I was fighting a losing battle with the rose petals. The wind was blowing them in every direction, as I pitifully tried to corral them all. I felt like I was on a game show in one of those booths filled with cash blown around by fans and I had to stuff as many bills as possible into my pants and shirt before the timer buzzed. I wasn’t winning. Petals started flying off the deck, and as Leslie and her mom walked up the stairs, Leslie glanced out the window and asked, “Are those rose petals? Where’d they come from?” Her mom merely shrugged and kept walking.
When they reached the third floor, Leslie saw the deck door open and asked why it wasn’t closed. But instead of leading her out onto the deck as planned, her mom shut the door. I stood there on the deck shivering in my suit with rose petals in my hands and pockets trying to figure out what had just happened. Was this her mom’s way of telling me she really didn’t want me in the family? Was it a signal to abort and regroup for a later time? Was I supposed to rappel down from the deck?
Suddenly, the door reopened and Zip, Leslie’s parents’ dog, trotted out. Was he the best they could offer? Or was I supposed to practice proposing to him? He came over and stood right next to me looking up, apparently eager to hear my finest pitch. Then Leslie’s head appeared. She simply poked it out because her mom had told her to look at something on the deck. When she saw me, she turned to her mom and said, “What’s he doing here?”
Nope, not exactly according to plan.
Then she tried to leave, but her mom grabbed her and began pushing her out onto the deck. What in the world was going on? The plan had been scrapped for a wrestling match.
Leslie later told me that when she saw me, she knew what was about to happen and she wished she’d dressed better (she was in scrubs, as usual) and put on more makeup. Thankfully, her mom stopped her and shoved her onto the deck because I couldn’t have handled it any longer out there by myself.
Leslie cautiously approached like I might hurl her over the guardrail. I invited her to sit in the chair, while Zip lay beside her. I hoped he was comfortable. He certainly had a ringside seat. I got down on one knee just like in the movies, held Leslie’s left hand, and delivered my speech.
But she didn’t answer. Had I skipped a part? Was the question unclear? She just stared at me, crying. I didn’t know what else to do, so I took it from the top again. This time, when I reached the part where she was supposed to chime in with an answer, she nodded, crying harder, and mumbled, “Okay.”
When I slipped the ring on her finger, it was too loose. We later took it to be sized correctly, yet they botched the job and left us with no other option but to melt it down to make my ring out of hers. We then had to pick out another ring for Leslie. I told her, “Well, at least it’ll make a good story one day. I’m wearing your ring.”
My plan hadn’t worked out precisely as prepared, but at least she was surprised, which was an accomplishment. She swore she had no clue I was there, which had been evident from her reaction. Maybe I should’ve warned her. She might’ve been a little more excited to see me.
We set a tentative date and began making plans. It all felt surreal. We were engaged and would soon be married. It seemed like a month ago we’d started writing each other letters. Didn’t I just find her phone number on that box when she panicked and said goodbye? It was intimidating how fast time moved once something was set in motion. It made me feel tiny.
I’d decided to ask her because, despite my fears, uncertainties, and inability to map out the future down to the smallest details, I knew I’d never find anyone who wanted to be with me more than Leslie. It was impossible. For some odd reason, she loved me that much, and I would’ve regretted letting her go. Whatever struggles we encountered down the road couldn’t equal the loss of that degree of adoration. When I looked at it that way, it was actually a pretty simple choice.
Leslie already knew where she wanted the wedding: right here at her folks’ house out in the yard. They had lots of open land, which sounded good to me. Plus, we didn’t need to buy flowers since the yard was already littered with roses.
R
He was a long way from losing it. Back in the salad days of our first band, Tripp and I used to drive for rehearsal to Texas Wesleyan University where Bryan worked and lived as a dorm manager, and one evening, he greeted us with this warning: “I’m telling you right now, I’m fixin’ to lose it.” Tripp and I looked at each other like maybe we needed to cancel practice.
Yet now Bryan was graduating from seminary.
He’d survived practicum—actually, he’d flourished in it and gotten straight A’s his last few semesters. His GPA had risen like it was riding an elevator. He’d earned his master of arts in marriage and family counseling, and since the graduation ceremony was during the week, I asked Richard if we could attend. Naturally, he said yes because he was so accommodating, yet he’d also become friends with Bryan, having chatted with him several times over the years.
Change was in the air, and Richard knew things were concluding and beginning all around him. He’d handled the news that I was getting married and would be leaving soon with a classic response: “What took you so long?”
I laughed and said, “I can’t keep up with you. Nobody can.”
Richard was far more concerned with how Bryan would fare once I left. He feared that the moment something went wrong and I wasn’t around to support him, Bryan would slide into old patterns. But this time felt different than past years when we separated. Bryan was stronger now, more confident, healthier mentally and emotionally, and he had found his niche in counseling. He was good at it and enjoyed helping people. He felt like his struggles made him more empathetic and enlightened to clients’ problems. He liked being needed and not the other way around. Now he was the one people turned to for help, which suited him just fine.
He even had a job lined up at a local counseling/neurofeedback center, which excited him because he believed the combination of both approaches was essential to a client’s permanent progress. Neurofeedback directly trained brain function so it could actually learn to operate more efficiently. He said instead of merely walking a client through a crisis to a better place, they could fix the wiring to avoid repeating the same mistakes.
Bryan was in a good place and had come a long way, and his parents, who were seated near the front of the auditorium at his graduation, couldn’t have been prouder. Richard and I chose to sit in the balcony because it offered more space for Richard to maneuver his wheelchair. Even seated far from the stage, it wasn’t difficult to pick out Bryan when his graduating class stood because, at six-feet-four, he towered over most of them. I pointed him out to Richard, who simply looked up at me and said, “I’ve got CP, I’m not blind.”
Since no one was sitting behind us, I stood for the ceremony, partly to see better and partly because I was so thrilled. I felt like a dad watching my son graduate. I kept thinking about Bryan sitting in his car years ago in a parking lot late at night contemplating suicide. It had happened more than once. I remembered his arrests, the ill-fated ATM caper. I thought about the first few semesters when he almost quit, about him sleeping in the work truck at the back of campus after being denied practicum, and about where he might’ve wound up if he’d left. I thought about his flashlight taped to his cap so he could study as we drove home from Dallas, the light under his door in the middle of the night because he had to finish a paper, his fist raised triumphantly when I told him he’d gotten into practicum.
I thought about him chasing me all over campus after we’d first met until I gave in and became his friend, the dreams we tossed around about where our band would one day go, the constant encouragement he’d given me to keep writing, the countless movie and pizza nights. I’d spent nearly twenty years with him, and without me even realizing, he’d become my closest friend and, even more, my support. I needed him just as much as he ever needed me, and I wondered where I might’ve wound up if
it hadn’t been for him.
I watched him step on stage with his mortarboard precariously perched on his head, and as tears welled in my eyes, I couldn’t help but yell out, “Way to go, Bryan! You did it! You did it!” Richard looked at me, along with a few others nearby, yet in that moment I really didn’t care how big of a scene I made. I couldn’t help myself. They’d all just have to understand. I wasn’t shouting congratulations, but gratitude. I was thanking the tall guy who just shook the commencement speaker’s hand and waved awkwardly to his family. He was a friend of mine. The best kind. He’d stuck by me no matter how big of a jerk I was. He’d believed in me when I didn’t. He’d carried me for a long time without acknowledgement, so the least I could do was scream thank you. He deserved much more, but it was all I had to offer. It was enough for him, though. He didn’t want a big fuss. He was satisfied not to have tripped on stage. He was just happy to be there, with his friends and family, no longer where he’d once been. So was I. It had been a long road for both of us.
R
Our last lunch at Julie’s was the hardest part of leaving, not just Richard but Fort Worth. Packing boxes, wrapping up loose ends, and making wedding plans (well, listening to Leslie’s plans—she had a grand, master blueprint all mapped out for an outdoor, country wedding that required little from me other than agreement and following instructions) was the easy part, even fun because I was embarking on a new adventure. It was exciting to be getting married. I’d seen so many movies about weddings, it was finally my turn to experience it for myself.
The last few times Bryan, Todd, and I met to play tennis and pray were some of our most enjoyable Friday get-togethers. We knew this was our last chance to hang out as a group, at least consistently, so we made the most of it. Bryan’s mom cooked all my favorite meals my last week in town, like she was concerned Memphis had a food shortage. Della deep-fried some French fries in peanut oil for old time’s sake, and we squeezed in a final trip to the zoo to watch Richard and the lions have a staring contest. It was all a lot less painful than anticipated.
Until Julie’s.
At first, it was a typical lunch. We talked with Amy as she pinballed from table to table, Jody stopped by to chat with Richard for a minute, I ate a tuna sandwich while Richard savored his chicken salad, roll, and sweet tea. We reminisced a bit. Amy asked about my wedding plans. I told her Federer wasn’t invited, which she said was okay because Nadal wasn’t welcome at Julie’s.
Yet when it was time to leave, the weight of it all finally hit me, and Richard. Amy, too. It felt like our family was breaking up. All of the years spent reaching this level of comfortableness and camaraderie would vanish as soon as I pulled away in my U-Haul truck. I’d lived long enough to know these kinds of relationships didn’t come along often. They were rare and needed to be appreciated, cultivated, and hung onto as long as possible. I understood wonderful people I loved awaited my arrival in Memphis. I wasn’t being dropped off in an alley not knowing a soul. But that didn’t make walking out of Julie’s any less painful.
Amy stood holding the door open for Richard, who was already bawling. The knot in my throat felt like I’d swallowed a peach. Amy was fighting back tears, and when I said goodbye, I handed her a card I’d written telling her how much her friendship had meant to me and how grateful I was for her generosity toward Richard. She said she’d have to read it later because it was too much right now, for which I was thankful because I was barely holding it together. She and I hugged, and she whispered, “You’re coming back, right? Before you leave?”
I nodded and said I would, then walked out with Richard. But I never did. In the hustle and bustle of last-minute errands and details, I ran out of time and didn’t stop by Julie’s once more to see Amy, and I regretted it for quite a while. I texted her to apologize and she, of course, assured me it was no big deal, yet I still felt guilty. Amy would’ve made time. Richard, too. Being around both of them had taught me that people should always come first, and often the most meaningful gesture was the sacrifice of a little time. Bryan had demonstrated this as well. Clearly, though, despite all their fine examples, I hadn’t fully grasped this lesson.
My last afternoon with Richard was a quiet one. A few phone calls, a letter or two. A lot of silence. How could we tie a neat bow on five years? How did a cruise ship dock at a fishing pier? Finally, I asked him, “Have you picked out your suit yet? You better look sharp.”
He smiled, and answered, “Don’t I always?”
“Just let Della choose it.”
“I’m gonna get a horn for my chair and blow it when we get there.”
“Don’t make us change the date.”
He laughed and shrugged. “I’ll show up every Saturday.”
“That sounds like a horror movie.”
He laughed even harder, and before he even started coughing, I stood up to get his cup.
We sat for a minute or so in silence again. It was almost time for me to leave. I’d been sitting next to him for so long, it was hard to believe there was a time when it felt awkward and uncomfortable. I’d thought I wouldn’t last a month with him, and here we were years later trying to imagine the next day without each other. I was glad I hadn’t listened to my fears. They were rarely valid.
I knew Richard would be okay. He’d survived many years without me. Plus, now he had Della, who brought him more joy than anyone else. But it was never easy to lose a buddy, and we both understood our years together had been a gift that wouldn’t come around again. It was too unique of a relationship, too unexpected and unplanned. It was more than either of us could’ve hoped for when I showed up on his driveway, scared to enter his house. If someone had told us we’d both help each other find our wives, we would’ve had that unfortunate soul committed. If someone else had strolled passed and informed us we’d work together for five years, Richard would earn a master’s degree, and I’d learn more about life than in all my years before (or since), that sad sack would’ve become roommates with the first one we committed.
But nothing great lasted forever because greatness was eventually replaced by nostalgia. There were lots of bands still out on the road that had once been on top of the charts but were now sentimental favorites. Richard and I had had a good run, but it was time to pack it in.
Though I easily could’ve worked for him for another five years, maybe ten. We had that much fun together.
Richard opened the front door for me using his automatic door opener and asked me to let him know when I arrived safely in Memphis. I assured him I would. I looked at my car that I was leaving Bryan (which felt a bit cruel since it would probably break down in another few months) and then turned back to Richard. I leaned down and gave him a hug and said, “Thanks for hiring me. You weren’t half-bad to work for.”
He smiled and replied, “I took it easy on you.”
I nodded, fighting back tears, and said, “Glad you did. I needed the help.”
He said, still smiling, “I know.”
Then I nodded once more to thank him for more than I could find sufficient words for, and I walked down his driveway to my car. He followed me down and decided to drive in front of me as I slowly made my way out of his neighborhood, like a police escort clearing my passage. His orange light glowed as he sat up proudly leading our caravan. When I reached the corner of the main road, I pulled next to him and lowered my window and said, “Don’t get hit out here.”
“I’m too fast,” he declared, zipping across the street toward CVS. I turned right and drove off, yet I could still see his orange light in my rearview mirror until he disappeared into the store. I watched for his light to reappear before he was out of view, but I drove down a hill and he was gone, undoubtedly inside presenting the manager with a proposition.
Chapter Twenty
A Part-Time Job
Not long after I left, Richard and Della decided to move, too. They’d discussed it
off and on ever since Evelyn and Emilee left for Tennessee, but they couldn’t find a state in the general vicinity of Della’s family that offered a reasonable assistance program for Richard.
I’d hoped they’d leave, even encouraged it. I helped Richard research other state programs, hunting for an acceptable landing spot that allowed Della to be near her family while addressing Richard’s needs. At first, Richard wasn’t too keen on the idea. Nothing we found offered what he currently received in Texas, and he’d invested so much time and energy on his program, while establishing a network of connections in the DFW Metroplex, it was too much to abandon.
Quietly, I’d urged him to reconsider. “Della will never leave you,” I’d said with complete candor just a week before I left, “but if you want her to be happy, you need to bend a little here. You have to get her closer to home.” He understood, even agreed, yet we hadn’t found a suitable site.
Two days before I left, we were able to learn some valuable and promising information from one of the directors of the state program in North Carolina. Della’s parents and siblings all lived in or near Kernersville, North Carolina, which was only six and a half hours from her kids in Manchester, Tennessee. One of her brothers lived in nearby Winston-Salem, which had sidewalks and a bus system, and there was an available house near his. Suddenly, Winston-Salem started looking like a viable option.
It didn’t take them long to iron out the details and fast-track their move. Naturally, Della was thrilled, while Richard remained slightly less ebullient. However, this was understandable, as Della was heading back to family and Richard venturing into the imposing unknown. Plus, there was the whole Michael issue. He had no interest in leaving his friends, school, and home. He didn’t know anyone in North Carolina. His brother and sister were in Texas. He’d spent his whole life in Fort Worth. It felt unfair to Richard to force him to go. He’d seen how homesickness plagued Evelyn and Emilee, and the sacrifice Della had made to let them leave. After much agonizing thought and prayer, Richard decided to let Michael move in with close family friends in Fort Worth who loved Michael and were ecstatic to have him. It was one of the hardest things Richard had ever done, and he was racked with guilt. But he understood that if he made Michael go with them, he would’ve felt guilty about that instead. Either choice left him regretful. At least this way, Michael was happy.
Life at 8 mph Page 19
