On Seeing Roxanne for the First Time

People who say there is no God are such fools.   Contemplate the complex, the impossibly complex workings of the human mind and body and no such conclusion is possible.   Millions upon million of cells, nerves, fibers, neurons, and other things, working together to allow humans to achieve and do remarkable things.  To attain nobility, to transcend the banality of life to create sublime works of art.  And, at times, for good or not, retain a memory of events that happened long ago, but were so important, the image of them remains stored in some safe, almost sacred, place.

Such was the moment I first laid my eyes on Roxanne.

Simply as possible, she walked into the room in which I had been waiting for our theory class to start and I was struck dumb.    It was as if an electrical current had been turned on, and I saw my entire life in front of me: this woman.    To say she was beautiful would be pointless.   Of course, she was beautiful, she was without question the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.   But more, she shone with beauty, but no, more than that, she radiated great meaning.  He presence communicated itself to my whole being, and my being reacted as if it was hearing the greatest piece of music ever written, or was observing the greatest, most beautiful painting or work of art that had ever been made.  My whole life seemed to change at that moment, I changed, was metamorphosed, became new, at that moment.    It was, an eternal moment, sacred and above all, very very real.  "This is the woman for you!" the Universe seemed to shout.   "There is One special person, one soul that God intends for another, and this is yours!"   I knew it in my bones.  In my bones.

But what does one do with such a moment?    If one is properly equipped one handles it and acts accordingly.  

Not being so equipped, I foundered like a rudderless ship in  a stormy sea.   I was tossed to and from, completely helpless.  It saddens me to think just how ill-equipped I was for that moment, and indeed, for so many other moments to come.  I am convinced that the universe made a mistake showing me Roxanne at that time, for there was nothing I could do about it.   Nothing I could do, except suffer and regret.   And that I would do for the remainder of my life.   Truly, God erred, greatly.   For I had done nothing to warrant such suffering.

But so many innocents have been doomed by far worse in this life, mine has to be so placed in proper perspective.   Someday.   Someday, I hope to gain such perspective.   But after 45 lonely, frustrating years, I think it unlikely to happen in this life.   So I await the after life, where, at last, I will learn why these events occurred when they did, and why I was to be cursed with a life of loneliness and regret.

And learning that, I may find peace, the peace that has so painfully eluded me all of my life.

The Wedding

Starting out the day, I was feeling confident and hopeful.   I knew it would be a test, a trial of some kind, set before me by the gods, or God, or Fate or Roxanne herself.    I knew it would be a challenge.   A challenge to hold up, to be strong in the face of tragedy, to accept my fate as they played out before me, that momentous day.

Yes, I say and use the word, tragedy, and not lightly for that is what is was.   It was tragic.   For me, that is.   It was my tragedy and mine alone..   \For everyone else who gathered for the occasion it was a day of joy --a celebration of tradition marking the continuity and rhythms of life;  a day where the community joins the family, becomes family, and says, "Yes, this is good, this is right!   Go, and live well, prosper, and may God bless you and be with you."     Yes, this is what it meant for everyone else.   But not for me.

How could it?  I was facing my own death.  Roxanne was and would remain my first and my best (indeed, my only) hope for happiness in life.   Unbelievable, you say, but no, it has proven to be true.   I never felt the way I felt for Roxanne for any other woman.   I never wanted another woman the way I wanted her.   I have never loved another.  Not like that.

You may think, "Ah, a youthful foolishness.   Such feelings are not real, they are only the result of an overly sensitive and romantic mind."   I wish that were true.   I know this for it has been proven out over the years.   How many years?   Forty?   More than forty years.  

No, the evidence was clear then as it is today, and looking at Roxanne in her beautiful white gown, her bridesmaids in their floral gowns, (how beautiful a sight it all was!)  I knew then, what a tragedy was unfolding.    Or rather, had unfolded, for Roxanne's marriage was the culmination of a series of events that pointed to this moment, that made this moment inevitable.   Her marriage was no "accident," or an event in which I played no part.  No indeed.    I made it happen as sure as I stand here, remembering.

I did not breathe as Roxanne took the vow, with that new ring on her finger.  It was not my hand that she held.   It was not my ring that was slipped on her finger.   And it was not my image that the congregation observed, and smiled at, and gave good wished to.  I had to understand that.   It was not easy.

A remarkable thing to experience really, the total and complete collapse of an illusion.   The priest said, "I now pronounce you man and wife," and I felt something die in me.  Or, I was aware that something had left my body.    I had loved Roxanne so deeply with such surety and certainty that there seemed no escaping the inevitability of our sharing a life together.   It had been all so clear in my mind: where we would live, what we would do, who our friends would be, where we would travel, our children, our future and growing old together.   Then suddenly, nothing.    None of it was to be.  Not to be, not in this life, no, no.  It was all a beautiful, beautiful dream.    It still is, sadly.

And so, the couple were proclaimed man and wife, I forced  myself to think, "This is best."

This practice I continued, day after day, year after rolling year saying, "This is best."   And it was.  But not for me. Again, for her, for her family, and she has a beautiful family, a family that SHOULD HAVE been mine.   But, no, that is not true.    It wasn't meant to be, so that is unfair and unrealistic to say, "It should have been mine."    No, it should not have been mine.  I could never have been.   There was no power in the universe to have made it so.   It was never real.  Never a possibility.  Never.   God, in his wisdom, knew that.

The ceremony over, we proceeded to the party, the reception as it is called.   I should not have gone.  This was cruel, making me watch her dance with her new husband, her new husband's family, and friends, and I. . . I was not really there.   I sat there, like a phantom, the dead,  feeling dead, I sat, pretending to have a good time, pretending to be alive.   Of course, I would never be alive again.  Not fully.  

Hoping against the reality of what I was feeling, I repeated, "There is something to be learned from this,"  "Something to make me grow and mature."   I said this when it got too painful, when the joy of the revelers peaked now and then.  I reassured myself, that I would be better for it.  At least I tried.   I tried. . . in vain.    I could never be better for having lived through that tragedy.   It is a lie that "what does not destroy me makes me stronger."   A stupid, illogical lie.

Paying my respects to the Bride and Groom, I left, and began to breathe again.   It was over. But was it?  Would it ever be?  No.   Not for me.   That moment would never be over for me; I would never really recover from that moment.   How could I?  

And so, I sit here, so many years later, alone, in the blessed darkness of night, the cold wind blowing hard against the windows, writing these words to you, to anyone who would care, with the hope that you might read them and understand.    Try, please, to understand and pity me.   Pity, and pray for me.

Now it is time to sleep.  

Now it is time to sleep and dream of other things.   other things. . . other things. . .

Charlie Lano Died Today

How do you talk about Charlie Lano?

You don't.    You make analogies, you make comparisons.   You write things that are poetic, because you can't talk about him.    You can't talk about him because he was who he was, and no one can know him who didn't know him, and words cannot express to another human about who he was.

Let me say this:   Charlie Lano is gone.    I don't want to live in a world with with  no Charlie Lano in it.

That's the best thing I could say so you'll have to be satisfied with that.

Good-bye, Charlie.

I'll see you soon.

The Ghost of Fifth Street

I am he.

I wander the streets of the neighborhood, the living dead.   Do not believe that we do not exist.  We do.  I am what I claim to be.   The dead.

But once I walked these same streets as a living being.   I had hope and I dreamt of the future, of how I would live my life.

I laughed with friends.

I accomplished things.

I enjoyed life.

I made love to women.

I played sports and games.

But mostly, I laughed.   And I made others laugh.

But now, I do not laugh.  I cannot.  A phantom may feign laughter but cannot.    He may trick others into believing he is alive!   But he is not.   I've done it.   It's easy.   People do not believe in ghosts or phantoms.   People will say the stupidest things to deny my existence, that is, to deny the reality of my dead existence.   They will say, "Oh, you are just depressed," or, "Oh, you're just in a bad streak, things will turn around."    They are frightened of death so they deny it when it looks at them in the face.   But they will, one day, see me for what I am, and I feel sorry for them when that happens.

I'm going now.   I have to stroll among the living.   I will try to teach them not to end up like me.   Many will.   Many will not.

Pity me.   Pity my poor soul.