by John Lynch
It’s quiet again. I’m staring out at the pond, watching a pair of geese glide peacefully across its surface. Across the room there is a clatter of silverware. Someone is asking the girl behind the register for a packet of Splenda.
“I don’t know what to say,” I mumble.
“What do you want to say?”
“I don’t know. I want out of this moment.”
“So, go ahead. Maybe you have a call on another line?”
I look over at him. He’s wearing a smile that says, Gotcha.
“There was no other call the other day.”
“I was in business once too, remember?”
“Andy, I’m the head of marketing in the very company I dreamed about when I came out of the University of Washington. Nearly every indicator would say I’m doing a really good job. The Wall Street Journal did an article on me two months ago. Me. I’ve arrived. And now something I can’t seem to control or even name is about to sabotage me. And none of my training has prepared me to solve this one.”
Andy looks into my eyes. “Well said, my young friend.”
I get up and take my place at the window.
“Last evening I was in a restaurant with half a dozen colleagues after a leadership meeting. Somewhere between drinks and dinner, I found myself sitting back, observing conversations from the outside. Half listening, half staring, I kept drifting back to lunch with your friends at Bo’s. I was hit by a couple things.”
I glance back to Andy. He’s grinning.
I look back out the window and say, “Sometimes I wish I’d never met you. Do you know that?”
“Yeah, my wife said the same thing a time or two.” He chuckles. “So you were about to give me some observations.”
“No one in this company knows me,” I say. “I’ve been with these people, most of them, for over two years. We talk sports, the economy, rival companies, product; we gossip about those who don’t show up; we tear others down; we make dry and sarcastic humor. It’s fast and clever and hip. Most of the time I’m in the middle of it. But I can’t come up with one time when anyone asked me how I was really doing.
“I’ve been dying inside these last few months, and no one sees it or wants to see it. For all I know, everyone around me is melting down too. But I’d never ask. We all act shocked when someone leaves or implodes from the pressure. But really, everyone anticipates it. It’s part of the package that comes with the long hours, the privilege, and the privacy of what we do. Andy, I’m thirty-four, and I’m learning more every year how to keep people from really knowing me. These last few months I’m finding I really hate it.”
Andy nods. I can tell he’s really listening. “You said you had a couple observations?”
“Yes,” I continue. “I’m a Christian. Actually, I’ve been a Christian at most about nine hours a week. At church—when we go. I was a Christian praying with my daughter on the rare nights I was home before she went to bed. And I’m a Christian on the board of an inner-city ministry in Inglewood. All I do is show up and offer to pray, really, but the rest of the time I don’t really have a role. My relationships are purely utilitarian. I have the camaraderie here that profiting from defeating financial enemies brings. But it’s nothing like Bo’s. If any of us dared show weakness, we’d be torn apart. There’s no real affirmation or friendship, just the boasting in a job well done. You don’t trust and you aren’t trusted. We’re just well-paid mercenaries.”
“So why are you telling me this?”
I look down at my coffee. “You were in business once too, remember?”
“Fair enough. Do you want to continue?” he asks.
“I think I do.” I take a deep breath. “Anyway”—I motion with my hands at the buildings around us—“I carry this world home. I think I love Lindsey, but mostly I try to buy her off, appease her. I fake interest in the events of her day by nodding and giving the appropriate responses. But much of the time I’m somewhere else, rehearsing all the undone garbage in front of me. I do it almost without noticing.”
Andy stands up and slaps his hands together. “Well, look, it’s the middle of a pretty busy workday. I’ve already taken up too much of your time. Steven, I know this is thin consolation, but I’m really proud of you. I think you’ll look back on these few minutes and say that this may be where things started to turn.”
I turn from the window. “You know, just when I think I’m starting to figure you out, you say something like that.”
Andy laughs. “I just wanted to say it so that when it happens you’ll think, Hey, that marina guy was pretty sharp after all.” He places a hand on my shoulder. “So, listen, I’m gonna go meet with Phil and then have an innocent lunch with Whitney, and then I’m out of your hair. We won’t talk about you. I promise. I’ve just got to get to the bottom of this whole chowder issue, or it’ll eat at me all afternoon.”
I shake my head. “Andy, you’re a very odd man.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he says, pretending to tip his hat.
“Before you go, I want to ask you something about Bo’s. I don’t know, I think… it did something to me.” I look down at my shoes. He stands back and folds his arms. I feel weird telling him this. “It’s like I got a picture of what things could be like. There’s something there I don’t get. But I want to. Do you think I could drop by again sometime?”
“Hey, I don’t get to pick the crowd,” he says. And just like that, Andy gets up to leave. “Steven, thanks for this. Did Phil ever tell you he once climbed out of one of those little suspended cars in the Peter Pan ride at Disneyland? He was dangling from the side and trying to use his feet to knock over one of the steeples in the little pretend town below. Disney guards kicked him right out of the park. Gave him a lifetime ban. True story. I mean, who do you know who’s been banned for life from Disneyland? Charles Manson never got a lifetime ban.”
Walking away he yells back, “Hey, thanks for taking the risk of letting me hang around here.” He smiles and then whistles his way down the stairs, two steps at a time.
I work late before heading south. I think I’m avoiding going back to my room. I think the staff is beginning to feel sorry for me. I’ve been there longer than some of them. They don’t even bother putting that sign on the sink about my towels anymore. I guess they figure I’ve made up my mind about wasting their water.
The lobby is mostly empty as I walk through to the elevator. My shoes are making that conspicuous click-clack echo across the marble floor. There’s a new kid behind the counter. He can’t be eighteen. As I walk by he beams brightly and says, “Hello, sir. Welcome to the Marriott.” I feel like saying, “Kid, I am Mr. Marriott. You’re fired.” But I’m too tired.
Back in my room, I peel an orange and set up my laptop before changing out of my work clothes. I see another e-mail from Andy. It’s titled “I don’t care what you say, I’m fishing in that lake!”
I open it and scroll down.
Steven,
Okay, so we’ve been at this for about three weeks. It’s time for an exam. This exam is not about you. It’s about me. I’m figuring you’re asking if this old guy is someone you can trust.
So, let’s grill me and see if I can take it. Why do I want to help you?
Because I learned that until I finally trusted someone enough to open up to them, I could never find what I was after, and I want the same for you.
I don’t want your trust for my benefit, but for yours. I will never demand it. At the end of the day, I can’t ask you to drum up something that isn’t there. I can only ask your permission to earn it. Trust is a right response to another’s love. For some it is the most natural response in the world. But some of us have learned, over time, through hurt or all sorts of junk, to not receive it from anyone. And so sometimes a friend needs to ask another friend to let him in. You see, I think you got seriously hurt somewhere along the line and closed yourself off to people. I also think something very important happened today. I could be wrong, but I
’m pretty sure you started tipping some of the cards in your hand. You pulled ’em right back, but I swear I saw a couple. You’re not used to doing that; nobody sees your cards. Maybe you’re regretting that now, hoping to pull the cards even closer. I expect that.
But everything’s gonna get tested from here on out. See, the old guy knows too much now! Who I am really starts to matter now, doesn’t it? Sometime, maybe next time, I won’t just listen; maybe I’ll respond. I might just challenge you at some deeply personal place. You may fear that, but something in you hopes for it too.
Steven, I will never ask that you agree with me. But we’ll be wasting each other’s time unless at some point you give me permission. You don’t have to, but I’m guessing you’ll bump around and hit your shins a lot more if you don’t. Either way, it’s a crapshoot. But, hey, I’m mixing my gambling metaphors, aren’t I?
I can hear you saying, I thought I already gave you permission. I’m carving out time from my life for this crap. If I’m not letting you, then what have I been doing?
You’ve been testing me to see if I’m for real. It may have looked like I was testing you, but I don’t need to test you to see if I can trust. I’ve already decided. I’m in.
So if you’re still reading at this point, I’d like you to ask yourself if I fit these descriptions. These are characteristics of what you might call a “healthy protector.” First, do I see others as sinners trying to be saints, or as saints who still sometimes fail? Is it my goal that something will get conquered or fixed, or that nothing will remain hidden? That one’s huge. Read that again. There are very few places where the value of no hiding is placed above getting the other person “better.” Oh, and this is huge too: do I care more about getting your issues resolved or establishing a healthy relationship so the issues can be resolved?
There probably have been some people and will be many more in your life who offer direction and insight. But if those attributes aren’t there, in spades, you’ve got the wrong guy. He can give you some techniques to control your behavior. That and $3.50 will get you a fancy coffee drink. But he won’t be able to stand with you in solving your issues. He’ll have tools for inspiration and, at best, a lot of sincerity; and guilt, shame, and performance standards at worst. He’ll always make sure you know he’s the teacher, the one in charge. But he’ll never risk standing with you in your struggles and truly sharing himself with you. Because at the end of the day it’s all about that person being something for God. It’s a notch on his religious belt. He takes little risk, and pays no cost. It’s just more technique, more practiced advice, more slogans, and his hands stay clean. He may stoop down to help a dullard now and then, but he’s not in it for anyone but himself. You’re gonna want to stay clear of that guy.
I’m figuring I may look like that guy to you at times. I’m not. What I get out of this is not what I’m after.
Steven, you spoke about the difficulty of meshing your work world with your spiritual life. You said that no one would dare show weakness or he’d be torn apart. I get that. I have known that world. Most men and women do.
It reminds me of a statement one of Steinbeck’s characters, Doc, makes in Cannery Row:
It has always seemed strange to me… The things we admire in men, kindness and generosity, openness, honesty, understanding and feeling are the concomitants of failure in our system. And those traits we detest, sharpness, greed, acquisitiveness, meanness, egotism and self-interest are the traits of success. And while men admire the quality of the first they love the produce of the second.
It took failure for me to realize that there’s a profound “produce” created when the best in people is coupled with humility. It lacks none of the accomplishment and gains an integrity that allows everyone to enjoy what the product brings. I think your future is in that quote.
So, who am I? That’s the question Steven Kerner should be asking right now. Well, you know some. You know a little of my failures. But you need to know more. My life is still messy. I’ll disappoint you, and I’m sure I’ll exasperate you again, whether it’s my inconsistencies, petty selfishness, or something else. I may even hurt you by being stupid and insensitive. I don’t want to, but I probably will. Still, I won’t hide from you. Sometime, after you get to know me better, you may wish I’d hide… .
You see, nobody ever arrives. I certainly haven’t. We just learn to depend and trust better. Eventually we can grow more mature and become better friends to others. We can learn how to love while learning to be loved. And we can learn how to offer protection in exchange for permission.
Well, enough. I leave you with this: How many country-western singers does it take to screw in a lightbulb? Three. One to screw in the new lightbulb and two to sing about losing the old one.
I’ve got a million of ’em. Seriously, somebody stop me.
In the grace of Jesus,
Andy
“We Should Talk.”
(Saturday Morning, April 4)
I decide to write Lindsey. We talk on the phone every day. But I want to say something important so I decide to put it in writing. Recently, when we talk about anything beyond bills, appointments, and picking up Jennifer, it gets all garbled and I sound like I’m selling soap. So I send an e-mail:
Lindsey,
Last Saturday morning about this time we were making really clumsy conversation over coffee. You told me I needed to be meeting with someone. I told you I was, but didn’t explain much. Well, I’ve had quite a ride this last month. The night we got into the fight I came home late. You need to know where I was. I haven’t been doing well. Like for a long time. I don’t talk much about it, because I don’t usually know what to say. So, a bunch of times, I’d leave work early and just drive around escaping into some music or something. Usually I’d end up at this place called Fenton’s. It’s a dumpy little dive in Culver City where my family used to go when I was growing up. Anyway, that afternoon I’m sitting in the parking lot like half a dozen other times. But this time I go in. And I meet this old friend of my dad’s, only I don’t know who he is. Remind me to tell you about that some time; like when you’ve had a couple margaritas. Anyway, his name is Andy. We’ve driven around in his car a few times. He says I’ve been deceiving myself, that I can’t see myself clearly and I need to trust others to help me. I think he’s a Christian, but not like most I know. So, I agreed to go for lunch at this place called Bo’s Café. There’s this interesting group of people who meet there on Thursdays. It’s been going on for a few years. The place is right where I used to hang out down at the beach as a kid. So now I go there sometimes. I’m not sure why. They’re all great people, but it’s more than that. It’s like some of them can see me for who I am and really listen, like they like me. I know that sounds stupid, but I don’t have many people I can say that about right now. And I’ve never been anyplace like it. I have no idea what I’m learning. But I wanted you to know something is happening. So… there. That’s all I wanted to say. I love you and Jennifer. Tell her I’ll see her on Wednesday after school, at 3:30.
Love,
Steven
Lindsey responds:
Steven, I wanted you to know that your words are very important to me. I’m proud of you and what you’re doing. Andy sounds great. So does Bo’s.
I know you don’t have to do this. You could be trying to force things right now. I appreciate you explaining this to me, and giving things time. It sounds like Bo’s is exactly what you need right now. Maybe good things will come out of it. We should talk soon about when it might make sense for you to come home. Thanks again for your note. Jennifer says she’ll meet you at the circle in front of her school.
Love,
Lindsey
Out of Excuses
(Late Morning, Tuesday, April 14)
I work about three miles from Bo’s. I grew up less than seven miles from the pier where the restaurant now stands. Many summer days, a bunch of us would ride bikes down there from Culver City. I would have b
een twelve or so, a little over twenty years ago. We’d fish from the pier with line and weights we’d pocketed from Ronnie Oliveri’s older brother’s tackle box. We’d use sardines right out of a can as bait and catch some pretty freaky-looking stuff. Creatures that would sting your hands, ink your clothes, and smell up your backpack. Back then we didn’t know there was a Marina del Rey or Venice Beach. There was just this exciting, dangerous world that belonged all to us. I still can’t believe our parents let us come down here.
Parts of the neighborhood were sketchy even then. Not far from where Bo’s is was this Italian place. I just remember the checkered-tile floor was always greasy. They sold immense triangles of pizza. Huge, oily pieces of heaven. One day Wally Miller actually ate six pieces—pepperoni, sausage, and all. Nobody ever came close to that record. Later, he threw it all up on the boardwalk, but that just added to the legend.
Most of us swam in cutoff jeans. The ride home at the end of the day seemed like a three-day odyssey. There is no rash quite like that made by sand, wet underwear, and a one-gear bicycle.
Then came girlfriends, sports, and cars. Most of us no longer went down to that stretch of beach anymore. It was too much a part of childhood. We were grown up now. We’d take our girlfriends to Hermosa or Manhattan, even up to Santa Monica, but rarely down to the seedy Venice Beach of our youth. Then college took me to Washington and a couple of marketing jobs. When I came back to Southern California, it was for this position at Visratech. I never even visited my old home in Culver City, never went back to any of my old haunts.
It’s been almost two weeks since I’ve been at Bo’s. During that time I’ve taken a couple more rides with Andy in the Electra. But the newness is gone. I’m starting to think this whole thing isn’t really going anywhere. Maybe it was only “Detroit magic” after all. This whole season has been one of those out-of-the-ordinary things you do once or twice in your life, and when you look back, you realize they kind of turned things around. But now it looks like things are getting back in perspective. I think I may be just about done with Bo’s and these rides. I’m pretty sure I’ll be home very soon. I just had to get outside the issues for a bit. Bo’s has been good for that.
