Author Topic: The Dead Letter Office  (Read 5940 times)

Offline Shakesthecoffecan

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The Dead Letter Office
« on: August 15, 2010, 10:31:33 pm »
“There was some open space between what he knew and what he tried to believe, but there was nothing he could do about it, and if you can’t fix it, you’ve got to stand it.”

--Annie Proulx
Brokeback Mountain

                                                                                                      Fieldale, Virginia
                                                                                             The 15th of August, 2010

Hey Little Brother,

I was talking to Paul on the phone the other day about how we were doing, and it came to us that we were living out Proulx’s story, one reference at a time, in our lives, in a totally random order. He had been supposed to meet up with Clarissa at the airport, and get back his damn shirt he left up there in Seattle, and in the needle threading it was handed to him by a gate attendant in his seat on the plane.

But for the most part, we are in that place of grief right now. Questioning what we know and what we try to believe, trying to figure out a way to live in a world that you are no longer in, how such a thing can even be possible.

Here are some of the things that I know:

I never saved my quarters before.

I put the pennies in the Gallo wine bottle and the dimes in the smaller wine bottle with the cork and the nickels go in the pickle jar next to my desk so it can be frequently robbed to buy stamps and occasionally petroleum byproduct. The half dollars go in the pepper shaker in the cabinet when I get one.

But I never saved my quarters; I would spend them as fast as I could. I never saved the bicentennial ones, or the state ones. That is until early July. For some reason they started accumulating in the change plate on the night stand. For a month until a couple of weeks ago when I put them in my pocket to take to the bank to exchange them for some real money. Getting situated I emptied my pocket into the drivers side door handle.
 
                                                                   ***

I read what Gene wrote on face book that Thursday. He was looking forward to spending the weekend with “the love of his life” and it occurred to me sometime later I should do more than click “Like”, I should tell him how happy I was that he had you in his life.

That Friday morning when I first woke, before there was light in the room my mind was heavy with the need to do this. It was imperative I do it. It occurred to me again as I drove to work and finally during the course of the day I send him that message and got a reply.

                                                                  ***

I know the Tuesday before you died you called me and it was one of the best conversations we ever had. I remember us laughing and carrying on about the days when we were so irresponsible we would think nothing about getting on an airplane and flying to California. I remember us talking about our need to get together, and the last time we did, the last time I had a hang over, now a year and a half or more. Not nearly long enough away from that day you remembered me turning green trying to eat at the Varsity Hotdog, way too long for us to have gone.

When I hung up, I was asked if I was going on a trip. I told them I wish I was. Looks like I got my wish, huh?

                                                                 ***

I know a couple of months ago we spoke and you told me about you ex-in-laws, and how you missed them. You told me about how you enjoyed riding out with your brother in law at Hilton Head on his modified gold cart to party and fish in the evenings.

I know after that you called him. I know you all talked and when he hung up the phone he was crying, saying he didn’t care if you were gay. He missed you. I know that last week you called Bizzy and she passed the phone around and you talked to all of them.

                                                                ***

I know that at 9:26 AM of that Friday you posted a Youtube video of “The Maker Makes”, a Brokeback montage with Rufus Wainwright singing the only halfway decent song he has ever sung in his life, and you said the last thing I heard from you:
“I love this song! Don't kow why but it was heavy on my mind this morning.” And I read that, and I went on with my day.

                                                       ***

When I got to Georgia, it was like the Pentecost. Five days had passed since you had, and me and Jack arrived at your home, where we would never see you, never have the pleasure again, and you were all around. We were comforted by your spirit, and the ones we found there.

They came running to us, Gene and Bizzy and Andrew, leaving a line of people trailing behind them, all hugging, all sharing, all saying the nicest things. I saw your mother again the next day, something I was not sure would ever happen again. She had on the funniest glasses, rainbow glasses, she said she paid $7.00 for them. They were beautiful. She said it was her job to embarrass you.

                                                             ***

I know that in the many trips betwixt Atlanta and Dawsonville I made those 4 days, up and down Rt. 400, passing through the toll booth I used up those quarters in the door handle, two by two, until the final ride out of town left me with one odd one and a corroded penny I picked up next to you all’s front walkway.

Knowing all this, I try to believe things, and what I try to believe I think is best summed up by what a friend told me in the midst of all this: “I don't believe in ghosts, or ghostly influences, but I firmly believe in grace as a living organism.”

Grace, I have always struggled to wrap my head around the concept, but now I think I have an example I can understand. 

We were all here at Better most a year before you ever saw the movie. A year we spent grieving and discussing and bonding and resolving and just at the right moment you came along.

What I try to believe is that we had that time to prepare for your arrival. So many came this way, so many found answers and moved on or stayed, and not to diss anyone, there was something special about you.

You were a full grown man with one insane obstacle standing in betwixt you and being complete, and that was being honest about who you were. Friend, it was an honor and a privilege being one of the ones in the right place at the right to help you face that obstacle. My imagination still sees you there with a poll vault in your hand, about to take off running. My memory will be you sailing over it, hollering “Yee Haw!” all the way.

You did so well. Gene is a marvelous man, and he loved you. He worked so hard to honor you, to balance his own needs with those people he never met before. You would be so proud of him, calmly explaining to the neighbor woman, that you were not just his friend; “He was my partner, we had been together for two years.” Wearing both of your rings together on his finger, his holding your larger one in place, like two shirts sharing a single wire hanger.

You would be so proud how your family, your friends, your coworkers, your neighbors, all came together and acknowledged the truth of your life. Not one negative comment was spoken, believe me. I would have heard it before it even got punctuated. Your daughter, your Ex-wife, yours and Gene's sons all stood together, no longer a bunch of dots, but a clear picture, and it was beautiful.

A while back I said that I did not know if anything came after this, and I was really not concerned with it one way or another, and I am still not. The events of the recent past reinforce my belief there is something, Grace I will call it now. I know if it is here and there is a there, it will be there too.  It looks out for us. I know you are at peace, and sitting here by the river, I try to fix myself on the joy of these past three years. It will have to be enough to help me stand it.

Your Brother,

Truman


"It was only you in my life, and it will always be only you, Jack, I swear."

Offline Wayne

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Re: The Dead Letter Office
« Reply #1 on: August 15, 2010, 10:49:39 pm »
i'm sorry truman. i wish just this one thing was different. thanks for what you mean to all of us too.
When you put people in charge of the government who are committed to proving that it doesn't work, you can be sure that they will cause it to not work.

Don

Offline Ellemeno

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Re: The Dead Letter Office
« Reply #2 on: August 16, 2010, 05:40:19 am »
Thank you, Truman.  This is beautiful.  I know you was good friends.  I love you.

I'm sorry I didn't get to see you in Georgia, but we were on our separate missions.  Did Paul tell you that it was a beautiful Western shirt that he left at my house, and I discovered it hanging on the far edge of the closet long after he went home.  And I meant to send it to him, and meant to.  Then I suddenly was given the opportunity to roll it up and stick it in my suitcase to give him.  I was politely adamant with the gate agent.  I hung around til he told me he'd given it to Paul, but I didn't really relax until I got a txt from Paul saying he'd been handed it on the airplane.