digging for messages from a life ended too soon. Maybe the basis of comparison is skewed. Maybe we just live too long.
I lean my cane against the tree and slowly lower myself to my knees, and begin digging with the hand shovel that I brought with me. As the shovel sinks into the earth, each scoop my curiosity growing and heart racing, I feel the steel hit something hard. I toss the shovel aside and begin to dig with my hands, carefully removing the soil from around the sides of the box. I remove it from the earth and brush off the lid. I unhook the latch, and as the rusty hinges grind together, I open it.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Logical Harm
The door swings open and about six people I've never seen walk into the apartment and out onto the balcony. The music is loud and the room is littered with faces some familiar and others I don't know. I remain seated in place on the couch next to the makeshift bar where two girls stand sipping screwdrivers concocted of cheap vodka and synthetic orange juice. One of these girls goes by the name Viktoriya, and the only time I've ever conversed with her is at events such as this one. She's very cute and dumb as a rock.
"...So then he left to Yugoslavia for two weeks."
Jesus Christ, "No he didn't."
She shifts her half drunken focus to me and I could tell I pissed her off by killing her story but after three shots of whiskey I don't give a shit, and I probably would feel the same way without the drinks.
"Do you even know who I'm talking about? Cutting into a conversation is really rude."
"Is it? And no, I have no idea who you're talking about."
"So uh, mind your business?"
"Is that a question?"
"What?"
She turns back to her drunk counterpart. "He sent me pictures and told me that when he gets back we're getting married."
"Oh my god!" Her friend's enthusiasm is amplified and slurred.
My patience is running thin at this point and something in me wants to shut this down.
Mocking her friend I cut in using the same tone, "Oh my God! Those aren't pictures from Yugoslavia!"
My friend Mike, who lives here, is intrigued by the clear animosity showing on their faces and makes his way over to listen to the exchange, "What's up man?"
"--and I don't even know you so..." She sure told me.
"So, Yugoslavia doesn't exist babe."
"What are you talking about?"
"It fell."
She turns to the bar to see what I was talking about, "What fell?"
"Yugoslavia fell, not your drink."
"So where are these pictures from, ass hole?" She pulls out her iPhone and starts flipping through pictures, one of which shows a botique store window where in the reflection one can just barely make out the Eiffel Tower and her 'fiance' with some chick hanging on his arm.
"That's Paris, sweetheart."
"How do you know?"
"Only in Paris would a dude take the time to snap a picture of a store selling dresses. Plus he doesn't look lonely and something tells me those dresses aren't for you. I wish you a happy marriage and lots of babies....uh...ass hole."
Its at this moment that she realizes the reflection and starts crying. Her friend walks her over to the couch like a kid who just struck out in little league.
Mike looks a little taken aback by the exchange and asks what it was about. I mumble some half audible something and check my phone.
"Jesus man, what did you say? She's freakin out," across the room she looks like she just walked off the scene of a terror attack. "leave it to you..."
"I just made the obvious...well...more obvious. Besides, people like that really shouldn't procreate." Logical harm.
"You're such an asshole man. Lets go outside, yeah?"
"Ahh sure."
Viktoriya continues to rock back and forth staring into space while her friend shoots daggers at me from her eyes. I smile and shrug like a five year old in a cereal commercial. Somehow I get off on this shit.
I grab my cane and head out to the balcony where a mix of Israelis and other internationals stand around chatting, awaiting the strike of midnight that will bring in the new year. I've said it before, and I'll say it again. I hate the holidays.
"Hey handsome," A stunning, well dressed girl with a Australian accent stands before me and for a second I'm a bit stunned. After a second or two I realize its an old friend from college who has lost an immense amount of weight, and her five years of sobriety.
"Holy shit! Jody!" I give her a hug and glance at Mike over her shoulder. He nods his head in approval and lifts his red party cup.
"How are you going? What happened?" She looks at the cane.
I've learned that a witty answer is more enticing than explaining the symptoms of the muscular damage in my lower back. The problem is solved, but the repercussions of suffering for several months before seeing a doctor remain with me, and probably will for the rest of my life. I hate how Aussies say 'how are you going.'
"Nam. What brings you here tonight? You with your boyfriend?"
"I don't have a boyfriend," Fireworks start going off above our heads. "And you? Who are you here with?"
"This is my buddy's house so I just kinda showed up." I take a sip of my whiskey and I'm sure I'm more sober than she is. She's teetering. I'm not. Burgers are sizzling on the grill but I don't want one.
"Weren't you dating that guy? What was his name, Avi right?"
"Yeah that didn't end well. Found him in our bed with some Russian girl. To be honest I think we were both looking for an easy way out." Her accent is hot. "Last time I date an Israeli."
I can sympathize with her. The last time I dated an Israeli I fell madly in love with her and she mind fucked me for five years or so. I never discovered any Russians in our bed, but shortly after it ended, I found myself in our bed with all sorts of women trying to fill the void that had been created to no avail. Until now, the only woman to hold my interest for more than ten minutes has been Simona and I hardly know her which is probably why I'm not bored yet. So far, Jody has held my attention for about three, and something about her fragile appearance and lost sobriety is drawing me in. I have a thing for fucked up women which is why most scenarios that begin similarly to this one end in shit. I'll drink to that.
"Are you still with that girl?" She smiles and waves at someone across the balcony.
"Nah, that uh...wasn't meant to be."
"To be honest, I found her to be a bitch." She keeps sniffing and its not very cold outside. I think about calling her out on it and decide to keep my mouth shut. It doesn't take me long to realize how she lost the weight.
"She wasn't the warmest person..."
"Did she fuck you right at least?"
I'm a bit taken aback and begin to realize this isn't the same chick I knew. Jody of two years ago was reserved, funny but quiet, and a bit shy. Her father died when she was nine, and her mother had been in and out of jail on drug charges. It was just a matter of time.
"Yeah the sex was good, but anything becomes routine over time, I suppose."
She looks down at the cane again, "Does that stop you?"
"From what?"
"Fucking."
"No, but walking can be a bitch..."
"Come with me."
She starts walking toward the house and I follow not far behind, my cane hitting the linoleum. Electronica is blaring through the apartment and I walk past Viktoriya without saying anything. She takes notice of my trailing behind a beautiful girl and starts crying again. Jody approaches the bathroom and walks inside. I stand outside for a moment a bit confused as to if I am supposed to wait outside or...
"You coming?"
I debate my options for all of about three seconds before I walk into the bathroom and close the door behind me.
"...So then he left to Yugoslavia for two weeks."
Jesus Christ, "No he didn't."
She shifts her half drunken focus to me and I could tell I pissed her off by killing her story but after three shots of whiskey I don't give a shit, and I probably would feel the same way without the drinks.
"Do you even know who I'm talking about? Cutting into a conversation is really rude."
"Is it? And no, I have no idea who you're talking about."
"So uh, mind your business?"
"Is that a question?"
"What?"
She turns back to her drunk counterpart. "He sent me pictures and told me that when he gets back we're getting married."
"Oh my god!" Her friend's enthusiasm is amplified and slurred.
My patience is running thin at this point and something in me wants to shut this down.
Mocking her friend I cut in using the same tone, "Oh my God! Those aren't pictures from Yugoslavia!"
My friend Mike, who lives here, is intrigued by the clear animosity showing on their faces and makes his way over to listen to the exchange, "What's up man?"
"--and I don't even know you so..." She sure told me.
"So, Yugoslavia doesn't exist babe."
"What are you talking about?"
"It fell."
She turns to the bar to see what I was talking about, "What fell?"
"Yugoslavia fell, not your drink."
"So where are these pictures from, ass hole?" She pulls out her iPhone and starts flipping through pictures, one of which shows a botique store window where in the reflection one can just barely make out the Eiffel Tower and her 'fiance' with some chick hanging on his arm.
"That's Paris, sweetheart."
"How do you know?"
"Only in Paris would a dude take the time to snap a picture of a store selling dresses. Plus he doesn't look lonely and something tells me those dresses aren't for you. I wish you a happy marriage and lots of babies....uh...ass hole."
Its at this moment that she realizes the reflection and starts crying. Her friend walks her over to the couch like a kid who just struck out in little league.
Mike looks a little taken aback by the exchange and asks what it was about. I mumble some half audible something and check my phone.
"Jesus man, what did you say? She's freakin out," across the room she looks like she just walked off the scene of a terror attack. "leave it to you..."
"I just made the obvious...well...more obvious. Besides, people like that really shouldn't procreate." Logical harm.
"You're such an asshole man. Lets go outside, yeah?"
"Ahh sure."
Viktoriya continues to rock back and forth staring into space while her friend shoots daggers at me from her eyes. I smile and shrug like a five year old in a cereal commercial. Somehow I get off on this shit.
I grab my cane and head out to the balcony where a mix of Israelis and other internationals stand around chatting, awaiting the strike of midnight that will bring in the new year. I've said it before, and I'll say it again. I hate the holidays.
"Hey handsome," A stunning, well dressed girl with a Australian accent stands before me and for a second I'm a bit stunned. After a second or two I realize its an old friend from college who has lost an immense amount of weight, and her five years of sobriety.
"Holy shit! Jody!" I give her a hug and glance at Mike over her shoulder. He nods his head in approval and lifts his red party cup.
"How are you going? What happened?" She looks at the cane.
I've learned that a witty answer is more enticing than explaining the symptoms of the muscular damage in my lower back. The problem is solved, but the repercussions of suffering for several months before seeing a doctor remain with me, and probably will for the rest of my life. I hate how Aussies say 'how are you going.'
"Nam. What brings you here tonight? You with your boyfriend?"
"I don't have a boyfriend," Fireworks start going off above our heads. "And you? Who are you here with?"
"This is my buddy's house so I just kinda showed up." I take a sip of my whiskey and I'm sure I'm more sober than she is. She's teetering. I'm not. Burgers are sizzling on the grill but I don't want one.
"Weren't you dating that guy? What was his name, Avi right?"
"Yeah that didn't end well. Found him in our bed with some Russian girl. To be honest I think we were both looking for an easy way out." Her accent is hot. "Last time I date an Israeli."
I can sympathize with her. The last time I dated an Israeli I fell madly in love with her and she mind fucked me for five years or so. I never discovered any Russians in our bed, but shortly after it ended, I found myself in our bed with all sorts of women trying to fill the void that had been created to no avail. Until now, the only woman to hold my interest for more than ten minutes has been Simona and I hardly know her which is probably why I'm not bored yet. So far, Jody has held my attention for about three, and something about her fragile appearance and lost sobriety is drawing me in. I have a thing for fucked up women which is why most scenarios that begin similarly to this one end in shit. I'll drink to that.
"Are you still with that girl?" She smiles and waves at someone across the balcony.
"Nah, that uh...wasn't meant to be."
"To be honest, I found her to be a bitch." She keeps sniffing and its not very cold outside. I think about calling her out on it and decide to keep my mouth shut. It doesn't take me long to realize how she lost the weight.
"She wasn't the warmest person..."
"Did she fuck you right at least?"
I'm a bit taken aback and begin to realize this isn't the same chick I knew. Jody of two years ago was reserved, funny but quiet, and a bit shy. Her father died when she was nine, and her mother had been in and out of jail on drug charges. It was just a matter of time.
"Yeah the sex was good, but anything becomes routine over time, I suppose."
She looks down at the cane again, "Does that stop you?"
"From what?"
"Fucking."
"No, but walking can be a bitch..."
"Come with me."
She starts walking toward the house and I follow not far behind, my cane hitting the linoleum. Electronica is blaring through the apartment and I walk past Viktoriya without saying anything. She takes notice of my trailing behind a beautiful girl and starts crying again. Jody approaches the bathroom and walks inside. I stand outside for a moment a bit confused as to if I am supposed to wait outside or...
"You coming?"
I debate my options for all of about three seconds before I walk into the bathroom and close the door behind me.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
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