If not shared?
If not shared?
My tarnished love story, written three years ago. Because I believe none of us are perfect, and therefore, neither are our relationships.
I was a dumb cluck from cornfield country. She was a stone-cold beauty from the East Coast. Now, there’s a pair for you.
Why he liked her so much was hard to figure. She was mean–hard to get along with; demanded Marvin’s full attention, morning, noon, and night. Marvin brought Janie flowers, pretty things, but, it never seemed to matter. At work, Marv was always borrowing money; because he never had any. Maybe he thought that was the way relationships were supposed to be?
God forbid Marvin ever looked at another woman–even, for a casual glance. When he did, Janie pummeled his arms and shoulders with flailing fists. He had to have a high tolerance level. Was Janie that insecure–jealous of other women? There’s supposed to be someone for everyone. What had Marvin done to deserve her?
When Marvin worked late, Janie was a nervous wreck until his car pulled into the driveway. He always called home before leaving work. They fought like cats and dogs, but when Janie was sick, Marv was always there by her side. Nobody knew what went on behind closed doors. Their private lives were kept private.
The Revelation: Janie had been a former Vegas “showgirl”–if you could call it that. “The Swan” was a seedy, obsequious dive bar–with obligatory flashing lights, plenty of cigarette smoke and loud music–hidden in the bowels of Las Vegas. It was just close enough to the strip, to siphon off drifters from the mainstream and stay in business. Christened, “The Swan,” because the managing partner’s name was Schwann, not because it had anything to do with Swan Lake–or anything cultural.
The Miracle: Was, that they ever got together in the first place. Janie danced at The Swan, because that was all she had. The shame, less important than necessities of life, she desperately needed. She lived a distorted, Machiavellian, nightmare of what life should be.
Through thick-bottomed drink glasses, Janie was every guy’s ideal woman–worthy of stuffed, sweaty, dollar bills, donated by countless, faceless, nameless men, ascending/descending from emotional highs and lows–in various stages of self-control.
Marvin nodded off into semi-consciousness that night, until his head hit the table. Then, he became just another bottom-feeder, milked dry, tossed out and left for dead. “Nighty night–sleep tight,” The bouncer mocked.
The next thing Marv remembered was waking up in the back alley. “I know I heard “Jingle Bells’ playing somewhere,” Marv said. “Or, more likely, it was my throbbing head.” That’s when Janie walked out the back door. Marvin’s clothes were damp, dirty, and disgusting. He was pitiful in a sad, floppy-eared puppy dog sort of way.
She took pity on me–bought me a cup of coffee at the diner across the street. She told me right up front, it wasn’t going any further. I asked the same question, she heard every night in the bar. How’d a pretty girl like you, end up in a place like this? She turned the question right around. How had I ended up thrown out of a Vegas bar in an alley?
I answered, It was because I was a hopeless screw-up. It was a moment of brutal truth–the first time I’d been honest with myself, or any one else, in my life. The funniest part–we toasted, first to mutual failures, then to hopeless screw-ups. I didn’t have a dime to my name, but I sure felt better.
We had a lot in common, as it turned out. She was running away from abusive home life with an alcoholic father. I’d been kicked out of the house, by my father, at nineteen to sink or swim. At that moment, I knew I loved Janie. If given the chance, some day I’d ask her to marry me.
From what Marvin told me, their courtship was a bit like a Hollywood movie script. The bar’s owner didn’t want Janie to quit; had her followed–made life miserable. I suspected there was more to that part of the story and he wished to keep it secret. Love always found a way, so they met secretly at different locations; like underworld spies, or refugees from a war-torn world.
Marvin sat at a table near the entrance of one pre-determined location. Janie came in a few moments later; sat at an adjoining table. “You know–I once sprained my elbow,” Was Marv’s opening line. It was finest cloak-and-dagger, old-time movie dialogue. “Daffodils bloom in the springtime,” Janie answered. To which Marvin asked, “Did you know bats slept upside down?” Janie opened her purse, took out a white handkerchief. They walked out together, laughing at their private jokes–played out to perfection.
Their Escape: Janie and Marvin’s escape from “Sin City” was, no less intriguing. Highlighted by a two-day exile in an abandoned basement; hiding from some unsavory characters. It ended with a four-day bus ride to middle Tennessee. They didn’t know a soul there. Marvin hoped to land a job at a nearby auto assembly plant. Janie was hired to wait tables at a local mom and pop eatery.
Marvin and I started work the same day, working swing shifts as janitors, for a starting wage of 2.35 per hour–extra for nights and weekends. It was good money for a couple of young guys with no experience. What I learned about Marv and Janie, came from working together at Chrysler for 38 years. There were occasional encounters with Janie at the supermarket. They stayed pretty much close to home.
Both of them are gone now. I feel their presence every day–especially when I see young couples in love, laughing at private little jokes. Soul mates, lovers–whatever you choose to call them; neither, could have survived without the other.
My first impressions were very wrong. Janie went first–passed away in Marvin’s arms. Marv passed away nine years later. I was there to bid my friend goodbye. When death knocked at the door–theirs was the only way to go; surrounded by those that loved them most.
On this day
Of the heavens
When two paths
Merged into one
When you and me
Happy Valentine’s Day!
He always said hurtful things
That came from feeling feckless and angry
There was good and bad in everything–Doris thought
Searched the pages–read between lines and wrinkles
Until they looked elsewhere for what was missing in each other’s eyes
What good was a kingdom without the freedom to do what Dwight wanted?
He made compromises, because it was the only way to make things work
The way we were was the way we were; why we said the things we said
They made mistakes–fell far short of perfection
Had each other, that was enough
He’d follow Doris anywhere
Infant clasped in mother’s arms
The last time, it was Bob Dole, that crashed my dreams. This morning, Pope Francis was there. Along with some of the higher ranking cardinals on his staff. I’m not Catholic, so I’m not versed in church hierarchy.
Right before, I woke up–they were in my bedroom; standing beside my bed, talking. A flock (word choice?) of eight or nine cardinals, found room to mill about and chat. My bedroom isn’t small, but it isn’t conference room size, either.
The group ran out of topics to discuss, made their way to the door. It was a lot like, parishioners, departing, after regular Sunday Mass; complimenting the Good Father, for meaningful words, and wishing him well.
It was departing words, between Pope Francis, and his most-trusted staff member–that I found most compelling. Right before exiting–Pope Frances, gave him a hug and said, “I love you. ” The Cardinal answered–without hesitation, “I love you, too–Brother.”
Many people have no concept of what the word “love” really means. The powerful four-letter word, pulsed through my body, like an electric shock. No further explanation was needed.
At that moment, I knew Pope Francis’s words, were honest, genuine–from the heart. I answered back, “I love you–Brother,” and meant every word.
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