Perhaps this mostly dead blog will see some revival as I delve further into writing and get the gears turning on either a) an exciting adventure for next year or b) an exciting foray into publishing with the 600-page fictional adventure farting around on my hard drive.
Until then... here's a taste of something completely different.
---------------------Looking Back---------------------
When you look back, what’s there to see? Is it a chance lost? An opportunity wasted? A whole mess of them? What is it you feel, when you look in the mirror and see that sagging face with its lightless eyes, that shadow framed in a wreath of steely hair that looks nothing like the person you thought you were? What is there?
Life is not full of time, even though that’s really all it is. Maybe you wanted to do something, or be something. Maybe there was hope in you. But you sat. You didn’t do. You never did.
Or maybe you were something, once. Maybe you found it, but you lost it. Like the athlete who lets go. That warrior. That fighter who wakes up at 3 am sweating liquor and needing a piss, all popping knees and aching back. He leans over the toilet, an arm braced against the wall, and he has to crane his head around his gut to catch a glimpse of his dick. What do you think he’s thinking?
How did I get here? How did this happen? How could it?
But that’s the trick. No one took you to this place, this state. It’s not like you got all dressed up and got into his limo to go to the dance. No one brought you. You brought yourself.
Even if you just sat there and watched life happening around you, even if you decided it felt safest to stay in one place and spin your wheels, you decided. You made a choice. Choices. And every time you look in that mirror, the reflection of those choices will be etched in whatever image stares back through the glass.
I sure wish I’d known that before. When everything was wonderful. When everything was ahead. When I ran my fingers through her hair, and didn’t think I could ever love anyone that much. When my parents called to say they loved me, and I’d say I love you, too, and hang up the phone so I wouldn’t have to talk anymore.
You always seem to realize too late the things that really matter. It’s usually once they’re gone.
The last time I spoke to my parents, I couldn’t wait to get them off the phone. Big date planned, really big. Always thought of that night as a pre-engagement-engagement. Or something. My phone rang during dinner. Once, twice. I turned it off. This girl, nothing was more important than her right then. Still nothing more important than her, if I’m honest.
But after the date I get the messages. All of them. About my parents.
A drunk driver took them from me. I took myself from everyone else.
When I look in the mirror, the face scares me. The eyes mostly. There’s something in the eyes that changes when a man kills.
They died twelve years ago.
I made choices.
