Authors: Nate Allen
The last evening in New Orleans was deliberately casual, like that of a more
traditional
couple. The next morning they would arrive at the airport early enough to get their seat assignments beside one another. But the plane rides home would be quiet and awkward. They had been to that elusive place again, their
Nirvana
…and reminded that they couldn’t stay. The voodoo-like spell of the weekend was already wearing off, and the pair would share what amounted to a mutual emotional
hangover
. It seems after the “Big Easy” there was to be an opposite and equally big
uneasy
.
.
PLANCK’S LAW…Seeing heat:
For increasing temperatures, the visible sequence of radiated colors is: black, red, orange, yellow-white, bluish-white.
…And in a nonscientific, but personal observation, the flame typically burns hottest before it burns out. New Orleans had been
bluish
-white hot, and that meant …she was already mitigating the significance of the weekend.
If we were to mark ourselves as to where we were on this trek, he had been the man characterized by temporary, disposable relationships, and she was seeking an ongoing no-strings attached sexual relationship. It had evolved to where he was now aspiring to keep their relationship ongoing for as long as possible, and she was facing the growing depression and constant disappointment of living with the reminder it presented of what was missing in her life. Hers was a long row to hoe, and he knew it would not be long before she would be seeking some variety and trying to recreate the sensation with someone other than himself, and it pained him.
He too had seen the future in the reflection of the fortuneteller’s window, seen the look on her face… recognized their
Dixie cup
. So what do you do when destinies seem written and ill-fated?… Transplant the lima bean to a bigger pot, fuel the flame, rewrite the ending and create your own destiny …or at least try. It was time to whip out that
Longfellow
of his and write her a letter. Just because things are the way they are doesn’t mean that’s the way they have to be…
Rae… I’m touching myself thinking about you right now ;) I pity the girl I meet next… she’s got a tough act to follow. But then again, you might be the next act if I have anything to do with it …not getting moist are you? ;) …need any “meat” in your diet? I know you like it …and you know I want it ;) …nice things to know. But it’s more than that …whatever
“that”
is.
Last weekend was significant …in many ways. I can’t help but think about it …can you? I know your head if full of questions I can’t answer, if I could, they would be meaningless, (or either my questions) and hence, the infinite dilemma of whether the answers were yours or someone else’s. I know enough not to go that road ;)) Questions of whether or not to do the “right thing” or listen to what your heart tells you to …and those rare and beautiful eclipses where the two are indistinguishable… ooooh …now I’m getting wet, …must be the feminine side of me, or the dog licking my hand ;) At some point you’ll get to a place where everything makes sense, and I’m going to be around. Enjoy the good moments and don’t be in such a hurry to raze them from your memory just to make sure that the source of the experience, the “feeling” lies anywhere but within yourself. Wholeness is not a place, it is, I believe, Newton’s 4th law of “e”motion …a physical impossibility, because what we are today, is not what we will be tomorrow… (Sorry, perhaps not what you wanted to hear) …we are but human snowballs accumulating and growing as we roll along. We don’t meet people who complete us, but if we are lucky, we meet people whom we are incomplete without, you are such a person for me. There are
Places
in our lives… places we pass by, …places we stop and visit, …places we feel safe, and places we call home. Perhaps the most we can hope for is a “place” where we are allowed to BE whole. The crux of the lesson is not to look for “wholeness,” but to learn how to “be.” To glance in the mirror and take stock of oneself, the good,… the bad,… the ugly… and still feel loved, understood… and accepted. I am such a place for you.
Don’t be confused, I don’t want to be the getaway car, I want to be the highway. Not the vehicle that will take you “there” as if “
there
” existed. We have many vehicles over the course of our lives, we exhaust them, grow tired of them, outgrow them …they no longer meet our needs, but the highway is endless and ever-changing, challenging us, “smacking” our ass ;) …and yet, …rising up to meet us as well ;) You say I’m gentle, sweet, and I am …with you at least. But don’t make the mistake of casting me in one …or even two roles Rae. I am those things and more, the blue-collar man/the white-collar man, the cerebral man/the fool, the poet/the comedian. I’m the patient impatient man, the rough looking bastard with a boyish grin, the insightful single dad, YOUR faithful infidel. I’m a REALLY nice guy …who’s the asshole that fucking another man’s wife.
Want to know what I’ve seen down the road a ways, the path narrows, they always do, and we only get to take a few trusted, proven friends with us. Beyond that very liberating point where you learn to say “yes” to temptation comes an even more satisfying place where you can say “no,” where you don’t have to take advantage of every fucking opportunity because in the
wholeness
of that moment you recognize that you have all that you need inside yourself.
There’s even a place beyond the question of “Can you be unfaithful to another, to be faithful to yourself?” where the real quagmire and paradox arises when being unfaithful to another is being unfaithful to yourself… how fucked up is that? But you and I, we can’t be unfaithful to each other unless we betray that trust and honesty. We’re beyond the introductory bullshit required classes. I know you’ve got curiosities that I can’t satisfy. But I’ve proven my mettle where that’s concerned ;)
I like this place of ours where we get together and our needs are mutually met… will you meet me there? Can you feel my warm breath on your neck, my hand on that pretty ass, my cheek to your cheek? I’m always with you, that part of me that only belongs to you. I’ll be out and about, let me hear from you if you wish. As usual, and always…
Love,
-Jake
He knew he wouldn’t hear from her, but he had to write just the same. She had predictably fallen into a post-New Orleans funk and he needed her to hear something contrary to the voice in her head. His son was at a friend’s house for the night. The
static
was visiting him like an aftershock from the previous weekend’s earth shaking. He would call Nicole and they would get a bite to eat, and then return to his place. “
Nice
tattoo
” she admired as he bared himself and they headed to bed, touching it gently as it was still healing. “
Thanks, it’s been a long time in the making,
” is all he offered. Beyond that, she wouldn’t ask about his weekend and he wouldn’t volunteer any details, the nature of their arrangement didn’t require it, and they picked up where they had left off, enjoying each other’s company and growing closer,
or as close as they could…
It was now late October,
“a beautiful time in North Carolina,”
which also coincided with his yearly physical and visit to Dr. “V.” While no man above forty years of age looks forward to these occasions, he generally welcomed the annual opportunity for her to tell him how healthy he was. Everything was great, except for a lump on his prostate, a
nodule
she called it. It had been there the previous year and she had subsequently sent him to an Urologist, a man he couldn’t forget because of the disheveled
mad scientist
look …and the brown stains on his white jacket. Jake’s blood-work was great, and he was of such a young age the specialist dismissed it as a 1% chance of being something of concern. This year however, “V” wasn’t going to be as understanding, and like a mother, and the prudent professional that she was, she prescribed a biopsy for the man she was genuinely fond of to eliminate any doubts.
It was mid-November before the procedure took place. Rene, bless her heart, would accompany her son’s father because he would need a driver afterward, and she would accompany him again the following week when he went to get the results. Take note that anytime your doctor won’t give you the results over the phone, it’s
not
a good sign. A
1mm
spot would accomplish what a half-dozen or so good men hadn’t, and bring the man sober to his knees, or at least cause him to take a seat. “
You must have me confused with someone else,
” he blurted out as the word cancer echoed in the small room, there was some shock and disagreement in the minutes that followed and almost immediately things took on a pace and a sense of urgency beyond his control.
He’d had time to ponder the potential outcome since the possibility arose a year earlier, but the news and accompanying sensation was something he was unprepared for. He was momentarily dismantled. If coffee is a diuretic, the word
cancer
is a laxative, because he damn sure ’bout shit his self.
He had learned about the
teenage fallacy
in his developmental psych class, it was presented as an explanation for some teenage behavior. Because they are
teen
agers, adolescents naturally think they’ll live to be old, a valid assumption, and one we don’t want to deprive them of. But the problem arises in the accompanying misguided notion they can therefore afford to be reckless because their entire lives are ahead of them …the
fallacy
being that youth in itself is a defense against death. As a
middle-aged teenager
he was now experiencing a modified version. While as adults we have witnessed mortality and have an active awareness of our own, our
fallacy
is that we’ll live to that age of average life expectancy at least before dealing with it beyond that awareness. But the fallacy had abruptly succumbed to reality, as if the lifetime warranty had been violated because he hadn’t rotated the tires or had some other necessary maintenance.
His child was the first concern that crossed his mind, but Rae would be the first person he thought to tell, and the
first
call he made from the parking lot. She had initially expressed a desire to go with him to the visit …but he knew that to be unrealistic. It was obvious the news caught her off guard as well and he could hear the undeniable concern and sincerity in her initial,
honest
reaction …then a disconnect of sorts, an uncomfortable pause and awkward silence as if the reality of what a prostate cancer diagnosis comes with was racing through her mind as well, and her concern, being evident as it was towards the man she
loved
and
cared
about, was not as great as her concern for herself and her
needs,
and that
“there ain’t enough of me to go around”
tone in her unspoken words he had become painfully too familiar with, was inaudibly loud to the man who had guessed her password. It had to be deafening. Everyone he would tell afterward, was a matter of responsibility and personal business.
Rene had done more than her position as ex-wife demanded, so over the course of the next month he would drive himself to six different doctor appointments at area universities and nationally renowned Cancer Centers of Excellence. He had time to educate himself, and showed up at each one with a list of questions, statistical data, and other disease specific medical terminology and the questions he asked got ambiguous answers, and only gave rise to more questions.
The more he studied the subject, the more he realized there was an atmosphere of uncertainty, they were essentially offering treatment more out of fear of what they
didn’t
know, than what they
did
. Make no mistake, the only time
Cancer
is ever mentioned in a positive sense is in the daily horoscope. The word is scary, but it represents over two hundred different diseases, and they are not all created equal. Prostate cancer is especially ambiguous since it is often slow growing and inane, …more men die
with
it than
from
it. But he was unusually young, the average age of diagnosis sixty-eight, and he had a boy to raise and he wasn’t ready to forfeit his spot on the planet either.
It presented quite a dilemma for the man. For every article in a medical journal that came out espousing one theory or hypothesis, there would inevitably be an opposing or contradicting one in another publication. It was akin to politics, the politics of the prostate, surgeons and radiologists the respective republicans and democrats so to speak, and let’s not forget the independents …the research community, and Jake’s prostate appeared to be the bill before congress. Everyone was in agreement he had prostate cancer and that it needed to be treated, except of course him.
Chunk went with him to the first appointment, but only for support, if asked he would confess he was scared shitless, those settings are as intimidating and ominous as a courtroom, your fate is being determined, but Jake was extremely calm and prepared, and his friend taken aback as he put the expert in a corner on the issue, the numbers didn’t add up,
autopsies of men who died of other causes suggested there was an X-minus-10 factor, or essentially 40% of 50 year-olds had some degree of the disease, 50% of 60 year-olds and so on and so on, it rose proportionately with each decade of life, for men his age it was suggested only 1 in 1000 cases were detected, and roughly 1 in 6 or approximately 18% of those “diagnosed” died from the disease,
and he had the least possible amount of the disease detectable.
As with any scientific data, the numbers were often subjective and
cooked,
and the abundance of information only added to the confusion and concern. He had seen three surgeons and three radiologists, and the last of the men, shut the door and told him he thought Jake to be right, and he was extremely knowledgeable, not a hack.