. . . "The Door of Life" Closing
Say hello to "pain."
Writer's note: I am at this time, shutting-off the comical and lowering my guard that keeps me safe in order to write this hub and see it published. I can already foresee depression and mental-adversity both during and after I hit the "publish now" button at the top of this finished product. But it's my story. You have a story that you've never shared with anyone. Thanks for your patience and pray as you read this. Kenneth
I met pain on a face-to-face basis during my senior year of high school in 1972. I guess I can share the name of the school: Hamilton High School in Hamilton, Ala., which equals the fabled "Mayberry," in its quaintness and simplicity. I have no problem claiming this obscure hamlet as my hometown.
Pain, like happiness, comes in degrees.
To the vast majority, my brand and degree of pain is great material for those doing stand-up comedy. I have prayed countless times to be able to laugh, but only hot tears try to pour down my cheeks. I got to be strong. I cannot expose my emotions. I was told at an early age. Blast that early age advice. I never found my road map after I was conditioned to be nothing more than a rock. Feeling nothing, showing nothing and being nothing. And this is from age five through ten.
The "real" dagger was planted to strike on down the road that I somehow took, not chose. And when it struck, it cut so deep the wound stayed open from May 1972 through today, May 22, 2015. No physician can dress this wound much less ease the suffering I carry around inside. But I have grown accustomed to me and my enemy "pain" going and coming and silently-respecting each other every mile I travel.
A man with no sense of choice is a fool, or so the wise say. I only know that I wasn't the one that statement was meant for. And now, I do not care. To add to the ridiculous image of those 14 seconds I witnessed on a Wednesday in 1972, in the hallway of my high school that I have already shared with you. "She," and I know you saw this coming--a woman involved, but she was "the" most-beautiful girl in God's universe. She still is. And there's the aggravation of my open-wound.
"The Door" starts slowly closing.
Many is the time that since "that" Wednesday in '72, I have secretly wished for some feasible way to hurt myself just so I could be rid of this pain that is slowly sucking every molecule of my life down its filthy throat. And I would have attempted this "exit," if it were not for some little ones who have captured my life: My grand kids. At the time I contemplated my stepping over the border line of right and wrong, I did not have grand kids. I wonder now if that would have mattered?
This girl who could have passed for a goddess, was the girl I fell in love with in 1966. Back when love was covered in purity and there were no such things as masked agenda's. While we were waiting for class to start, our eyes met. Once. Only once. That moment in time froze somewhere near the edges of our vast universe and I cannot get there to rid myself of it.
For the next six years, I suffered inside like any foolish man who has allowed himself to be captivated to such an extent that he would do anything legally or morally to appease the girl whom broke his heart. Sure, this is corny at most. But it has to come out. Why? I guess I am fooling myself again into believing that I will suddenly feel better if I talk about it.
The fatal 14-seconds I told you about evolved like this: "She," the girl I was, and still am in love with, was talking to three of her friends near her locker. It was now a stalking urgency for me to wait until her friends left then I could "put it on the line" and just ask her for one date. Only one date. That was all I wanted. Her friends left as that moment is forever-playing in my memories in slow-motion, and I walked toward her. She glimpsed me and then joined them down the hallway.
That was when "the door" of life began closing on me and my chances with her. I mean, in the most-simple terms, I was not about just having sex with her and leaving her on the side of a road. No. I just wanted to enjoy her company, hear her laugh, and absorb the softness of her hands. That's it.
I may be wrong, but in my mortal mind I realized that if "I" could keep "the door" of life open and slow down its closing, "I" might taste a real bit of happiness before my time is up. I had hope when I was in my 20's, and from my 30's through my 50's, I grew weaker and older and felt "the door" of life somehow grow stronger and somehow start pushing me toward the nasty floor of my dreams.
Defeat and pain mingled at last.
In the year 2000, I gave-up and called her. She is divorced now and I knew that dealing with her husband, whom I knew, would not be something I had to deal with. We chatted for an hour and finally I told her of how I felt toward her and she was silent. Well, I thought. At least I told her. What happens now just happens and I cannot master the universe and its tentacle-like ways of an unsure life.
But "the door" keeps closing. And I will never in this life be younger, bolder, and able to love a goddess like "her."
And to lay here in defeat and mutter, "I gave it my all," just doesn't work at all.