“But that’s not why I married her. Our first year together, I bought her a diamond. I will always remember the look on her face when she opened the box. She was so surprised. She was probably more surprised wondering where I got the money for it.”
“’Is it real?’” she asked.
“’Let me check (pretending to bite the diamond). Of course, it’s real.’”
“’Oh, honey. Thank you!’”
“She was the most gracious woman I’ve ever known. That’s why, for me, Christmas is always a mix of good memories and sad memories. But it’s like I tell you guys, that’s life. It’s what makes us human. People ask me if I’m bitter that I only had eleven years with my wife. I tell them that some only get eleven weeks. I remember the good times. I focus on those. Those were eleven wonderful years.
“We all will experience tragedy. If you haven’t yet, the hard truth is you will. It’s what helps us grow. Christmas can be a sad time. That’s why I ask questions like these. I had one student—I asked his favorite Christmas memory and he wouldn’t answer. It was too painful. I had another student tell the class his first memory of Christmas was his mother and her boyfriend smoking pot and getting drunk on Thunderbird. They gave him a taste. He got drunk on Christmas when he was only four years old.”
That Thursday, two days before Christmas, Greg let me leave work at noon. He gave me a Borders gift card. Jack, the Payroll Manager, gave me a $50 gift card and an extra $25 Starbucks card. It was pouring rain outside; I noticed a man on the bus wearing a garbage bag turned into a coat to stay dry.
The driver seemed to remember me and smiled. Stepping off at Westwood and National, I told her to have a great day. “Same to you,” she said. “See you tomorrow. Oh, wait. Do you work tomorrow?”
I had to think about it for a second. No, which meant Christmas would come before I saw her. I wished her a Merry Christmas and told her I’d see her next week. She wished me the same.
Maybe it’s about perspective, I walked home thinking. Thanking God out of habit, starting one’s prayer with thanksgiving. So often I’ve taken it for granted how fortunate I am. I grouse because I’m not well-paid. After all, it’s just a job. After my arrest, I expected to be fired. A phone call to Greg from jail. Would it show up on his caller ID? I didn’t know, but knew it was possible I’d be asked to clear my stuff out the next day. But it didn’t happen. I gave thanks for a company that gave me a paid day off on Christmas Eve. I take that for granted. We often do as Americans. We feel entitled. “It’s the least they can do,” we argue. “I haven’t had a pay raise in years. Lousy benefits…” Whatever excuse we want to use; and it might be valid. But it’s a matter of perspective. A sense of entitlement provokes a spirit of discontentment and smugness. No matter if the benefits are lousy, what good does it do to look at it from that perspective? I woke on Christmas Day, thankful for a job where I got paid and didn’t have to work. My family called before they sat down to lunch and prayed while I listened on speakerphone. They’d set a plate for me at the table.
On Christmas Day, I went for a run in the morning; I wrote for a while. My friend Bob picked me up and we met others at the Landmark Theatre to see the “The King’s Speech.” Great movie. Afterward, Bob took me to Tom and Lisa’s for Christmas dinner. Lisa’s extended family was there. The first time I’d seen her cousins Jenny, Grace and Steven since rock climbing at Malibu Creek State Park years ago, when cousin David, who was also there, now grown and unrecognizable, fell into the water twice. The family members, some of whom were visiting from Taiwan and didn’t speak English, were all accepting, extending hospitality to me, an outsider, with food and drink and kindness. Stephen brought his cello, Grace her guitar; and with Tom playing piano, it turned into a Christmas jam-fest.
It was raining hard that night so I caught a ride home with Hong and Lili, Lisa’s sister and brother-in-law. I sat in the backseat with Austin, their one-year-old. It was a ride home when I would have been catching a bus in the rain, having left the house that afternoon wearing only a button down shirt with no jacket or hat.
Chapter Nineteen
Jessie was coming down the 29th for New Year’s—driving, as she knew I’d be without a license. I felt miserable about it. It was a tough drive, six hours, and was supposed to rain the Wednesday she arrived and Sunday she returned. Because of my stupidity she had to endure those conditions. She should be flying. I offered to rent her a car, but she stuck to her resolve. I made a reservation for New Year’s Eve at a restaurant Tom recommended. The one sure thing I had planned: giving her a kiss at midnight. That was the only objective I’d set in stone—her lips touching mine come midnight.
The day before, I didn’t hear from her. We talked every day and almost always wrote each other “good morning” before starting our days. It was going on ten o’clock that night and she still hadn’t called. That never happened. Even the times when I knew something was wrong, she’d message me and ask if we could talk tomorrow. At eleven, I called. It went straight to voicemail. I was getting a touch concerned. She called a few minutes later, crying.
“Jessie, what’s wrong?”
“I can’t come down this weekend. I’m sorry.”
There had been an argument with her parents about us, enough of one that she’d decided against coming. She was struggling; she didn’t have hope we could be together.
We talked late into the night. The trip was inconsequential. I wanted to be with her for years to come. One weekend didn’t matter. What concerned me was the lack of hope. For me, I run on hope. It’s what lets me live with freedom and passion. Without it, I sit stunned, unable to bring myself to action. Hope brings enthusiasm, the ability to move forward, to wake in the morning and not stagger, to have a purpose and focus toward the day…toward our lives. We decided, though we wouldn’t be together, we were going to pray diligently that weekend. On-our-knees-type prayer. She was attending her parents’ church service on New Year’s Eve. She goes every year; it calms her, brings her spirit into a clear focus and allows her to start the year with a proper mindset. She asked if I’d be willing to pray with her at midnight. Not necessarily on the phone, speaking together, but both committed to praying. I agreed to come home early and pray with her.
Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.
Standing at the bus stop, 6:50 in the morning, I made that my prayer. “Let me see the kingdom of God today.” What did it mean? I wasn’t sure. A glimpse of heaven on earth, perhaps.
I said hello to the boy sitting on the bench. I saw him every day. He wore a wool cap, heavy coat and carried an overstuffed backpack. He looked to be in junior high—some of the high school kids called him Travis. They chatted with him each morning until their bus arrived, shortly before mine. When the #3 pulled to the curb, I told him to have a good day and stepped on.
I hadn’t seen my driver in a few days. I had missed the day before because of the rain and she’d missed two days ago. She greeted me, gave me my transfer ticket and told me she hadn’t worked yesterday. Also, today was her last day. She was retiring after thirty-two years of driving a bus.
“You don’t look old enough to retire,” I commented. She laughed. I stayed at the front and spoke with her. It was only a mile to my stop.
She was starting her own water company. Hydrogenated water. She was making its headquarters in Culver City. “I know everybody here,” she said. “I can sell it on the bus. But then I’ll be looking to branch out—me and my business partner. My sister lives in Dallas so we’re hoping to take over that city, too.
“Alright, let me ask you. How is your water different from all the other waters out there?”
“Okay, okay, okay, okay...okay. Let me tell you. First, it’s tax deductible.”
“How’d you get it registered as a non-profit?”
“People have been doing it for years. It started with Dr. Martin. We’re called ‘Gen-Aqua.’ We wanted Aqua-Genesis but that was already taken. It’s taken fr
om the number seven. God made the world in seven days.”
“That’s right.”
“Hydrogenated living water.”
“I’m here to give living water,” I added, quoting the Lord.
“That’s right. Hey, let me tell you. This is fifteen years in the making. I spent ten years planning, five years researching this.”
“But how is the water different?”
“Alright, alright, alright. I’ll tell you. When we are in our mother’s womb, we are 80% hydrogen. Then we come out of the womb and start losing it. HE made us perfect in the womb. But when we’re born, we lose most of it. We are replacing the hydrogen.
“How old do you think I am? You don’t have to answer that. I already told you I’m retiring. You can figure it out.”
She didn’t look retirement age, nowhere close. “And it was because of drinking this?”
“I’m not saying it’s all because of the water. I’ve taken good care of myself.”
She bypassed my stop.
“This is me,” I said. She did a quick pullover. I gave her a light hug. “You’ve been a blessing to me.”
She said goodbye. I wished her well and jumped off.
I wrote to Jessie that morning and told her about the conversation. “I’m sure you were a blessing to her too,” she replied. “I’m glad you two talked—about living water, no less—but I’m jealous she had a moment with you. I keep thinking I should be in L.A. right now. And thinking about what you wrote, I wonder what effect the living water has on me now. When Christ said, ‘Drink this and you shall never be thirsty again,’ did he really mean to say, ‘Drink this periodically and you will never be thirsty again?’”
“I think we have to continually drink from its spring,” I answered. “Probably daily. I think that’s why the Israelites could only eat fresh manna from that day. I remember once I was doing the musical theatre show on the eastside of Seattle, an hour and a half drive to rehearsal. I’ve told you how terrible the experience was. It was a dark environment and many of the actors were difficult to work with. Every day, driving to the eastside, I listened to Phillip Yancey’s ‘What’s So Amazing About Grace?’ book on tape. A friend made the comment I was storing up spiritual nourishment that would be needed later on. I agree with that. There’s a continual need for nourishment, I think.
“I wish you were here, too, but I like to think we will have many, many (emphasis on ‘many’) more days together. And, if not (Lord, I pray it’s not the case), I’m still going to enjoy you every second until then. That’s what smart people do with the sunshine—enjoy it every second they can.
Michael Joel
Ps. You looked fabulous in your red dress last night.”
Louisa was parking when I arrived on my bike for 541 class. She’d finally gotten the interlock device installed on her car. It had taken her all day and cost $400 dollars, between the DMV and mechanic costs. I sat in the passenger seat and she showed me how it worked. I groaned. I’d most likely have to install one on mine, as well. She was upset because the DMV employee told her she had to get a restricted license and the IID, which went against what my lawyer’s assistant told me. Why would they require both? The knot in my stomach tightened and I went inside to pay. The DMV takes you by the throat and keeps squeezing. Every dime they can get.
“How was everyone’s Christmas?” Walter asked.
We went around the room, recounting stories. I knew I could steer the conversation (and deflect attention) by mentioning “The King’s Speech.” As if on cue, Walter latched onto it.
“Oh, I’ve heard it’s great. The front runner for the Academy Awards.”
“It deserves it,” I said.
“He’s great. What’s his name…Colin Firth? Of course, he was in the...what was it, the Bridget Jones movies? And then another, the name escapes me. With Meg Tilley, whom he had a child with, incidentally.”
“I didn’t know that,” said Benton.
Neither did I.
“Did you get anything for Christmas?”
“At this point, my family and I send website links. Either that or gift cards.”
“Gift cards and money,” Benton said. “That’s the way to go.”
“Gentlemen,” Walter added. “It’s like I’ve told you, there’s only one sure-fire gift for a woman. Bling. You can’t go wrong with jewelry.”
Walter went to a friend’s house on Christmas Eve, an Indian friend. He ate way too much spicy food and became sick.
“Why do we do that? I lecture you guys every week on excess and end up doing it myself. I think I got food poisoning, but how do you bring it up to your friend who has been kind to you and fed you an amazing meal? And you can’t ask the other friends who were there if they got sick. That would be rude. All you can do is suffer through it. But let me tell you, Christmas was rough. I stayed in bed all day.
“So, I want to hear from you guys. Let’s go around the room. One: Do you make New Year’s resolutions? Two: If so, what are your resolutions for the upcoming year? We don’t have to go in any particular order.”
James, first to speak, wanted to buy a conversion van. Walter’s face lit up.
“I’ve always dreamed of having a van like that, traveling around the country. I’ve been to Yosemite, but would love to see Yellowstone and then drive up into South Dakota. Something like that would be perfect. No schedule, can stay as long as you feel like.”
Louisa wanted to buy herself a new purse, a Michael Kors.
“Nice,” said Benton. “I love Michael Kors.” (I smiled. Jessie had given me a Michael Kors shirt for Christmas.)
Walter said, “I bought my wife an Italian leather purse one Christmas. She slept with it. Of course, it was as soft as a pillow. I told her, ‘I think you love that purse more than you love me.’ She smiled and said, ‘Right now I do.’”
Benton spoke. As did I (goals for a relationship and getting a book published). Javier wanted to make more money.
Samantha’s turn. “I’m trying to eat healthy and not drink for 30 days.”
Walter, uncharacteristically distracted, looked up from his papers and asked, “So do you have any resolutions?”
I was on a short-timer’s leash and feeling snarky, I suppose. “Walter’s resolution is to listen more,” I announced.
Everyone laughed. It took him a second to understand the joke.
“I like sequence and you guys are out of sequence…I get thrown off. Sorry, I wasn’t listening.”
Courtney was the last to speak. “My license is suspended for a year. I’m driving, anyway. It’s ridiculous. That rogue cop really pisses me off. My resolution is to get through this in a positive way.”
“And it’s working,” I added (short-timer’s leash getting shorter).
“You’ve all heard me mention the Abraham Lincoln quote, right? ‘If you want to be happy, be happy.’ If you decide you want to learn from this class, you won’t ever have to go through this again. It will be a blip on the radar. But you’ve got to get through it. Is the DMV unfair? Of course. It’s a catch-22. But you’re being punished. It’s like Louisa and her interlock device.
“I don’t want to sound cold, but you all broke the law. You may not like the punishment but there’s nothing you can do. You can’t beat the system. Did I tell you all my DMV registration story? Michael, have you heard it?”
I shook my head.
“I got a letter in the mail saying it was my second notice and my registration was cancelled. They said I hadn’t sent a check. That’s because I did it online. I never got a first notice. I called the DMV and the woman told me I’d have to pay a $30 penalty fee on top of my registration fee.”
“‘How is this my fault?’ I asked her. ‘I’ve already paid the fee.’”
“‘We don’t show any record of it.’”
“‘Well, then the problem is your website.’”
“‘The burden of proof is on you,’” she said. “‘If you want to appeal, I can send you the form
s and you can fill them out and send them in.’”
“‘And how long will that be?’”
“‘No way of knowing. Several weeks.’”
“Was it worth my time? For thirty dollars? I went ahead and paid it. You can’t beat the system. They’re going to get you one way or another.”
“It’s so unfair,” said Courtney, her voice raised slightly. A plaintive voice.
“I have a student in one of my other classes. He got arrested on a houseboat in Lake Havasu, Arizona. He wasn’t driving the boat. They arrested everyone on board. Gave them DUIs in the state of California because the boat was registered here. He had to report the DUI to the DMV and enroll in this class. He’s miserable. Keeps his arms crossed the entire time. Watches the seconds on the clock. It’s a horrible way to get through it.
“For me, the only resolution I make is the one I made ten years ago: not to make resolutions. It’s the only one I’ve ever kept. I don’t make goals like meeting someone and starting a relationship. You can’t plan on that. At my age, it’s much harder. People my age, we get set in our ways and it makes it more difficult. I’m sure you guys have heard that Hugh Hefner is engaged again. Now tell me, what can they possibly have in common? He’s old enough to be her grandfather. He listens to big band and classical music. Do you think he’s going to understand it when she listens to hip hop? What is she marrying him for? You know there’s going to be an iron-clad prenup.”
“If she wants, she can turn it into a career,” said Javier. “She’s a smart cookie. And it’s the lifestyle. She’s accustomed to it.”
“Walter, you need to find a younger woman,” Charles said.
He smiled. “I tried dating someone younger once. She was 43. All she listened to was classic punk rock. (His hands clenched when he said it.) The Ramones. Dead Kennedys. I listen to big band music. And the texting she did—I’ll never get used to it. She wouldn’t answer my calls. She’d text me back, with those emoticons you guys use. I can’t bring myself to do it.
Arresting Grace Page 19
