TheBanyanTree: A Long Email I'll Never Send

[Maria Gibson]

I was so happy to see your name in my inbox but also afraid.  I always 
tell people to please let me know when to piss off so I can go away with 
a shred of dignity.  Then, when the time comes, I meet it head on with 
good, old fashioned trepidation.  And, so, I opened your email and began 
an understanding of your silence and retraction from my life.  Not a 
hard core "get bent and don't come back," which was good.  More of a 
"please give me space, lots of space, a year's worth of space."   
Unspoken and unwritten..."Where will any of us be in a year?  
Physically, geographically, emotionally, spiritually?"  Where, where, 
where and where?  You don't know~that much you know.  Hopefully, you'll 
be better for the time and solitude from society, hopefully healed in 
spirit and heart.  I'll miss you.

When I lived overseas, I developed the worst habit of running red 
lights.  It was nearly a national past time and although I wasn't 
Okinawan, I embraced the obsession of seeing how much red light I could 
steal.  It came in handy when I was late but I actually did it all the 
time whether I was in a hurry or not.  One day I was on a small side 
street, not really thinking much about what I was doing.  The light 
ahead turned yellow and with just a slight push of the accelerator I 
could have run it before it was even officially red.  For some reason I 
slowed and stopped, again without even giving it much thought.  Before 
the light had fully changed, mine red and the opposing one green, a 
little girl, perhaps four or five years old, darted across the street 
running headlong across the pedestrian walk.  She never looked in either 
direction to see if traffic was coming at her.  To this day, some ten or 
so years later, I get chills when I think of the consequences had I not 
stopped.  God did not protect me that day, God protected an innocent 
little girl and my arrogant and foolish self benefited from His 
discretionary act.  I'll never forget her short, black hair shining and 
bouncing as her little brown legs beneath her shorts pumped her small 
body across the street.  It is a moment that haunts me; the lives that 
could have been destroyed but were saved.  It haunts me to know that in 
an instant, as if it actually did happen but was then reversed by 
Superman, goodness was granted instead of a tragedy.  These are the 
moments life begins anew and with a refined appreciation not only for 
its fragility but for our ultimate responsibility to each other.

You reached out to me a month or so ago.  I didn't know at the time what 
it meant, a seemingly casual conversation that began an ending; do you 
realize we haven't spoken since?  I had just walked back to my car 
having sat in the cold for an hour.  Do you remember how frikkin' cold 
it was that night?!?  I had finally found the car, had gotten in and 
turned it on so that the engine would warm up enough for me to turn the 
heater on.  I sat with my hands in my pockets, resting one on my cell 
phone when it rang...and it was you.  Out of the blue, out of the cold.  
The date you had given me for any hope of free time for you had passed.  
I was very happy to see your name pop up on the caller ID.  We chatted 
for a few minutes; I told you about my evening watching a band 
competition, you told me you were at a concert.  I was so jealous!  I 
had wanted to go but never even attempted to get tickets because I 
wanted to go to the competition.  You said you had stepped away from 
your friends for some food and called to talk to me while you ate.  It 
felt intimate~~not sexual but close and personal.  I had missed you.  I 
was happy to hear from you.  Casually, oh so fucking casually that I was 
blind to the portent, you mentioned an event you experienced just a few 
days previous.  Maybe (I think to myself as I search for answers to 
questions that not only won't be answered but will never be asked) you 
were still stunned by it yourself.  Maybe you were unaware at that 
moment, on that cold night out of the blue, of the magnitude and the 
consequences this would mean in your life.  Perhaps you could still talk 
about it casually at that point because you weren't yet aware of the 
devastating impact this would have on you as an individual.  Like a 
ripple on the water that travels to infinitum, the consequences reached 
as far as one girl you met one night.  From a casual bar meeting to a 
phone conversation, to a mistake and a retraction from my life.  How 
quickly it can be summed up.  It turned out to be one far reaching 
sentence in a 70 page spiral bound note book as I sat in Barnes and 
Noble writing.  Alone among strangers, sipping an eggnog latte (grande) 
and struggling to find the words to express my heart.  Do hearts run dry 
when they are poured all over paper?  Will you reach out again?

We all make mistakes.  We all suffer the pain of our actions even after 
we are awfully sorry we did whatever it was.  We lose something for 
everything that we gain in those moments.  You are right.  They aren't a 
waste but they are not free and we may pay for a very long time to 
come.  Two weeks ago, on November 13th, I pulled the boner of the 
century in terms of my own life.  I had been drinking and, unfortunately 
way, way too much.  Whenever this has happened in the past, I got in my 
car, put the seat back and slept in the parking lot of wherever I was.  
I get a lot of flack from friends over this because it is undoubtedly 
dangerous.  This time, I apparently drove instead.  I have no memory of 
driving anywhere much less to the parking lot of the nearby Hilton.  I 
have no memory of parking there to sleep or of being awakened and taken 
inside by their security.  My memory of that event begins with more or 
less waking up to Officer Johnson giving me a very serious talking to.  
He went to my car to get the cell phone, not trusting me to go get it 
myself, and left me in the lobby under strict supervision until the 
friend I called arrived.  A few hours later, having crashed hard and 
oversleeping, I had to call Randy and let him know I wasn't next to him 
in bed and hadn't been all night.  He was very hurt and disappointed and 
lied to our son about where I was all night, told him I'd been at 
Jillian's house because he felt the need to protect him from knowing my 
actions.  The friend I had called for rescue said I should have taken my 
"drunk, dumb ass" home and, oh by the way, don't bother calling 
anymore.  The costs of all this have probably not yet all been added 
up.  I know that similar incidents are what have made you feel I am 
entering what you are existing and have therefore affected that one boy 
(you) I met one night...and so the ripples continue their travel.  I'm 
sure knowing this story won't make it any better but I do own up to my 
mistakes.  It could have been so much, much worse.  I could have killed 
or been killed.  I was such a stupid and arrogant asshole, wasn't I?  I 
know all the things we can call ourselves when we screw up.  I know the 
length and thin sharpness of each spike attached to the chains coming 
off the top of the whip whose handle we grip with bloody and sweaty 
hands as we mercilessly beat ourselves.  Self flaggelation in the 
desperate attempt to rid ourselves of guilt.  I began making mistakes as 
a child and have yet to stop.  I have borne the scars of those mistakes 
through gluttony, first of food and lately of alcohol.  I still struggle 
with food and the role it plays in my life.  The constant vigilance can 
make me weary but I sometimes wonder if I've traded one kind for 
another.  I don't think so, I think it's not too late, but I worry.  I 
also worry that I've turned mutual attraction for men into yet a 
different kind of gluttony.  There are many things for which I beat 
myself up but I am struggling to take control back.  It is difficult. 

I don't have a year to remove myself but I sure as hell need it.  I 
understand to the depth of my core, wherever that may be, your need of a 
year.  Perhaps this amount of time is spelled out in the book or maybe 
you just know yourself well enough to know what you need.  In either 
case, I wish I could do it.  I've talked this need over with my 
therapist on several occasions.  She always asks, "How do you envision 
that year?"  I always see myself alone.  Exercising alone, eating alone, 
writing alone.  I envision loneliness in a solitary life.  I know I'd go 
out and see friends, I would date but not with a relationship as an end 
goal, I know I'd work and see friends there.  But what I know my daily 
life would be like and what I envision on a whole of an existence don't 
exactly match up.  Are the visions dreams or dreams of wishes?  Are they 
the fears or what I aspire to?  I often feel that my answers to her 
questions are bereft of information.  How can I possibly explain it to 
her when I can't explain it to myself?  The therapy helps a great deal 
but it is slow and painful, like a constant tooth extraction with pliers 
but no happy juice.  There are so many events and mistakes to report, 
although up until a few months ago all the events were old shit.  Now I 
have new, fresh shit to pile through and it's hard and dirty work.  I 
usually leave with tears in my eyes.  I highly recommend this to 
everyone.  Just be sure and wear a bullet proof vest because if you 
spend your time there honestly, you'll need one.

How did you know?  How did you know I had stopped reading the book?  
Well, I have a book for you now.  As you asked me not to categorize your 
book as cult, I ask you not to see mine that way.  It could be said to 
be the modern scrolls of Christian cultism by some, I suppose.  The 
truths and reflections are worthy of whatever the reader feels they have 
to slog through in order to reach them.  "The Purpose Driven Life" by 
Rick Warren is an excellent read to take on a journey to self discovery 
and unself discovery.  Like "Celestine Prophecy," it takes the human 
life above and beyond the unimportant job of daily living for one's self 
and sets sights on why we do it.  Please read it.  I discussed PDL with 
a friend at work and she said she picks it up and reads a little and 
then puts it back down again.  That's not the way it is intended to be 
read but it does serve its own purpose and benefits the reader in any 
case.  I told her that each time she found she had done that, she needed 
to pay close attention to what was being said in the book at the time 
she stopped and put it down.  That chapter, that page, that passage 
undoubtedly held meaning in her life, at whatever place she stopped.  
Something there most likely held for her a troubling aspect or a grain 
of hard to swallow truth.  So it must be for me with your book.  After 
reading your email this early, early morning and then spending a couple 
of restless hours trying but failing to sleep, I got up.  I had been 
laying there talking to you, composing email to you, arguing with you.  
I finally went downstairs and made popcorn with all the intentions of 
watching some senseless tv to lull me to sleep.  The cable was out, no 
tv.  I sat on the couch with popcorn and frozen feet keeping me awake.  
The glowing blue of the cable-less television screen illuminated the 
closed book.  I hadn't opened it for a couple of weeks and it seemed to 
mock me in the middle of the night from the middle of the coffee table.  
I had not the heart at that moment to follow my own advice so I took a 
sleeping pill and went back to bed.  Much later, with warmer feet and in 
the full light of nearly 11:00am, I opened the book.  I had stopped on 
page 79 and this is the sentence my eyes fell to upon opening it now, 
two weeks later: " 'Why are all these people here?' I asked"  

I hold no judgment of you, your actions, your troubles present or past 
or your choices; you have enough judgment for the both of us and perhaps 
a few extras.  These are the things that are the make up your life.  I 
respect and admire you for the things you've accomplished.  I have not 
seen the best of you, time for that was short, but I have seen some of 
the components.  You brought something to me and my life in some very 
short but extremely intense moments.  I treasure them.  It would have 
been my desire to know not only the best of you but the worst of you.  
Each is a part of the other, puzzle pieces that fit perfectly together 
but which are not perfect.  It is who you are and it would have been my 
pleasure to know the whole of you.  You said you wondered as to the 
success of your professional life as compared to your personal life.  
The last time I made sport of your job~in only the most funloving of 
ways as we had several times, of course~you looked at me with a hint of 
irritation.  We both stopped for that heartbeat, looked at each other as 
you gathered your thoughts.  You drew in a quick, shallow quarter breath 
and quietly said, "I'm a scientist."  From that moment, I knew I'd never 
make light of your job again.  Not because I found your reply angry or 
intolerant but because of the depth in your voice as you said it.  You 
didn't say "my job is," you didn't say "I got to work and," you said "I 
am a scientist," and I believe that that is what you are all day, every 
day.  When you wake up, when you eat lunch, when you goof off, when you 
sweat and struggle for weeks on end to make every fucking aspect of what 
you are embroiled and engrossed in perfect.  You are.  Simply put my 
friend, you are, and no other words are needed.  And I think that's why, 
when you mess up your life, the scientist is repelled by the total 
illogic of the whole thing and you are left to wonder why one half is so 
good and the other half is so bad.  Unlike science, that doesn't make 
sense to you and you are left at total odds with yourself.  I have a 
great deal of admiration for the tenacity it took for you to complete 
all of the schooling you have been through, the commitment you completed 
for yourself.  I have a great deal of faith in your abilities and sense 
of survival to turn your life into what you want it to be.  You know 
you've led an imperfect life.  You despise your mistakes knowing you 
have the capability to do better.  Your voice as you told me these 
things was soft but may as well have been a shout.  You have been 
shouting at yourself for so long.  Your eyes bulging, you rip your chest 
open, claw at your heart and shout and scream obscenities deep into the 
recesses of your gaping cavity.  You think that if you can dig deep 
enough, scream loud enough and are cruel enough to yourself that you'll 
somehow reach your own soul.  You berate and belittle in the methods of 
a madman on a mission to make the pain disappear.  It won't.  There has 
to be a modicum of forgiveness at some point in order to heal.  The man 
you are and the man you struggle to be are at odds with one another.  
All the yelling and screaming you bestow upon yourself has to come to an 
end at some point in order for the healing to begin.  I hope for your 
sake it is sooner rather than later.

I obviously have so little to give.  I am well aware of the selfishness 
it took on my part, trying to know you better.  Everything or anything I 
have to offer at this point is either a lie or more casual than you 
need.  Again, selfishly, I didn't actually want anything casual, either, 
and that seems worse and a serious injustice to you.  I'm sorry for that 
and just want you to know that your sense of self preservation served 
you well on this point.  The hard and painful truths of your past loves 
preclude me or anyone in my position from becoming close to you.  They 
must, right?  I had occasion to wonder why you would even consider it, 
given the things you told me.  I ignored the voice inside me asking 
those questions.  Like a child quivering with anticipation of the cake 
in the beautiful box, surreptitiously eating the icing edges on the way 
home, I wanted you.  The physical attraction is undeniable, is it not?  
You are the wiser between the two of us because I was going to indulge 
now and worry later.  I have to go several rounds with myself for that 
and ask why.  Like Scarlett, I tend to want to put it off for later.  I 
had a message from you saved for a while.  I listened to it a few times 
wondering why I didn't just erase it.  I'm not even sure you meant to 
leave it, actually.  It was about four minutes long and mostly the music 
from wherever you were.  I wish I could remember the name of the song, 
it was quite appropriate.  But at the end of the message, there you 
were.  You said "Maria...Maria, are you there?"  So, I was left to 
wonder if you meant to do that or if it was a 'pants dial' situation or 
what the hell.  I don't know and I did eventually erase it.  That part 
was easy; it's erasing feelings that are going to be a whole lot tougher.

We do agree on this one point, the best point of all, the finer point in 
this whole thing.  Our meeting one another is by no means a 
coincidence.  Planned by forces unknown and for reasons not yet 
revealed.  You are and will likely remain a part of my daily thoughts.  
I understand why you have left as if a puff of smoke wisping into the 
air.  I know it isn't likely to change as you do what is needed for 
yourself.  I understand it, I agree with it and I even envy it.  I don't 
like it.  That matters least, though.  You can call me anytime for 
anything, no questions asked.  I wish you well.  I'll miss you.

Maria