Because

by Jack A. Langedijk

  But before Monique could say a word, Barbara Pouge was up on the stage and interrupted the conversation.

  “Good news, Mr. Wong. I just got the okay from the kitchen. We can start lunch early.”

  “When?” Monique sounded panicky.

  “Oh, no later than fifteen minutes.” Barbara smiled. “Does that help you at all?”

  “Well, of course it does.” Monique said in a tone that was a little condescending.

  Greg put a hand on Monique’s shoulder and apologized for her rudeness. “I’m sorry, Barbara, she is a little nervous today. You know, the stress of the three companies coming together today and, of course, her husband’s talk...So, okay, yes, that will be great. Let’s have lunch in fifteen minutes. I’ll announce it and tell everyone to take a moment to go out and freshen up so your staff can get the tables ready for lunch.”

  Barbara Pouge thanked Greg and hurried off.

  “Well, there you go, Monique. Right after lunch, we’ll hear Robert’s talk,” Greg said with a relieved looking smile. Then he pulled himself closer to whisper to Monique, “I’ve never seen you so jumpy. Don’t worry, the presentation went really well and I’m sure your husband will do great!”

  He gave Monique a supportive pat on the back and then turned to Amir. “Oh, Amir, I’m going to make a quick announcement and after that can you play some more of that happy music you just played? You know, something that gets people to sing along? It will be about fifteen minutes until lunch, okay?”

  Greg then picked up the cordless microphone from Amir’s table and informed the room of the lunch plans.

  Monique stood there, flushed with emotion. She politely nodded her head to Amir, thanking him for being so prepared. She then walked over to Robert and stood directly in front of him. She waited for a long moment, but Robert would not return any eye contact.

  “Bobby, did you send Jenny your journal?”

  Robert said nothing.

  “Robert, did you send Jenny your journal?”

  Still nothing.

  “Why would you do that? Come on, Robert, don’t do this! Speak please! Okay? All right, can you just say okay?”

  “Okay,” he said without moving.

  “Please, Bobby...Can you please...just look at me?”

  Robert didn’t budge.

  She now spoke with the most direct, firm voice she could muster, “Look at me.”

  Robert turned and gave her an annoyed glance and then just turned his head away again.

  “Oh God, Robert! I can’t take this anymore!”

  Monique’s eyes started to well up with tears. She held up her hands, her fingers clenched like an eagle’s talons, ready to snatch up her prey. Her hands kept rotating as she searched for the right words.

  “You,” was all she said. Then she took another breath and again said, “You.” But when this one came out, her voice started to crack with emotion. “You...You...” and each time she said ‘you’ her voice became more strained. She repeated each ‘you’ as if she was an actor practising how they should start a scene, making each ‘you’ completely different and unique from the last.

  But in between each of those you’s, was a full, storied sigh that told the sad tale of the last six months between the two of them. Yet, Monique’s emotional ache did not seem to stir Robert enough to even glance at his wife. He just sat there, head on his chest and clutching that brown leather bag closer to his body.

  “Come on, Robert, I know you, this isn’t you. I thought maybe you being here might change things. I don’t know, maybe help you get over this. Come on, Bobby, I know you. Please, please just...just snap out of it!”

  “Snap out of it? What the hell am I supposed to snap out of, Monique?”

  “This! Is this how you want the day to go? Like this?”

  “This? What ‘this’ are you talking about?”

  Monique took a step closer and loudly whispered, “This, Bobby. I mean, just look at us! Every day, more and more, and it just gets worse! Can’t you see it? This...this...death we live!”

  Robert rolled his eyes and mocked his wife, “Death, Monique? Really?”

  “Yes...Yes! Look at us! Six months ago, Robert, they told me you were dead. I honestly thought you were dead. Do you know what that’s like? Dead, Robert. We all thought you were dead. And now—”

  “—Now, what?”

  Monique crouched down on one knee to get closer to her husband. Tears were now streaming down her face. “Do you have any idea what that was like? Do you? ‘Your husband’s dead, Mrs. Sanchez,’ ‘Jenny, your daddy’s dead.’ But you weren’t, Robert, you weren’t! You were alive...but now...now—”

  “Now, what Monique? For Christ’s sake, what?”

  “Now I actually feel you are dead!”

  Monique’s body suddenly convulsed and she quickly put her hands to her mouth as if she was about to vomit. She turned quickly, ran down the steps of the stage, opened the doors out into the hallway and disappeared. Her sudden departure caused a commotion at the foot of the stage and several colleagues were asking each other what was wrong.

  Amir had witnessed the emotion that sparked between Monique and her husband. But he did not wish to make the situation worse, so when the onlookers looked up to the stage to ask what happened, Amir motioned toward his stomach, indicating that Monique was just a little sick.

  Robert didn’t say a word. He brought the leather pouch to his chest and then slowly slumped over. He dropped the pouch on his lap as his hands slid down his thighs to the end of his stumps. He started rocking slightly in his wheelchair. He knew all too well the ‘this’ Monique was speaking about and the ‘you’ he had become. And the words, “No wait, I’m not dead!” were as far away and foreign to his lips as his amputated limbs were to his body.

  Amir smiled sadly as he watched Robert rock in his wheelchair. Although he had no idea what had happened between this husband and wife, he was sure it must have been painful to both.

  The song was just ready to end and Amir found himself a little panicky as he tried to decide what song to play next. He knew Greg wanted a spirited sing-along song, but he didn’t have the heart to ignore the rocking man in a wheelchair clutching at his lost limbs. So he played a song that started slow, but always got the crowd to sing along. The Proclaimers had never failed to bring a positive spirit into a room.

  As the room started singing along with the song 500 Miles, Amir’s eyes suddenly opened wide with panic. Oh my God! he thought. What have I done? Playing a song that reminds a man he can’t walk!

  28. PHILIP

  Dearest Love,

  I hope my heart will always strive to be hungry, hungry to explore—to always find that “more” that makes me feel the way I do today. We arrived at Dingboche much later than planned. We became part of a rescue mission today. We helped a Sherpa and this woman pull her husband up a cliff after he had become tangled down below (mostly “tangled” in his own ego and stupidity). Apparently, this man wanted to cross an old bridge that Sir Edmund Hillary probably crossed sixty years ago! The river we were crossing has these new metal suspension bridges (even these will have your heart firmly planted in your mouth). Anyway, this new bridge is built directly above one of the remaining old wooden bridges. The old bridge is in such disrepair and is about five hundred feet underneath the new one. The rotten wood lath and frayed rope has made the old bridge unusable, but this guy was still attempting to climb down to it so he could cross over and, as he said, “Walk in Hillary’s footsteps.” As noble as that might sound, it was pretty damn foolish. Anyway, as he was lowering himself to the old bridge, his rope got so tangled around him that he was unable to move. Satya, who had a lot of experience rock climbing, had to harness up and climb down to untangle him. By the time Satya got down to him, that guy was getting ready to slice off one of his own ropes to get untangled. And if he had done that, he would have either hung himself or fallen to his death for sure!

  Troy, Nancy and Philip really felt like they we
re saving someone today and they filmed it all for the kids back home. But they got a little depressed after interviewing the guy’s wife as she was totally ungrateful to everyone. She said we were interfering and felt her husband could have untangled himself. She then told us they had just fired their Sherpa because he had unnecessarily panicked by asking for our help. We had a great discussion about it at supper tonight. Specifically, the question of how to save someone that doesn’t want to be saved.

  Mingma (who, after last night’s adventure with his son, is no longer “the silencer”). He was the most adamant about answering the question. He just simply said, “Life is to live...Save life when can.” It was quite simply beautiful. He turned to his son and repeated, “Save life when can,” and then Satya put his hand on his father’s. Mingma shocked us all when he leaned over and actually kissed his son’s cheek. Philip pulled out the camera and asked him to do it again, but Mingma wouldn’t repeat the kiss for Philip to film. He really made us laugh when he said to Philip, “Some things happen when they do, NOT when we want them to happen!” And then the moment Philip put the camera down, he kissed his son again, making us laugh even harder. You know, love, that laughing felt so...well, it was that kind of laughter that makes you feel free, full of YES! It has only been twenty-four hours since our “cross the line” last night and it’s like someone has turned a switch on inside of Satya and his father. They seem to shine now.

  Oh, darling one, each day of this journey holds such wonderful reasons to be here!

  Today—there is such a missing of you...Everywhere I hear your sounds—our sounds. This feeling has been inside me all day. It started at breakfast. Nancy wanted to read a poem she had written the night before called “The Word ‘Heart’ Starts with HEAR—there are two kinds of ‘here’s—you must be here to hear!” Then she gave me the poem as a present.

  Listening is the sound that love makes,

  Love, knowing it can exist and thrive,

  Never becoming a faint feeling of ‘remember when’...

  But is here to hear,

  And understands...

  That the only love that endures is a love that listens...

  Ang actually stood up and clapped real loud and told Nancy how she must have been from China in one of her last lives. When she asked him why, he took out a pencil and a scrap of paper and drew out the Chinese word or character for listening. He showed us that the Chinese word for hear is made up of five different symbols: you, the heart, the ear, the eyes and undivided attention. All five are equally a part of listening! Then the boys thought it was getting too heavy and made a joke and asked Nancy that if the only love that endured is a love that listens, did that mean deaf people could never have love?

  But, you know, darling, that line about “The only love that endures is a love that listens” really came to be lived today...

  Kyle stopped reading when he heard Jenny let out long sigh. “What’s wrong, Jen? Do you want me to stop reading?”

  “No, Kyle, it’s just I thought of my mom and wondered if she ever read this.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, it was always so weird whenever my dad came home from one of his climbs. There was always this...well, this really big tension between them. And it was so strange because, I mean, my mom was completely supportive of him going—she’d help him plan and pack, and she’d help him with so many things before he left. She even said how much she loved those drives to the airport with him. And when he was gone, she’d constantly be checking her e-mail for letters and run to the phone when it rang. You should hear how they spoke! Oh, they would talk so...so...well, like teenagers in love. But then, when my dad got back home...”

  Jenny stopped.

  “Yeah Jen, what happened when he got home?”

  “I can’t explain it. Even when I was just a little kid, I noticed it. My mom and I were always so excited when he came home. We would get all dressed up and talk all the way to the airport about Daddy...and I...I was just so, so happy when—you know, those big glass doors at arrivals? Well, when they opened, and my father would come walking through, I was like a cannon ball—I would just throw myself at him and he would catch me. But my mom would always act so strange. Like it wasn’t special seeing him, like we were picking him up from shopping or something.”

  “Why do you think she acted like that?”

  “Well, she told me last time I was home for a visit that it was hard for her. Even though she was happy to see him, she couldn’t help feeling resentful. Things like, why did he leave, why make her worry about him, his safety? Anyway, it always took her a little time to warm up to him and get back to normal. But, I always knew when it happened. Mom would say something like, ‘we need to do something as a family,’ and it didn’t matter what it was—going to movie, playing a game, or even going downstairs to watch TV together—but I’d always notice that my mom would take my dad’s hand. And it didn’t matter where we were or what we were doing, they would always be holding hands for the rest of that night. That was the signal. It happened every time. And do you know what I always said to myself?”

  “What?”

  “I’d always say, ‘Ahhh...Daddy’s home...Daddy’s really home now!’”

  Jenny wiped a tear from her eye. Kyle kissed the hand that brushed the tear away.

  “Do you want me to keep reading?”

  Jenny took Kyle’s hand and kissed it. “Yes, please.”

  All day the glorious mountain, Ama Dablam, towered over us and it was framed by one of the bluest skies. We could see every detail, every curve of this massively impressive mountain. During the day, there was this moment I stood behind Philip with the same sky framing him, and I asked him for the camera to take a shot of him just walking. He looked so majestic—I could see why Troy sometimes calls him “our walking mountain.”

  Tonight after supper, Phil waited until everyone left because he said he had to ask me something. He said he had heard I was writing about the three of them in some book. I told him it was just my journal and I was just about to start his story tonight and that when I’ve finished it, I’ll let him read it. He said he didn’t need to read it; he just wanted to know if it was good or bad. And he hoped I didn’t really remember too much about the first time we met because of how he...

  The music came out of a small black speaker in the corner of the old high school gym. The day was almost over. Seventy-five teenagers stood in an odd-shaped circle. Seventy-five lives had just spent the day laughing, singing and dancing. Seventy-five souls had just spent their day sharing and unmasking themselves.

  A song played—“Man in the Mirror”. Robert slowly walked inside the circular human chain, making sure to make eye contact with each and every student. Some smiled back, some just stared and some were silent. Some had tears they kept wiping away, yet you could see they didn’t want the tears to overcome them because they wanted to be here. They wanted to be standing in this circle of life and feel proud of this shedding.

  “Before we started today, I know a lot of you were skeptical. Some of you were dreading having to be here, wishing you could be anywhere but here. But look what happened! Today I saw some of you open a door—the door of possibility, the door to a new understanding. Some of you opened a door of trust, one of friendship, one of kindness. Look, if you have the courage to see. Because every door you want to open is almost always waiting, waiting right there in front of you. Even the door of forgiveness.”

  Robert paused a moment. “Okay, maybe it sounds corny, but try...like that song we just heard...try to take a look at yourself and ask yourself what change you want to make today? Today, a lot of you said there were people in this room that made you feel hurt, like you didn’t belong, bullied you, or just didn’t understand you. Well, today...here is a chance to open that door of hope. Here’s your opportunity to tell someone in this room you’re sorry. Maybe say to them, ‘I’m sorry I hurt you,’ ‘Sorry, I didn’t understand,’ ‘Sorry, I didn’t listen...I didn’t see.�
��”

  Robert turned on a song that Jenny had sent him in an e-mail about two years ago. She sent it to him because she wanted to say she was sorry about an argument they’d had. She’d yelled at her father about a message concerning a singing audition that he forgot to give her. She got so angry that when she ran out of the house and slammed the front door, the glass broke.

  I remember sitting in my car in the driveway. The tears came so easily when I played the song. I never could stay angry at Little Rock for very long. But oh, that song helped. Coldplay. The Scientist. Someone trying to say they were sorry and wanting to start again. That song has really worked for me in the schools...

  And then, inside an old gymnasium, it happened. Doors opened. And it almost always happened, because these kids longed for a different kind of connection. One that was impossible to get inside the world of Facebook, iPods and Blackberries. Although most had been born into a world full of technological miracles—a world that bragged how human beings were more connected now than at any time in human history—yet, despite that, these teenagers still desperately longed to connect. A connection they would never find from any electronic devices. So, slowly, those young souls would wander in that old beat up gymnasium, some gathering their friends with open arms—friends that didn’t need words, just a hug. Some looking for that kid they had teased so they could try to open a door of forgiveness.

  As beautiful as all this connection was, Robert noticed there was one student who stood alone. Although he was a big boy, easily weighing over three hundred pounds, he looked so small standing by himself with his hands deeply wedged in his pockets.

  Robert made his way to him. “Hi.”

  The boy was silent.

  “What’s your name?”

  Still nothing! The boy just looked at him with a pair of big vacant eyes.

  “Did you find anything helpful today?”