Maybe Someday

by Ede Clarke

  “Just because he leaves a Merry Christmas message on your machine like 8 months after the last time you talked, you think he’s still in love with you? Are you insane? If he was in love with you he would have called you when your parents died,” Candy reasoned.

  “I know that is conventional thinking, but this is also love because it means he still thinks of me for no reason other than he still thinks of me. You know?”

  “No, I don’t know. I don’t know how you can be such a competent woman in every area of your life except this one. You are logical, responsible, caring, reasonable—albeit a bit of a left-brain striving maniac. But, you are not a woman who should be flipped on your head by a Christmas message from a guy whom you haven’t had a relationship with for years! And you know it. That is what is so frustrating. You know I’m right, Patty.”

  “Well, I called him right back and had to leave a message and . . . ”

  “Of course you had to leave a message. It would be shocking to actually get to speak to the guy . . . ”

  “Aaaannd, told him I was sorry I was out of town and missed his call but would love to hear from him soon.”

  “And?”

  “And?”

  Candy left it silent.

  “And I haven’t heard from him.”

  “For several weeks, right?”

  “Yeah, but . . . ”

  “And another thing. How does he have your unlisted number to an apartment you moved into since the last time I know of you guys talking?”

  “Well, I sent him a Christmas card and included my business card with the home number written on the back.”

  “Uh, huh. So, you think he was just thinking of you out of the blue, huh? You have your own reality, Patty. It’s like a secret world for you where Russ in concerned. And, frankly, I don’t know if I’m interested in knowing the secret anymore.”

  “It’s a secret life because I feel I can’t talk to you about it because it always ends up like this!”

  “That’s because what you’re doing is wrong. I’m not going to act like it’s alright when it’s not.”

  “I’m not sleeping with the guy, Candy. I’m just sending him a Christmas card.”

  “The fact that you think that is safer than sleeping with him is just proof that you do not face reality where he is concerned.” “So, if something else happens I just shouldn’t tell you. Is that it?”

  After a long pause, Candy offered, “I always want to know what is going on with you, Patty. I love you. Just don’t expect me to act like it’s okay when it’s not. That’s all.”

  The weeks turn into months and it was so hard not to think every day at work and every night at home that maybe today would be the day he would call again. For the first time ever I regretted visiting Mad’s family for Christmas. If I had only been home. If I had only been home.

  I had given him my home and work numbers and I didn’t want to contact him again and give him other numbers to reach me by. It’s his turn to contact me.

  Hours at work spent on the first quarter budget and Spring symposium turned into hours at work spent on the second quarter budget and Summer symposiums. So much of life is in words. Days and days into months and months sculpting environments for people to further discover meaning in words alone, in sentences, in paragraphs and then chapters in epic contexts like war, history, movements, and arguments. What if one day the literary world decided to change the links of the words to their meanings? What if tomorrow we got a notice that library now means bank and we are called truck drivers who pick apples for a living? But in actuality nothing has changed. Would the world be more careful with words or thought if it shifted to that extent?

  “You’re in town? Now?” I asked Russ in shock.

  “Yeah, sorry we missed each other at Christmas, but I’m in town for a soccer tournament so I thought I’d give you a call. Can you meet today?”

  I looked around my desk and saw only deadlines and representations of months of passion that demanded more attention. “No. Not today,” was all I said. No explanation and no qualifier that work is not more important than him although the decision made it seem that way. Actually, for the first time I was more important than us.

  “Oh.” He didn’t seem to know where to go from there.

  I gained momentum. “Why didn’t you give me more notice? I mean you must have known for some time that you were coming?”

  “Well, I’m here now and would love to see you.”

  “I would love to see you to. How about you come over tomorrow night for dinner?”

  “Well, I’m just here for a few days and the schedule is tight and I really wanted to see you today.”

  Pride and all the ugly things related to it began to wave over my stomach and trunk area with fire like I had never experienced before concerning Russ. “You know my mom had a great saying about not letting people take up room when they are not paying rent. I’m thinking you haven’t paid rent in a really long time.”

  “Patty! Come on! It’s been forever. Let’s get together and catch up. I really want to see you.”

  “So you really stuck to your guns and didn’t budge?” asked Mad as soon as I got off the phone.

  “I really did. I can’t believe it.”

  “Wow! I had no idea it was Russ. I mean, you are usually different about him, you know?”

  “I know.” I know. So the reality of not seeing him was now slowly rising up my body toward my eyes.

  “Don’t cry, Patty. Not over him.”

  But I did. Not a big cry. But a few sessions of tears throughout the rest of the afternoon. I knew what I did would make Candy so proud, but that thought didn’t even help me feel better. The only thing that made it worth the pain was knowing it was the right thing to do. Sometimes that is the weight that makes the decision precious and lets you know you can never turn back or you will be gone forever. Just like quitting smoking, I knew I could never have another drag of Russ or I would have two packs a day for the rest of my life.

  Knowing that I was right didn’t take the pain away. For the next few months I often thought that him knowing he was wrong—very wrong for a very long time—might take my pain away. But, knowing that he knew he was wrong would mean I would have to know him. Saying good-bye was a grieving that is somewhat harder than if someone is dead. If they are dead, there is no chance of hope. You don’t have to decide to or not to hope. When the person is still alive, it forces you, they force you, to make the decision not to hope. Since our soul naturally hopes, every time we decide not to hope, we die a small death unto ourselves. So, I settled for the satisfaction of really liking evenings at home with a book and tea, lunches with Mad and talks about her husband’s crazy coworkers, traveling vicariously through Candy and travel periodicals, and Saturdays with the group home kids. Faith in fury, thought, and eternity really is sufficient—for a while.

  “So you’re on the beach?” asked Candy from a diving boat off of Kho Phi Phi.

  “Yes, I’m finally out of bed. Barely.”

  “You don’t sound too good.”

  “Candy, if Russ hadn’t of shown up on my door that night many years ago do you think that I would have taken The Five?”

  “No, no I don’t. Why are you thinking about that! Just focus on whatever book is in your hand and the sand in your toes. Can you do that?”

  “Yeah, well, I’m just trying to figure out how I got here. You know?”

  “Yeah. I know.”

  “Tell me about you. What are you doing?”

  “I’m snorkeling inside caves in green water. Jealous?”

  “If I had the energy to join you, then yes I would be very jealous. Sounds wonderful. Are you alone?”

  “Most of the time I am but I met a fellow single woman traveler who has her own boat and we have eaten together twice now. She’s a hoot. A real free spirit. Makes me look like you.”

  “Okay, so now I’m impressed,” I sarcastically slide into Candy.

  “I only have t
wo more days, so I’m checking out the rest of the area today and plan to spend tomorrow at the pool and spa. What about you? Today is what?”

  “Reading and then ice cream for dinner.”

  “Fabulous . . . You okay?”

  “I don’t know. The denial faze is leaving I think. When I woke up this morning I think I began to really know that Clara is . . . gone.”

  “I see. That must be hard.”

  “The sand is brown. The water is gray. The leaves are diseased and dry. The stairs to the beach are falling apart. This is what I see.”

  “Maybe by the end of your time there you can see more.”

  “Maybe. Well, enjoy your two more days and thanks for calling when you’re on vacation to talk to the depressed friend.”

  “No kidding. I get points for this, right?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Absolutely Fabulous?!”

  I respond laughing, “Absolutely Fabulous!”

  After getting through the day at work without going into the ugly cry every time I went into the bathroom, I was relieved to be getting into my car to go home. His voice was heard in my head and covered my thoughts and perspective once I didn’t have the preoccupation of work. I tried to read signs, recite Psalms, something, anything to break the stronghold of his voice. The words stopped making sense. Whatever he said had an affect whether sound or meaning was coming through. Dinner was popcorn, with not even a half bowl eaten. Dessert was the undoing of Anthony and Gloria Patch page after page as they too clung onto hope far too long. Theirs was of beauty beyond years and wealth beyond relationship, with each other and with themselves. Knowing others too can be stupid is so helpful when looking for confirmation to really say good-bye to a mistake that you like.

  With tea in hand I rose to answer the door. Who could it be at 8:30 at night? I flipped the small outdoor light on and was angered at the sight through the peep hole. Should I answer the door, or just turn the light off? I already said good-bye, or was at least working really hard at saying good-bye. He suddenly was Johnny on the Spot.

  Through a cracked opened door I said, half looking at him and half at the wood-planked floor, “Yes?” I was afraid to look at him too much because I knew the power he had over me, and always had from day one in college. It wasn’t fair, but it was reality. Everyone says you should be aware of your strengths and weaknesses and play life accordingly. I was trying but he wasn’t helping me. The man I had always wanted to be my partner was on the other team.

  “Can I come in, Patty?”

  “I think this needs to stop and I’m sorry if I didn’t make that clear on the phone. I’m going to close . . . ”

  “Let’s just take a step back for a moment, Okay?” I opened the door a bit wider to get the full effect of someone being selfish. “If not tonight, let’s make plans to see each other again. How about I come back on a weekend and we plan the dates and spend some time catching up.”

  This sounded somewhat normal and thoughtful. “When?”

  “Well, I have soccer games almost every weekend through November, but I do have Thanksgiving weekend free. Now, I know that this is usually spent with family, but how about the two of us spend it together. I mean, I’ll stay in a hotel, but we can spend the weekend together and of course Thanksgiving meal together. What do you say?”

  “If I want to can we go to Candy’s Mom’s for Thanksgiving dinner?”

  “Sure. Whatever you want. So, how about it?”

  Excitement and surrender overcame me. My good-bye turned into the future. “Okay. Yeah, okay.”

  “Okay?”

  “Sure.”

  “I’ll call you with my flight info when I book the ticket.”

  “Okay.”

  “The point is to start again, Patty. I just want you to understand that . . . That is what I want . . . and what I hope you want, too.”

  As summer tripped along it was lighter than it had been in years. It felt different and had a merriment to it that came only from the inside corner of my soul, where mind, will and emotion live together. Saying hello again to hope was a difficult transition and I was grateful for the months to allow this to grow naturally back into a mature work that could produce much fruit. It did not have to be rushed, resulting in soil not receiving the seed or being distracted by other attractive forces. Layers could be built slowly to create stable, united optimism in belief of what I could not see but knew would happen. I had begun to trust myself again through hope in Russ again. I felt I had been rewarded for my resolve of being treated with forethought and respect. The result is a future with hope.

  “But why hasn’t he called you?” asked Mad one day in October as we ate our sandwiches and looked forward to the upcoming cookie across the street. “I mean, doesn’t that strike you as strange?”

  “Well normally it might be strange, but in our case I think he’s just giving me space. I mean he had to convince me that we should do this. So, I think he’s just giving us our own time to get ready for revving up again. It’s been years since we’ve been together and so much has happened for both of us since then. My parents and his drinking. His coaching and my career. He said he would call when he makes the reservations, so I would think he’ll call at the beginning of November or so. Right?”

  “I guess so. Yeah, sure,” nodded Mad.

  I knew in the back of my mind this conversation would go very differently with Candy. She’d tell me, “Here we go again!” But, I chose not have that conversation. However, I better have it soon since I plan to bring him to her Mom’s house for dinner. Not yet. After he calls.

  Three days before Thanksgiving I almost called him but couldn’t. What would I say? Maybe he’s coming the day before and will make the reservations tomorrow.

  “You still bringing the mashed potatoes, Patty?” asked Candy’s Mom.

  “Of course. And I wouldn’t miss your candied sweet potatoes for anything. The roads should be fine tomorrow. Haven’t heard any news of harsh weather.”

  “Great. See you tomorrow.”

  “See you tomorrow.”

  Thanksgiving day morning, I dialed his parents’ number planning on asking them if they knew where he was. “Hello,” Russ answered the phone.

  “Russ?” I couldn’t believe it!

  “Yes,” he said sheepishly.

  “Why aren’t you here?”

  “Well, I was planning on coming and everything, but my car and then work and then . . . well, you know how it is.”

  “Well, when were you going to tell me?”

  “I was going to tell you, I was. It’s just that I knew you’d be like this.”

  So it was my fault. Always my fault. “I see,” as I began a slight whimper, like an animal who has been in a trap for a while, all out of energy to fight. The reality of the kill is surrendered to and it takes over the spirit while the soul realizes the trick. I hung up the phone, gave myself a few minutes to get out as much water as I could so I could reapply my makeup only once before getting into the car to head over to Candy’s and then her Mom’s house. It took less time than I thought it would to get rid of the tears. The shame seemed to stop them.

  And then the anger came once Candy and I were in the car together. The secret I kept from her was coming back with a vengeance as it built a gulf between the two of us. I hadn’t thought through this possibility of only the two of us in the car today. So, through my folly I hurt our friendship. I didn’t have the faith to make a promise to myself ever again.

  I try to sleep in, but I suppose years of the same cannot easily be broken. I’m trying to see past it but I can’t. Their faces seem so real before I’m fully awake. They are down the hallway with blankets half off the bed and legs and arms in strange positions that I only dream now of being flexible enough to manage myself. And, the piled-up laundry and lunches to make and construction paper to buy and costumes to sow propel me to sit up, put my slippers on, and brush my teeth. But by the time I spit the first mouthful of toothpaste and wate
r out, I really know that they are gone. Again, I have to choose to decide not to hope. At least God took that decision from me concerning Clara. But, it doesn’t make it easier, just different. Just like Candy always tells me the secret of being in a different culture is to remember, “It’s not wrong, just different.” Well, this feels wrong, very wrong. But as I put my blonde, now sun-streaked, hair into a loose ponytail and decide to just stay in my pajama bottoms as I head to the kitchen, I try very hard to believe that this is just different. If just different than there is no blame, no violation, no wrong to make right. A change that needs to happen. But that for me lately also means no passion. I can’t seem to have positive passionate emotions. Since Clara has been gone and then losing the others as well, I am limited to neutral or angry; neutral or deeply saddened; neutral or physically ill with loss. So, today my goal is to be passionate about something better. I will head out with a book and a few silk pieces to darn together and I will be passionately positive about something before I come back to the house.

  “'Maybe I should meet these kids, just see if I can help out or something,' I told Mad one day over a turkey sandwich. I explained to her that maybe the reason I couldn’t get them out of my head was because I was supposed to meet them. And, then when I did meet them, it was like a hole in me was slowly, very slowly, filling up as their hole from their Mom’s death was filling up at the same time. I saw so clearly that we could fill each other up.”

  “So, that is why you left your career?” asked Don as he passed me the bread basket.

  “I suppose so. Though it probably wasn’t that clear to me at the time. I knew it felt good, and I had been following my head for so long it was nice to go with my heart for once. I hadn’t done that so often since my parents’ death.”

  “I’m so glad I came upon you at the fruit stand, Patty. So glad,” he earnestly told me, raising his head from his plate, placing his fork with grilled fish on it into his mouth. As he wiped his lips with the linen, his peppered hair moved in and back out of his forehead which emphasized his animated ways of expression.