Genius

Mr. riding the motorcycle wearing sandals with a skateboard strapped to your back, good luck to you sir.  I say again, good luck to you.

I swear I'll get a title, though this may not stay in the cut

            “So what is this thing anyway, did she break-up with you or not?”  Rick asks.

            “It’s some kind of alone time hybrid not break-up thing, I guess.”  I have no idea.

            “I hate to break it to you bro, but taking a break is code for ‘we’re breaking up.’  What are you, twelve?”

            “I know the break up code as well as you do, I’ve been doing this a long time.  But I’m telling you, this time is different.  She doesn’t want to break up, and it’s not a normal break thing.  I’m not sure how to read it.”

            “A break is a break-up, forever and always.”

            “Y’know, I’d understand it if it was a ‘seeing other people’ situation.  Cause at least that means…”

            “…she wants to sleep around, case closed,” Rick finishes.

            “Exactly, at least then I know what I’m dealing with.  It’s just common break-up etiquette to give me something to work with.  There’s always the ‘I need some time for myself’ routine.”

            “Which means time away from you, trying to find something better.  I get that one all the time for some reason.”

            “There are good reasons Rick.  But this thing with Renee?  It just feels different, it’s more of a pause than a break, I guess.  Does that make any sense?”

            “That’s the problem right there bro, we’ve worked out break-up code etiquette over thousands of years, so that shorthand is known to both sides.  But if you’re trying to make sense of a woman?  There’s no manual for that, man.”

            “Very helpful.”

            “Ryan my boy, I’m going to try to help you out of this situation, I am the master at reading women.”

            “Sure… the master.  Speak your wisdom, jefe.”

            “Give me a moment.”  Rick closed his eyes and hummed in some sort of mock meditation.

            “Seriously?”

            “I’m just centering myself here.  Let me see if I got this right, she wants time apart, but not with some other guy, and she’s specific on that, right?”  I nod.  "So it’s a time apart-esque without being a traditional time apart thing.”

            “I guess.”

            Rick get’s a big goofy grin on his face. “Then it’s simple, elementary really.”

            “Is it now?”

            “I should have seen it from the beginning, and you’re going to kick yourself for not getting it right away.  You ready?  It’s a chick.”

            “The hell you talking about?”

            “She isn’t scrapping the relationship, but is getting some space to maneuver, or experiment maybe?  It’s gotta be another girl, this is a huge score for you bro!”

            “Score?  How is this a good thing?  Wait… what makes you so damn convinced that it’s some girl?  I’m not seeing the connection here.”

            “It’s the only thing that fits all the variables my man.  If you’re right and she’s creating distance with the intention of continuing the relationship, and you know for a fact that it isn’t some dude, gotta be a girl.  Has she ever told you about ‘experimenting’ in college or anything?  This is frickin awesome news!”

            “Experimenting?  I have no idea.”

            “How can you have no idea about something like that?”

            “Why would I?”

            “Dude, you always find out about that shit, it’s like the first step in all relationships.  The experiment question always comes early, it’s like the foundation for your sex menu.”

            “You have a sex menu?”

            “For every girl I’ve ever been with bro, it’s the most important part of the whole deal.  You push a little here, push a little there and find out what’s going to fly and what won’t.  You find some kink in that corner; find out what kink will never have a corner.  The better you know the girl, the more buttons you find.  And you, y’know, build the menu.”

            “That’s ah… wow.  You’re a sick individual, you know that?”

            “You’re just mad that you’ve never had a good menu bro, it’s the key to a healthy sex life.  How else are you going to know what to do?”

            “No, it’s brilliant, just a really vile and disgusting way of putting it.”

            “You can’t have a good meal unless you know all the options on the menu.  If a girl doesn’t have the variety I’m accustomed to, it’s just not going to work.  I’m telling you bro, every threesome I’ve ever had came from the menu, and you’re on step one.  This is all good for you.”

            “And this stuff works for you?”

            “A relationship is all about getting to know each other.  This is how I do.”

            “Yeah, that’s uh… yeah.  Make sense.  Creepy brilliant.”

            “There’s nothing creepy about it man, I’m a big believer in sexual compatibility.”

            “Rick, you are the master.  I now no longer wonder why women think men are such pigs.  Not only is this the type of thing you think about, but from now on I’m going to have to start thinking about it.  Thanks for the new level of shallow.”

            “I’m telling you, Rye, this is a prime opportunity for you.”

“Okay, sex menu talk aside, this whole Renee batting for the other team thing is a bit of a stretch.”

            “You have a better theory?”           

            Sadly, I really don’t, but I still don’t buy it.  “Sounds like wishful thinking on your end.”

            “Eh, maybe.  But that’s the best kind of thinking anyway.”

The way things ought to be...

Let me paint you a picture of my evening.

 

Setting:  Santa Barbara in late July, 68 degrees, on the patio

Activity:  Listening to James Taylor (Sweet Baby James album) smoking a cigar (that was a gift) drinking a beer.

 

So it’s nice and quiet, as I have the music fairly low.  I know all the songs well enough that a hint of the melody starts the whole thing going through my head anyways, and frankly there is no reason to blast folk.  I’m relaxing by myself, smoking my cigar in a leisurely fashion, sipping on my one and only beer (trying to cut back, turns out empty calories stick to the ribs.)  There is a warm breeze blowing faintly, and I’m not wearing shoes.

 

Not bad, right?

 

And that’s why I hate TV, because all to often I get home and plop my fat ass on the couch and vegetate.  If I didn’t have a television, I have an inkling that I’d be outside doing this kind of thing more often.

 

 

You better sit down for this

“Yeah, so I have something to tell you, but I’m not really sure how.” She said.

 

“Well, that doesn’t sound too promising, what’s up?”

 

“I dunno, I mean, why don’t you sit down?”

 

“Sure.” He walked over to the couch and sat down, wondering what on earth could have her shaking.  Is she leaving me?

 

“Want something to drink?”

 

“Nah, I’m good, thanks.  You okay hon?  You look… nervous.”

 

“No, I’m fine.  Maybe a little nervous.”

 

“Why don’t you sit down then?  What’s going on, you can talk to me.”

 

“Promise you won’t be mad?”

 

“Is there something to be mad about?”

 

“Maybe.”

“Alright, seriously, you should just tell me what’s going on.  Just go ahead and say it, nice and easy.”

 

“You’re right, I know you’re right.  But it’s, I dunno… kinda hard.”

 

Jesus woman, now I’m nervous.  “Take your time babe, no worries.”

 

She feigned a smile.  “I don’t know how to say it so I’m just going to say it, okay?”  He nodded.  “Okay, so… I’m late.”

 

Late?  Late for what?  Aah…  “Okay.”

 

“That’s all you can say, okay?”

 

He chuckled, “so far, yeah.  That’s about all I can say.”  He looked at her and knew she resented him thinking it was funny.  It wasn’t funny, but he still needed to laugh.  “What exactly does that mean, late?”

 

Tears started rolling down her cheeks and her whole body seemed to shake.  “I’m pregnant.  I’m sorry!  I didn’t mean for it to happen, it just did!  You have to believe me!”

 

“Okay, alright, okay…  How late are you?  Is this like a for sure for sure kind of thing?”

 

“Three tests, it’s pretty for sure.”

 

“Shit.”

This time she half laughed.  “No kidding.”

 

“How long have you known?”

 

“I dunno, I got nervous a couple of weeks ago, but I’ve been late before so I didn’t want to say anything, y’know?  I took the tests yesterday.”

 

“Why didn’t you let me know, I could have been around or something.”

 

“And done what, held the stick?”

 

“I don’t know, I could have done something.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“I thought you were on that ring thing.”

 

“I was, but there’s always a chance I guess.  Sorry.”

 

“You really need to stop apologizing.”

 

“Sorry.”

           

“Alright, well, do you want to get going?”

 

“Where?”

 

“I thought we were going to see that movie, the one with that girl and guy and some dog or something.  What’s it called?”

 

“I tell you that I’m pregnant, and you still want to go see a movie?”

 

“I’m not really sure what else to do here, I kind of have to get my head rapped around it.  You caught me by surprise.”

 

“You’re not the only one.”

 

“I get it, you want to talk.  Let’s talk.  Where exactly do we go from here?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“Well, I suppose we have a few options.  We could keep going like we going, just have this thing going on too.  I was hoping to move into a bigger place soon, and thinking maybe we could, if you wanted, move in together or something.   I was nervous to ask, it being a big step and all.  Though it doesn’t seem quite as big now.  I mean, with a kid and all, I guess we should talk about getting married.  I don’t’ know, we’ve never really talked about that before either.   What do you think?”

 

“There’s another option.”

Yes there is.  “Well, I’m sure there’s several, this is just top of my head stuff.”

 

“I could make it go away.”

 

“Is that an option?”

 

“I don’t know, do you think I should?”

 

“Well shit, I don’t think that’s the kind of decision that I can help you make.”

 

“But I don’t know what to do!  You’re supposed to help me!”

 

“Hon, I’m here to help you in anyway that I can.  But that’s the kind of decision a guy just doesn’t get to make.”

 

“So now it’s all on me, huh?  Fucking typical.”

 

“Well, have you thought about it?”

 

“So you think I should?  It would certainly be convenient for you.”

 

“For me?  Calm down a second, I didn’t bring that up.  Have you, just like, thought about that as an option?”

 

“I’ve thought about everything.”

 

“And?”

 

“I don’t know, it’s all kinda hitting me like a train.  I don’t know what to do.”

 

“That’s fair, neither of us know what to do.  It’s a whole lot to think about, especially since you just found out last night.”

 

“I guess we don’t have to decide everything right now.”

“Of course not, we get to think about these things.”

 

“But I want to talk about that… that option.  Now I think, is better to talk about it.  I need your help.  I want your advice.”

 

“I really don’t know what I’m supposed to say here.”

 

“Something would be good.”  She laughed openly this time, and it felt like the room deflated just a little.”

 

“Alright,” he smiled with a furrowed brow.  “You said you have thought about this, um, option.  What kind of things did you think about when you thought about it?”

 

“I dunno.  I think maybe I should, it makes a lot of sense.   I mean, it would be the easiest thing for both of us, y'know, just make it go away.  But I’m not sure if I could, or should, or not, or whatever.  I’m not sure how to even think about it.”

 

“I still think this is one of those things where I really don’t know where to stand, I just don’t think I can push you on this either way.”  She looked at him like a child, “but I think that if you don’t know what to think about it, that’s probably answer enough of that probably you shouldn’t.”

 

“You wouldn’t be mad?  I thought you’d, y’know, make me.”

 

“I’m not ever going to mad about this, I don’t know what I’m feeling, or what I’m going to feel.  But I promise not to be mad.”

 

She laughed and wiped away a tear.  “So… you were going to ask me to move in?”

Reactionary Tendencies

            One of the things I seem to notice about life more and more (particularly in American Culture) is that everything is reactionary.  Everything that we ever do is in some way related to something or someone else.  It’s a pretty simple idea; all the events in your life influence what kind of person you become.  So to a certain degree all of your actions are a reaction to something that has happened in the past.  Maturity is the accumulation of these events, and ideally, the ability to make wiser decisions based on those experiences.

           

Let’s look at some pretty simple examples:

 

            Martha was adopted as a child, and her foster mother was extremely loving while her foster father was obviously not interested in raising anyone else’s kid.  Maybe when Martha gets older she views men with suspicion and is never able to develop a trusting relationship with the opposite sex.  Maybe she goes the other direction and becomes completely subservient to the men in her life by constantly seeking their approval.

 

Martin had a cleft lip as a child, and his parents didn’t have enough money to fix it until he was a teenager.  He now wears a mustache even though the scar is minimal, because he’s still self-conscious of the ridicule he endured.  Maybe Martin grows to be extremely sensitive about other people’s looks, and ends up counseling other people with physical deformities.  On the other hand, maybe he becomes extremely superficial as an adult in reaction and ends up leaving his wife after ten years for a younger woman.

 

            Both of these people had childhood experiences that would reasonably affect how they behave as adults (adult experiences also temper adult decisions, but it is certainly to a less significant degree than youthful experiences.)  Now there are a variety of reactions each person can have to these experiences.  Martha may end up never marrying, because she just can’t trust men.  Or maybe she becomes a lesbian.  Or maybe she ends up with masochistic sexual appetites.  Or maybe she finds a man who was babied by his mother and dotes on her to a degree that complements her insecurities (or, if you believe in it, overcomes her insecurities.) 

           

            None of this is novel to any of you, I’m quite sure.  You try to learn from your mistakes.  The influence of people around you, particularly authority figures, has made an impact on the person you are today.  If you have children, do you ever wonder if you spend so much time trying not making the same mistakes as your parents that your mistakes end up being the things your parents’ actually got right?

 

            If we all recognize that our past influences our present, then we can consciously indicate the importance of specific experiences.  That’s where you learn to recognize your faults and what may have caused them, and hopefully minimize them.  But it also gives you the ability to place blame on every aspect of your personality and experiences onto something or someone else.

 

            Martha is uncomfortable with men and never marries because of her foster father.  It’s his fault.

 

            Donald wouldn’t be as superficial if his parents had tried harder to get him the surgery he needed.  His divorce is their fault.

 

            See where this is going?  We are becoming more and more a blame-oriented culture, and becoming a more sophisticated one at that.  If we don’t have a drug for it, we can certainly find out whose fault it is (and it never has to be yours.)  You can look at every mistake or hardship in your life and find a reason why it happened.  It’s not your fault because you were just reacting to some other stimulus.  Your abusive father.  Your disinterested mother.  That bully from elementary school who stole your money.  The society that you were born in, where you grew up poor.  Your race.  Your neighbor who had a lot of money and made sure you knew that you didn’t.

 

            Blame is easy, blame is right, and more importantly blame is scientific. 

 

            The truth is that you can blame every aspect of your life on something else if you want to.  Not only is this possible, but it is at least partially correct, because you are a creature based on the accumulation of past experiences.  The trouble is that while you can always reasonably deflect blame from yourself, it solves nothing.

 

            I believe that understanding your past and how it affects the way you live your life is probably useful.  But if you are focusing on your past to place blame, it’s not a way of improving yourself but rather a tool for excusing your behavior.  People need to realize that knowing why you made a bad decision does not remove culpability.  Your may be able to pinpoint some of the reasons behind your flaws, but the consequences remain your own.

 

            I know that some people will think this isn’t fair, particularly those who have gone through significant trauma.  I’m not in any way denying the importance and influence of past experiences.  If you are a WWII veteran, your experience will obviously have a significant impact on the way you live your life.  Our pasts are important, and understanding them is a great tool for recognizing our present actions.  Where we often go astray is looking at the past as an excuse.  Remember how there were a variety of ways that Martha could have reacted to her foster father’s indifference?  She had no choice of her childhood circumstance, but her reaction is a decision.  If you utilize your past experiences you can make a choice as to how it affects you. 

 

Can you control every reaction?   Absolutely not, there are too many overwhelming factors to completely control.  Can you influence consequences of your past experiences?  I really think you can.  Complete control is never really an option anyway, if you think you have control over anything you are sorely mislead.

 

At the end of the day in the world I live in, which should be similar to the one you live in, why you make a decision doesn’t really matter.  Nobody cares why you did something; they only care about what you did.   

Crises

I imagine that there are several people who won't like this, or try to turn it on my as some sort of personal perspective.  But it really isn't, because I've never been put in a position where I've been really tested like this.  But I've always been interested in crises of faith (religious and otherwise.)  What would we do, and how would we respond if push came to shove?  I think anger is easy.  But I don't know if that means it's always wrong.

            “Cause you’re not God,” she said.

            “Because I’m not God?  That’s your answer?  Because…I’m…not…God.  Not God.  Not God,” he responded.

            “Who do you think you are?  Who are we to do anything?  We can’t do something like this; we just have to let the police handle it.  We don’t know what to do, we don’t know how to do it.  And we don’t have the right to do anything about it,” she said.

            “The right. To. Do. Anything…” he said softly.  “You’re right, I’m not God.  You aren’t God.  Are the police God?  Do they have His holy blessing to fix this?  They’re letting him get away, they can’t hold him.  You heard the detective, ‘my hands are tied.’”

            “It’s not our place, there’s nothing we can do.”

            “Where is God anyway?  Better question, where was He?”

            She sat silent.

            “Where was He?”

            “I don’t know!”

            “C’mon, preach to me sister.  I’m not God, you’re not God, the police aren’t God.  God wasn’t there and now we’re here picking up the pieces.”

            “God was there, and I don’t know why this happened.  You’re the preacher and you know it, you always have been.  Where’s your faith?  We wait, and in the end justice will be done.  That’s promised to us.  We don’t know everything.”

            “But we do know some things, don’t we?  We do know that Stephanie, WHO IS A CHILD, will never be okay.  She may never wake up again.  Hell, after all that’s happened, maybe she should never wake up.  That must be where God is.”

            “Stop it!  Stop talking like that!”

            “But I see God in this now, isn’t that want you wanted?  Stephanie’s torn little body, her shattered mind…there’s no pain now.  She’s in a bed, with a tube forced down her throat that makes her breathe.  Her tiny heart is struggling to beat, second by second.  God forbid that she should ever wake up and feel the pain.”

            “Shut up!  Just shut up!  She’s my daughter, not yours!  You really think this is about Stephanie?  This is about you.  It’s all about you!  Do you think going out there will make this better?  Can you bring my daughter back?  How is losing you going to help make this family whole again?  You will fix nothing, and just be gone when we all need you.”

            He sat silent, stunned by the force of his grieving sister.  He was stunned by himself, and how strongly he felt and how little control he had.  He wondered if he was being selfish, wondered if he was betraying his niece.  Did it all get turned around?  Was this the wrong thing?

            “You’re right, of course.  You’re always right.  We don’t know everything and I’m definitely not God.  I have no right to do anything, no right at all...  But we do know some things.  And I know enough.  I know who he is, I know what he is, and I know what he’s done.  And that’s all I know and all I need.  I know that I’m gonna kill him.  Maybe that’s God’s plan for me.  Maybe He doesn’t have a plan.  Maybe He just doesn’t care enough.  But I will kill that man.  I do know that.”

Yeah, I'm Judgemental

So I went to the art museum the other day, and it occurred to me that there is a pretty solid reason why I don’t like much modern art.  There are certain developments in art, and I mean most art: painting, drawing, photography, poetry, and so on, that I simply don’t like.  It comes down primarily to three aspects of the art movement.  Art has become increasingly pretentious, selfish, and calculated.

            Pretention is a pretty obvious development.  While art has been held in high esteem throughout history, it seems artists like to hold themselves with the utmost respect nowadays.  There’s an idea that if you decide you are an artist (and really, should that be up to the rest of us?) that you are somehow superior.  If you make the claim that you are pursuing art, you get to display any random crap you want.  It’s almost like the goal is to make art abstract to the point of being impossible to appreciate.  If nobody likes what you are doing, it doesn't necessarily mean that you know something that the rest of us don't.

            Secondly, artists are often ridiculously selfish.  I know this often goes hand in hand with the pretention, but that doesn’t mean we should ignore it.  If you want me to read your story or buy your painting, it needs to have some sort of meaning.  I realize that you are trying to express yourself, but that’s really not enough to be classified as art.  Other people have to appreciate it as well, it’s not all about you.  If you paint a Madonna and throw feces at it, you are expressing yourself but it ain’t pretty.   Poetry is also a form of expression that is often so abstract it lacks all meaning.   Just because I don’t understand what you’re talking about doesn’t mean that you found special meaning.  The goal isn’t to confuse everyone else so you can feel good about yourself.  For selfish crap, please see pop music.

            Finally, many artists are working in an almost scientific capacity.  I know that you studied a color wheel and think you know how to use light and dark to force movement in the eye.  I’m proud of you, really.  You want to focus my eye somewhere?  There better be something worth seeing at the end of that tunnel.   Or you write a story with all the elements your teacher told you were important.  Hurray for you!  But did you have anything to say?  Knowing how to say something and having something to say are two totally different things.

            In all, I think the problem is that I want to see/hear/read something real.  I’m not saying everyone needs to relate to everything, but if your art is only made for other artists it has almost no value.  If it makes you feel better about yourself fine, but don’t try to make me look at it.

 

Mental Notes

·      The three greatest rock lyrics:

o   Wish I didn’t know now what I didn’t know then…

o   It doesn’t mean that much to me to mean that much to you…

o   Really love your peaches want to shake your tree…

·      Children make me feel old.

·      Infants make me feel even older.

·      Is it arrogant to think I need to be more humble?

·      You know life has taken a turn for the worse when instead of people politely saying: “have you been working out?” they now say “have you lost weight?”  Next stop no polite references to your physique at all.

·      I’m not really a glass is half full/empty kind of guy.  I really just want a bigger glass.  A pitcher even.

Story Time

Okay, I know that I write crap stories and never seem to finish a single thought.  Those are granted facts.  I also realize that I'm at best inconsistent.  I really do have continuations to the three story threads I've laid out on this blog, I just haven't written them down yet.  Maybe I will, maybe I won't (good bet knowing me.)  And here's a new one that I actually also had a different ending for.  But it would have made it twice as long, and I actually think the end is fitting. 

            When Carrie knocked on the door she felt very alone.  She thought about how it used to be her door too, and sometimes she wanted it back.  When Jack opened the door she gave a feeble “hello.”  He welcomed her in with an awkward hug of people who used to know each other.

            “How’s it going, Care?” Jack asked.

            She shrugged her shoulders, “San Diego’s nice I guess.  How are you doing?  Things better at work?”

            “Work’s fine.  Still just working for the weekends.  But what about you, how’s the new job?”

            “It’s not that new anymore,” she responded.

            “No, I suppose it isn’t.”

            “But it’s still good.  I really like what I’m doing.”

            “Good, I’m glad… Anyway, do you have time for some coffee or something?  Y’know, to catch up or whatever?  You don’t have to, I’ve got your stuff boxed up over there in the corner.” Jack pointed.

            “You still have my tea?” Carrie asked before she even had a chance to think about it.  Her plan was to get in and out as fast as possible, and she wasn’t sure what compelled her to stay.  This whole thing was just a little too awkward for her, and she figured Jack was only trying to be polite.”

            “You still drink English Breakfast in the evening?”

            “Some things never change.”

            He smiled. “Have a seat on the couch, I’ll put some water on.”

            Carrie sat down and looked around the living room.  Most of the furniture was the same.  She only had taken a few things; it was mostly Jack’s stuff anyway.  But the walls seemed bare without any of her pictures.  It made the TV look even bigger than before, if that was even possible.  She chuckled at the thought.

            Jack came back with a plate of cheese and crackers.

            “You didn’t have to do that,” Carrie said.

            “I didn’t,” he responded.  “Its just stuff I had laying around.”

            Carrie smiled meekly as Jack went back to the kitchen.

            “We having wine?” she hollered out.

            “Come again?” Jack peeked his head in the hallway.

            ‘”Nothing.  I just asked if we were drinking wine, Y’know with the cheese and crackers.”

            “We could.  The cabinet’s full if you want to pick one out.”

            “That’s okay,” Carrie said.  Jack went back to the kitchen to get the water.  He never drank wine before they were together.  She thought that maybe something of their relationship will live on after all.

            Jack came back with the tea.

            “It’s a little hot, be careful, “ he warned.

            “It’s supposed to be hot,” she smiled back.

            “”Maybe it’s too hot then.” Jack sat down across from her on the love seat.  That was always her favorite chair.

            “So,” Jack broke in.  “What’s the story?  It’s been a long time, did the move go well?  Liking the weather?  Making new friends?  What’s the scoop?”

            “No story,” she said.  “Move went okay, you know how much I hate moving.  The place is actually really nice, but I’ll probably move closer to the beach when the lease ends.  What’s the point of moving to San Diego if you don’t live near the beach, right?”  She tried to laugh, Jack just smiled to himself.

            “But yeah,” she continued.  “Like I said, I like the work, working with good people.  They seem to like what I do.”

            “They should, they did make you move out there.”

            “They didn’t make me, Jack.”

            “I suppose they didn’t.  But that all sounds really great.  Like it’s all working out; you made the right decision going out there.”

            “Don’t do that.”

            “Do what?”

            “Make me feel guilty like that, you know what you’re doing.”  Carrie looked at her shoes.  “You knew how important that job was to me.”

            “I’m not!  Really!  Hey, Carrie… Carrie?  C’mon, look at me.”  He waited until their eyes met.  “You have absolutely nothing to feel bad about, nothing at all.  It wasn’t the only thing going on between us, and it really just ended up being good timing for you.  Besides, if you’re happy then I’m happy for you.  It’s the job you always wanted and worked so hard for, and a place you like to live.  It turned out to be the right move.”

            “It’s not that simple, Jack.”

            “It really is, Carrie.”

            “Not really.”

            Carrie stayed quite for a few moments drinking her tea to collect herself.  Jack didn’t interrupt.  It’s one of the things she always loved about him; he always knew when she needed him to be quiet.

            “Sometimes, not always… but sometimes I miss us.  I mean, we were together a really long time,” she finally said.

            “Yep, and we had some good times.”

            “We did, didn’t we?  Sometimes it’s hard to remember how it was, is that bad?  I mean, what happened to us?  There was a time when we were really happy, wasn’t there?”

            “I dunno what happened… this, that, some other thing.  Life throws funny things at you, I always thought you were too good for me anyhow.”

            “Oh shut up, it wasn’t all me.”

            “Nah, probably mostly not,” Jack said.  “To be honest with you Care, I knew then and know even better now that you aren’t ready to settle down just yet.  You’ve got all these things you want to accomplish, all these ridiculously specific goals.”  He snorted a laugh, “c’mon, you have to admit some of them are pretty absurd.

            She shrugged her shoulders in amusement, “I might have to get over a few.”

            “You think fixing the world is a little too lofty an ambition?”

            “I think that I’ll keep that one.”

            “You would, but anyway.  You’ve got all this unfinished business and stuff in life you want to do.  And, I think, all kinds of people you want to meet and experience.  And I love that about you, I really do.  But we don’t really fit into those plans… I don’t fit.  Like you said, long time.  What would our next move have been?  We’d have to have tried setting down roots.  And you aren’t ready.”

            “And you are,” she stated matter of factly.

            “Yes. No.” Jack paused, “I’m less sure of what I’m ready for now than I was then.  I think that I was rushing in one direction and you were rushing in another.”

            “And then I got the job.”

            “We were working on this stuff before the job.” Jack said.

            “But then we stopped working on it.”

            “Yeah.”

            “Still seems like my fault, like I gave up on us.  It was about me and what I wanted.”

            “It’s more an even blame thing, if you can even call it blame.  You didn’t give up on you and your dreams, and that’s what’s important.  That’s what makes it the right decision.  I’m glad you did it.”

            “Glad?”

            “Sometimes.”

            “Sometimes,” Carrie mused.