Marilyn?
Is that you?"
He hadn't yet noticed the water
sloshing back and forth, washing over him,
nearly filling the inflatable kayak.
He continued in his half-dreaming state
which was now more or less permanent.
Yesterday he discovered that he no longer had a paddle,
but had forgotten about that once again.
It did come to him now and then, but no longer caused him any distress.
That particular point was no longer of interest and had drifted away. All of the earlier tension and fatigue was gone.
He was happy floating. He was good at that. It's what he had done all his life.
He may well have been one of the genuine masters of letting go and just going with the flow.
He had always meant to write more about the "Flow" state.
He had listened to the book on tape by that name long ago and found it interesting that some business-types had finally taken notice of that sort of thing.
The flow state had always been something that artists and writers slipped into-
as they immersed themselves completely in what they were doing.
He had written some additional material related to the topic with the intention of sending it to
Fast Company.
He had once hoped to become a regular contributor to that publication and to
Punk Planet. He thought that would be an interesting combination. That would help him keep things balanced. But
Punk Planet was no more- out of business for some time now. It was still interesting to think about. He had always meant to read
We Owe You Nothing, just to really see exactly where the editors were coming from, but that hadn't happened.
Oh well, another item for his endlessly long list of books to be read.
Someday - Maybe Someday.
He had also meant to read
Flow again and take more notes this time.
That reminded him that he wanted to try to line up an interview with Yvon
Chouinard for the next time he visited his daughter up North. But there was never enough time. Those trips always seemed so rushed- up and back. Why was there never enough time in life? Time enough just to think.
Oh, it just hit him. He had time now.
It was great. Great.
Why was he even here any more?
He knew that he belonged up there in Northern California, or maybe out in the desert.
That's what he had told himself for so long.
But new and old places no longer felt magical, the way they once had.
Was he just burnt out on everything?
He still collected possibilities in his head. He always thought of new things to do,
but nothing really excited him. Nothing turned him on or lit any kind of fire within.
Had he just been alone for too long? Was he too far gone and completely hopeless now?
Why was he here? Why were any of us?
That had been one of his first questions- back in his meditation days.
Over the years he had felt that he had various basic answers, but after a while nothing seemed substantial enough and he found himself wondering about the point of everything more than when he was younger.
Why was he here?
And why had he headed out to sea when he knew everything would be closing in on him?
He had asked himself that a few times in the days which followed.
The answer to a different question came to him at that same moment.
Could an off-hand remark, maybe not even related to his ramblings posted here and on his other blogs be the cause of him pulling several chapters of his writing?
Is that what had left him feeling that there was nothing more to say? Apparently it had.
Had he in a manner of speaking painted himself into a corner-
by taking the position that writing would be the center of his life? Perhaps a bad analogy, but you get the idea.
What if nothing worth writing came to him anymore?
Or what if what he had to say was just too upsetting
for those around him, or too revealing?
Choosing to make yourself naked, publicly, is a personal decision, but most of the time our stories are not just about ourselves alone.
There are other characters in our real life dramas. When we write about ourselves, it quite difficult not to drag others along with us as we exercise our need to disrobe publicly. And exposing too much about someone else is not always OK. It would be safe to say that most of the time it was not. He remembered an interview with another writer (was it Joan Didion? He thought so.) saying something about writing being a process of selling out your friends. At the time he hadn't wanted that to be true. He had felt a lot of resistance toward the idea,
But-
was it true? Was it necessary at times and just too bad for your so-called friends.
Was there some other way of telling your story without including the part they played?
Did he need to ask permission?
Maybe,
theoretically,
if you cared anything about the relationship.
But in his life he had felt that he'd asked permission and followed the rules
and thought about other people's feelings far too much.
More than he ever should have. He had always put others first.
He had always tried to be helpful and considerate.
He was still glad he hadn't lived a life of stabbing others in the back and fucking everyone he possibly could have,
but even so,
things could have been different-
maybe better.
At the very least a lot more interesting.
There might have been a different balance point.
There were times when he made a decision entirely on his own,
FOR another person,
out of some sort of misguided sense of kindness,
because he thought they were just too vulnerable,
but then they ended up resenting him and becoming annoyed.
Some of them had really wanted to feel a little physical as well as emotional comfort from him,
and in a lot of those circumstances, he had withheld it.
In those situations, and there had been a few,
he had taken the position of knowing what they needed-
knowing what was best.
It had at times cost him the friendship,
It had also in each and every one of those passed up opportunities,
cost him a great deal of immediately available pleasure.
He had been so stupid sometimes.
Where had that come from?
Passing on something they both wanted and perhaps genuinely needed at that moment.
So, so stupid.
So overly cautious.
He could have made himself and at least some of others much happier.
He was genuinely perplexed. He didn't understand why or how he had gotten stuck in that pattern.
"You have been alive a long time now." He said to himself, "Haven't you learned anything?"
It was time to begin just doing things.
Like going after whatever and whoever he wanted.
Even if there were obstacles or other people in the way.
He shouldn't always be so accommodating,
so willing to give up the lions share- the best of everything to someone else.
Deep down he knew he could have just about anything out there, or anyone.
He had had a conversation about that with Aurora, one of the women he worked with.
She asked him, out of the blue one day, if he believed that a person could go after and get anyone
they wanted. He considered her question for a moment and then replied, "just about."
She agreed. You could have almost anyone out there
if you want to REALLY go after them, without any holding back.
They both added that you might sometimes find that you didn't want them after you got them,
but that was another matter.
They had both had that experience.
Later he realized that Aurora might want to sleep with him.
He did at times find her attractive, and thought it would be fun, in the moment.
She would be a playful, very affectionate lover, but he still wasn't sure about it.
He was doing it again! Just thinking about everything too much.
He probably hadn't shown enough interest, and had blown his chances.
He hadn't passed her test and now she had lost interest. But he didn't think that was really true.
She was still hoping that he might really come around or at least be more openly playful with her,
the he was with some of the others.
He suspected that if they did end up in bed, Aurora would want to talk about it with some of their friends. He had been right to not just jump into her bed. That would ruin everything.
The dynamics at work would change so much.
Having people wonder about something or even suspect it was one thing, but knowing was another.
People who were now playful might stop, but then some others might start. What to do? What to do?
Well, he couldn't do much from out here now could he. Problem solved at least for now.
He wanted to think about something else- something more important.
The other day he had met a very attractive and interesting young woman,
younger than he would normally ever consider, but she was quite brilliant.
He could feel that about her.
For a split second he had without even meaning to mentally plumbed her depths
and could feel her reaction. Simultaneously fascinated and frightened.
He saw her reach out to her nerdy boyfriend, for reassurance.
She moved closer to the young man in a vain effort to contain her response.
She had taken refuge with him about a year-and-a-half earlier
and began telling herself again and again that she loved him.
And she did, but that feeling offered her an additional measure of protection, which she needed.
She was hopelessly drawn to, but also terrified of the worldly reaction to her extraordinary physical beauty.
In the course of their conversation, she had expressed her discomfort with someone else she had met who instantly wanted to "go deep" without any small talk. She was laying out the ground rules.
It hit him like a lightning bolt that just because someone was "deep" it didn't mean that they wanted to go there instantly with just anyone else who had that capacity.
It also hit him that the small talk which he usually found to be so boring was in a sense analogous to foreplay. It was important and necessary-a part of the whole process. He hadn't ever realized this.
With most women, with most people in general, he usually couldn't wait to get passed the small talk
and get down to business. But there had been a couple of exceptions.
With them, he had enjoyed every step of the way from beginning to end.
And these were the ones he remembered most. This girl was a genius- a master teacher.
Days later he mentally thanked her. Their paths would cross again, he was pretty sure of that.
Neither would have to engineer another rendezvous.
It would just happen in spite of the many miles which separated them.
He could feel it and knew she did too. And next time there would be no apprehension, no reservations. There would be small talk, but also some deep diving too. Nothing more was going to happen.
Nothing that anyone else would be aware of. They understood each other. It was nice.
They both moved on for the time being and went back to their regular lives- content.
A little happier and more complete because they had met.
It would be too difficult to try to explain anything more.
Should he have really pursued her? Should he have exposed their subsurface activities to the small world around them? No, that's not what either would have wanted. They both liked being able to slip in and out like this. And have the true nature of their new relationship known only to each other.
He was doing what he wanted. Perhaps he had always done that, but without even realizing it.
There had been similar, beneath the surface relationships before.
They had often been better and more problem free than what most would consider a real relationship.
It was better this way. It was always perfect- with no down side.
He could easily write about these people too.
None of the problems associated with writing about your closest friends.
He wished that that was easier.
Sometimes he just wanted to say how much he loved someone.
Writing about Marilyn was fine.
Time had made it all safe.
What he had to say would not bother her.
And she already knew everything that he might possibly say-
Everything that he felt.
That was not a problem.
It was just their history. A few fondly remembered moments,
even the painful parts were now cherished artifacts.
But what could he say about Claire?
Almost anything would be too much.
It could ruin everything. That's what he thought.
He had a gift for saying too much too soon-
a long history of telling someone how amazing and beautiful they were-
before they were open to hearing such things.
He would have to be content with small talk for a while longer- maybe even forever
with matters of real substance very few and far between.
He had no real hopes for that situation.
There was nothing to be done.
But that was not true
He had already done more than he probably should have.
But it seemed to be OK.
Claire hadn't complained or seemed uncomfortable.
Only once had she asked him to stop. And he did.
With Marilyn had hadn't been able to contain himself,
to stop saying how he felt about her, and it had been too much for her.
Because he cared so much for Claire, he found a way to rein himself in.
He did wish he could call her, right then, out there on the water.
Maybe to say what he had left unsaid.
Maybe it would be OK as a good bye- as his last words to her.
But his phone was back in the car.
It had probably been towed away by now.
The registration was out of date. He hadn't been able to pass the smog test,
because the check engine light was on. He knew how to reset it, but there was something wrong with the diagnostic unit on his car. It wouldn't display the fault codes and you had to do that first in order to reset it. Oh well, he wouldn't be needing it any time soon, but still, he didn't really like the idea.
Saying something, almost anything about Claire,
especially in one of his histories of misadventure would be too much.
His most recent attempts to conceal her identity would be deciphered by Maddy soon enough.
She was one of his previous muses, his favorite model,
and at one time the most frequent reader of many, but not all of his first drafts.
She would figure it all out. Maddy could be quite determined.
He had decided to rewrite five chapters of Low Tide Desparados, in the hope of keeping Claire's real identity a secret. Figuring it out would be fun for Maddy, but once that was done,
she would be faced with the decision of whether or not to inform that real, live person
who was behind the Claire facade about what he had shared with the world.
Not that there were so many readers.
But it was the idea-
the public exposure of some very private matters.
He remembered at that instant that he did not like the prospect of Aurora talking with their other friends about something that might take place between them.
Almost everyone at work knew he had it bad for Claire, but it seemed to be OK
because he didn't go around talking about it or trying to get her to actually do anything.
She might be really upset with him if she recognized herself in one of his stories.
Would it bother her?
Would she be pleased?
Would it even matter at all?
It seemed that saying anything more would be too much.
There were plenty of others to writing about.
Plenty of fish in the sea.
Most were now "historical" figures-
though some were actually still around. The relationships had changed.
Some could actually still be possibilities if he ever made it back.
And if he ever opened himself to someone other than the impossible ones such as Claire.
No more about her- at least for now!
Hmmmm. He couldn't help wondering what might be said about him
if he just disappeared and was never found. What then?
A few would wonder what had become of him.
Some would be sad.
Some who didn't know would be annoyed-
that he had never written or called back.
(Some did seem to feel pretty entitled to attention.)
But they were not the ones who mattered most.
He had the feeling that if anything did happen,
all of the really significant people would somehow know.
They would sense it, even if they never heard anything.
He felt certain that Marilyn knew at that moment.
She might even be trying to save him once more, just as she had before.
He had had a number of conversations with her in the last few days.
She knew all about Claire.
She understood and in a way, approved.
They were alike in so many ways.
He hadn't gone looking for either of them.
In both cases, he had more or less given up on relationships and ever feeling genuinely connected with someone when he had been struck by lightning-
when it just seemed to hit him from out of nowhere.
Claire had been as much of a surprise as Marilyn.
He had never had any illusions about either being perfect. That had happened a couple of times with others, but not with them.
What had happened with Marilyn came to be because they understood each other in ways that no one else ever had. The same thing had happened with Claire. .
"Sorry Kid" he said to her mentally, "Guess I can't help myself. Hope that doesn't bother you. I try not to let it show too much." But he knew that at times, it really did.
Things in both women's lives were now once again up in the air and filled with uncertainty.
Neither was quite sure what to do.
In both cases it had nothing to with him. It was just life.
The daily struggles and little disappointments and never ending demands on their time all took their toll.
And that made the interactions with the others in their lives more and more difficult.
It had the capacity to ignite fights, large and small, even with those they had once passionately loved, and maybe still did somewhere back in their deepest recesses. But there was almost nothing left. So much of the time they just felt empty. After taking care of everything that needed to be done, there was almost never anything or any time left just for them. It was sometimes so sad. And there was no one they could really talk with about it.
And it wasn't that they really wanted to be alone,
but sometimes the thought of solitude
and getting away from all the stress
and accumulated baggage seemed so appealing.
Most of the time they felt like there was really nothing to be done-
That it was hopeless.
That they were stuck,
and things might always remain that way.
They both knew that he understood what they felt,
for he had once felt it too, but they also knew that he was not the answer.
That he never really could be. They were in such different places in their lives.
And that understanding was not the same as loving.
Still though, none of them had been able to resist
trying on the possibility
of really being together.
If it somehow ever could work out,
overcome the most obvious obstacles like age, and of course ignite the flames of passion
it might be better than anything any of them had ever known.
We all have our ups and downs.
Even dream girls have unwanted things to deal with in their real lives.
Things weren't going so well for any of them.
They had all at different times in the course of that day thought of each other.
Marilyn knew that something was wrong,
but she also sensed that he was not afraid,
that he was at peace, so that was one less thing to worry about.
Claire wasn't sure why she had thought of him.
She wondered if deep down she felt a little guilty even though there was really no reason.
But she couldn't really give it more time. Her attention was needed elsewhere.
She thought of him for a few more seconds,
remembering something about a project they had worked on together,
but then her attention was catapulted away. She was once again off and running, or more like flying-
trying to keep up with everything in her life. One of her children was calling her.
He thought of Claire at the very same moment. He decided to try as much as he could to keep from projecting himself into her life.
He loved her, but he knew that the kindest thing he could do was to NOT think of her.
Was he deciding for her? Not giving her the choice?
Maybe, but he was right about this.
Right then, it would only make things worse for her.
He would try to just wait until he actually saw her again, if he did.
And say no more until then,
otherwise it might weigh her down even more.
It is important to see where someone is at and what's going on with them before you just dump your stuff on them.
He would try once again to contain himself.
Was he just imagining these women?
Were Marilyn or Claire even real?
Had any of the others been?
It was getting more and more difficult to be sure.
But he remembered them. He did.
In the last few days he needed them all
more than anything, even more than he needed a paddle.
But he was trying to let go.
He didn't want them to feel smothered by his needs, even from a distance.
He was letting go.
He was drifting away.
He began to focus upon his breathing.
Copyright 2010 Craig Parks
