swimming lessons

Chances are, you wouldn’t even recognize the man I am now. That’s a Buckley line, I know. I just couldn’t resist. 


Last time you saw me, I was young and numb and all of the clouds combined. You know what I mean. I watched you slip into the abyss without the chance to witness what would become of your firstfruits. I was drowning in handles and panic as you were preparing to be carried on. I remember you telling me to be careful before I went out driving every night. There was a bourbonesque wind beneath my breath, and I knew that you knew. You’d be happy to know that I haven’t had a drop in over a year and a half now. I thank the Lord to this day that He pulled me up for air at the end there to say one last goodbye of sober mind. I don’t know that there’s a way I’d ever be content with the amends we made, but I pretend every day that it was enough. 


In your wake was left a whirlpool of commas and drawn out shame. I wonder what you meant by repeating it, over and over. I wasn’t there the day that you lost control, but when I returned, I could hear every single word that you said. And it made me angry. It made me hurt. It made me helpless. Sometimes, I felt like the only one in the world that was ready for the sky to collapse. I’d already made peace with the fact that the blue we once trusted above us was only temporary. Honestly, at a certain point, I believe you did, too. But, you said it with a smile and a silence that I didn’t understand until today.


This morning, there was a vulture perched on the roof, just sitting there, looking at me. I made my way off to work and thought nothing of it. I wasn’t haunted. I wasn’t scared. I wasn’t worried that it was some sort of omen or signal that something was off. That I should turn around. That I should cancel the day and take off to go and get my home in order. Come to think of it, it’s never been in better shape. Which isn’t saying much. And anyways, I’ve died a thousand times already. I used to brag about that. But, I watched you die a thousand more. And with each one, you seemed to become more and more alive. Maybe it was my perception, or maybe it’s just what you wanted me to see. I’d like to think I’m having the same experience these days. I don’t know how it feels, all of the time, but I know that it doesn’t really matter anymore. Whatever the weather, we’ll weather the storm, somehow.


For some reason, I can only find peace in the water these days. In the ever-shifting, ever-flowing, ever-evolving tides. They keep me grounded. They keep me sane. I don’t know what it is, and it really makes no sense. Regardless, I find myself making my way back to the creek (that creek we come from), to the streams, to the rivers, to the lakes, in search of nothing more than salve for my skin and my spirit. I’ve been so disgusted lately with the tussle it’s been to keep my head above the waves, that I haven’t had much time to hypothesize as to the why of this sudden revelation. I’m even more disgusted when I think of the way I lived in judgment of the struggle it was for you. 


I did my level best to be stronger, to be better. Better than what? Better than you, I guess. So where you would go right, I figured I would just go left. Where you would say no, I figured I would just say yes. Where you would surrender and compromise, I figured I would be hellbent on holding the line. And wouldn’t you know it, the world is way too colorful to live in black and white. I had to find that out the hard way. And I was judged by the very measure with which I’d judged.


I ended up hacking away at my own path into destruction, desolation and confusion, due west of you. I forgot who I was, whose I was, and which way was out. In the thick of things, at the peak of the valley, I imagined you laughing at the shattered collage that I’d become. Taunting me for all of the times I thought I knew best. Ridiculing me for the wrong turns and raw stupidity that led me to this loneliness and all of these open wounds. Jabbing to get back at me for every smirk and snide remark that I’d ever sent your direction. I pictured you with delight on your face, as I wrestled an unrest I couldn’t shake, a peace I couldn’t make, a relief I couldn’t fake. It was only fair.


But, that wasn’t you. That isn’t you. That’ll never be you. You’d ask me what’s the matter. You’d tell me that you’ll always have my back. That you’ll always go to bat for me, no matter what. You’d tell me what you see in me that I forget to see in myself sometimes. You’d give me the benefit of the doubt and believe the best about me. That you wouldn’t rest until I was safe and secure. You’d tell me that I’m capable, that I’m compassionate, that I’m courageous. That I’ll find a way, because I always find a way. You’d tell me again, to never give up on love, even though I still think that you sound like you’re quoting the cheesiest 80’s song to ever grace the charts. But I understand and appreciate the sentiment, so I’d let it slide. It’s become a motto for me of sorts, despite all odds, against all likelihood. I like it now. Who would’ve thought?


And I would hope you’d ask me, lastly, if I would want to go fishing, just one more time. I would agree, happily, and I’d ask you to give me a few minutes to go and grab my things. I’d hurry upstairs, and come running back down, not thirty seconds later, with my hands and my heart spilling over. Full. Rushing as slow as I possibly could.


I imagine it like a vision. 


We hop in the car and take off for those faithful, blue mountains. You taught me to love them way before I had any sort of love for myself, and though you ran from them in your youth, I’m glad you found a way back into their arms eventually. I’d catch you up on everything that’s been going on recently, and we’d laugh, and we’d cry, and you’d be in disbelief at how much everything has changed. I’d tell you that Duke is back, that Susie’s doing fine, and I’d tell you all about my new friends and the big move downtown. You’d love the view, I say proudly.


I’d tell you that it’s hard to picture you as a grandfather, but man, would you be beaming. And bawling. I see your face in his all of the time, and it makes up for all of those moments that I’ll be driving home down 307 after a long day, and I look over to my right, to the passenger seat, and you’re not there. I’d tell you how quiet it is now. How the chimes don’t do enough to fill the space that you once did. I’d tell you how much I miss you, and I’d give you all the sorries I’ve been saving up. We’d make that left on River Road as the sun was setting, and we’d head on down the one lane, into the late summer haze.


Once we make it down to the water’s edge and throw in our lines, I start pointing out to you the broken beams floating with the current, the submerged sails sinking to the bottom, the rest of what’s left of this broken vessel. I don’t know if I was on the boat, or if I WAS the boat, but what I do know is that I’ve been so ashamed to even be associated with it for so long. I tell you that I don’t know exactly what happened, if I had hit the rocks first, or if I had bottomed out, or if I simply just lost focus and let go. Either way, I’d tell you that I’d deserved it, that I’d earned it, that this is what I get. That this is how it’ll always be. That there is no more for me. That I wish I could just start over or call it all off completely. 


And in the vision, you put your arm around me and stand there, still. Quiet. Patient. Moved to compassion. Consumed by mercy.


And you tell me:


“No.


You aren’t gone.


And you won’t be.


Don’t list this as a shipwreck.


Just consider it swimming lessons.”

With All of my Love,

Jules