Don't Know What You Don't Got Til It's There

A few thoughts ran through my head after my parents sat us down and informed us that our house was going up for sale. I couldn't believe that soon I wouldn't be able to jump off the diving board into our Better Homes & Gardens swimming pool, the one fully equipped with the outer picket fence and polaris that shimmied through the water and removed any unsightly debris. I wondered how there could ever be a house to replace this one that would always be my childhood home. My mind passed through a few more thoughts along these lines, until I got to the one where I was scared that I would be pulled away from the girl I loved, the one I needed to be with.

It turned out that we would only be moving one block over, in the same neighborhood, going to the same schools, being with the same people. To my relief, I wouldn't have to lose her, wouldn't have to say goodbye, wouldn't have to make a last-second confession of my true feelings as we embraced in a farewell kiss amidst a suddenly appearing thunderstorm. Not in 13 years of my life had I felt something like this, and I didn't know how it could get any better.

She had it all. She was pretty. She was nice. She was pretty. I knew everything about her: her middle name, what period she had earth science, her favorite movie. I'd never told her how I felt, even though I knew deep down she felt the same. Maybe one day our love would bring us together.



We slowly made our way down the stairs among the masses of people trying to get outside and call for the nearest cab. I censored my real opinions when responding to my friends' questions about what I thought of the opera we'd just seen. It wasn't yet appropriate to say that I found the brass poorly tuned and the solo singers uninspired. That wasn't the bottom line of this night. What really mattered was that we'd just seen the opera, that it was something available for us to experience, and that we did it. In the end, that made the night a success.

A few nights later, these friends were among others gathered in my dining room. It was the second or third of what we hoped would become a tradition: Sunday dinner. It was an event I'd once spoken so fondly of as a staple of my Italian and Puerto Rican roots, something I'd done with my family in my days back home. These people wanted to experience that too. We were still getting to know each other, part of our own new family of aspiring Ph.D.'ers. Among the outstanding food, laughs, photographs, and stories of days past, it became apparent that we could have an invaluable scrapbook together 5 years down the road.

These were things I'd never felt were possible at a similar magnitude in my former city. There were many lonesome days there. I'm not going to lie: I was happy to say goodbye to that town. I'd long grown tired of knowing that about the half the time, the highlight of my slowly crawling day would be whenever I laughed at something said online.

It wasn't that I didn't meet great people there (because I did) or that I didn't find anything there for me (because I did). What happened was that through my occasional visits to the city I'd later call my home, I knew that any happiness I felt I had in my life at the time paled in comparison to what I could have when surrounded by a backdrop that better suited the needs of an inspired guy in his mid-twenties trying to find himself among a diverse culture he'd felt isolated from.



After I gained more years of life and maturity, I was able to laugh at myself and my distorted perceptions of love. To think that despite the warnings from my elders that 13-year-olds don't know what love is, I thought, exactly like everybody else did at the time, that I was like nobody else at the time. I was different.

Years later, with a far-different girl in a far-different life, I knew what it meant to love. I'd never seen that I needed to go beyond knowing what made her laugh and cry to WHY she was touched in those ways, what mattered enough to her to touch her soul. I'd never seen that I could find someone as beautiful lying pale sick in bed as when she'd spent 2 hours getting ready for our date. I'd never seen that many of the sacrifices I made for true love didn't seem at all like sacrifices at the time.

I never knew this until I had it.



When my friends from past lives have called to hear how I'm doing, I never fail to convey how refreshed I am to enjoy the present day. My situation today is what I've been saying I wanted for over a year now, and when the opportunity came for life to call my bluff, I didn't back down. I took the chance and am reaping the benefits.

It has nothing to do with feeling I'm doing something meaningful and special with my days. It has nothing to do with randomly bumping into Bob Dylan or Pootietang. It has nothing to do with the knowledge that I can essentially hear any music I want in a matter of months. It has nothing to do with walking by restaurants serving food I could only pray to experience. It has nothing to do with spending my days surrounded by people of all colors, names of origin, sexualities, ideals, outlooks, and personalities.

It has everything to do with knowing I'm taking full advantage of the entire package.



She called because she was concerned about me. I'd sent her an e-mail the night before and explained the bad news. He probably had cancer, but we'd find out in a few days. It was possible that this could be the last Christmas with him around.

I was taking the news rather well, she said. She'd heard me tell many stories about my grandfather and thought there'd probably be a void there if he were gone. She was right. Having lost my other grandfather when I was 8, he's the only grandfather I've known since I could appreciate those relationships. I'd miss him for sure.

She wondered why I didn't seem sad on the phone. It didn't sound like I was in denial or that I didn't love him. Neither statement would have been true. What happened is that when I'd moved into close-enough distance to him, I'd made the effort to make an ocasional visit. We had new memories and stories the rest of my family didn't share. I didn't know if one day there'd be cancer, but I did know that his funeral would have to come some day.

When we got the news about cancer, I didn't know if I'd see him for much longer, but I did know that I took advantage of the time I'd had. I'd never be satisfied, always wanting one more day with him, but I'd always have comfort in knowing that each present day would pass without regret. I wasn't ready to say goodbye, but if I had to, at least I'd know I did what I could.



I'd always heard you don't see what you've got until it's gone. It seemed to me that with the important things, I didn't see what I was missing until I found it. In the meantime, I'll just keep looking.

Just So You Know...

Almost done with my thesis.
Training for my first boxing match.
Move to New York late August.

Hope to find time and inspiration to write something soon.

Devolution

My hand continues to shake with vibrato after I hang up, maybe even more intensely than during the conversation itself. Over my head lingers a fear that I didn't just end a call, but rather a friendship I've come to realize I've grown more and more dependent on as of late. I am as confused as I've undoubtedly left her tonight. The past 48 hours have been absolutely surreal, staring into space, feeling numb-yet-tense, wanting everything to go into reverse and immediately fast forward simultaneously.

They tell me that the one you adore should be your best friend, but a feeling that is supposed to be bliss has turned into unresolved, unexplainable agony, partly because I've messed up the order of the adoration-best friend development. She and I will never be the same, this I know. Regardless of whether the change will be for better or worse, I had no choice. Maintaining the present status of our friendship would have been a mirage on my part, and this turmoil is a necessary encounter on my way to my only shot at genuine happiness. Who will be part of that happiness is yet to be determined.

I keep telling myself that the not-knowing, the to-be-determined, stuck-in-the-middle pain is the worst. It gets better. It has to get better. That's why I'm doing this, but it doesn't change the fact that I miss her heart and genuineness already.



She sends me a message to let me know she's arrived home safely. I'm happy to receive the message. I don't demand that she check in with me like this on a daily basis; it's just something we’ve gradually grown accustomed to doing. This casual conversation is part of my typical night, as this good friend of mine is always the one who wishes me goodnight as I end my day. If we don't converse at any point during a day, it feels as though we have lots of catching up to do the next day.

I'm willing to talk with her about anything, even the uncomfortable situations I swore couldn't be a part of our talks. I felt that I had to uplift the restrictions out of respect of the friendship. She shows a genuine investment in my life. The feeling is mutual. We value the same things not just in life, but in each other. Hers has really become one of the best, and most surprising, friendships I've ever had.

I'm still excitable over my fun-filled weekend, so I'm a little worked up with energy tonight. I'm even more sarcastic than usual, making her laugh and gasp left and right from my wisecracks. Somehow-- the reason escapes me-- the conversation gets a little risque. Through the course of this change of pace, she lets out a secret, though her withholding of this information seems partly premeditated, partly incidental.

Even though she considers the situation rather minor, this is pretty big news I'm hearing, the news of her and this boy, from someone whom I'd normally assume I know every hour about. But what is going on here? Wait... what?

What is this?

I can't see straight because of the dizziness. The skin on my face tingles. I may have to vomit later. My eyes guard themselves by hiding in my protective hands. On the outside, I am stone, while inside my mind is scrambling at an overwhelming speed. My body is now my preoccupation. What's happened? Why do I feel like this? Why have I suddenly succumbed to feelings of horror, dread, and sorrow?

Oh shit. I know what this means.



I’m finishing the cookies she made me. A few days ago, a small brown package awaited me at my doorstep. She told me she'd make me any kind of cookies I want, and apparently she backs up her word. In my mouth now is sugary, peanut buttery wonderment. This is apparently her way of thanking me for being a good friend, and my stuffed face is in no position to argue at this point.

She tells me that she likes to send little thoughts of hello and care to her friends. No wonder she is liked by so many people; she lets the people that matter in her life know that they do. Today I see a simple online message from her that praises my awesomeness and how awesome it is to be someone as awesome as myself. The note makes me laugh.

This is exactly what I needed today. Things just fell apart with the woman I've been seeing. She doesn't know about this news yet; it's just good timing that she wanted to send me a surprise just as I need a little solace. I know I'll be ok, but I certainly feel better after this gesture.

She calls me after she hears the news, offering to be an open ear and to instill any optimism in me should I need it. This is quite a surprise. We don't really talk live voice-to-voice all that often, both of us being very schedule-heavy people, though we keep pretty steady contact through e-mail and AIM. I let her know that I accept what has happened between me and the woman, but it's good to know there's one more person I can depend on should I need to vent over the next few days. I wish I could return the favor regarding her pain, but it would be a sticky situation consoling the girl who was once dating my buddy.

Her words are comforting. She gets me. We've always seen eye-to-eye on the important things in life. I'm glad someone understands and appreciates where I'm coming from.

She's a good friend. I think I'll keep her around.



I tell her of our plans to fly down for the annual festivities, but we've yet to secure any accommodations. She solves one dilemma by offering to pick us up from the airport. That will work. She knows my buddy from a former life in a manner far more intimate than she's ever known me, but she gives me her phone number in case I need to call when I arrive.

She opens the trunk and steps out of the car to greet us. I give her a novel, but still appropriate, hug as my hello, and we are on our way. My goal here is to get drunk around some good people. I don't see a problem in my company accommodating.

She and I chat periodically between sips of beer. We're joking about tube tops and horrible 80s music. Sometimes when you don't know someone on a terribly deep level, you rely on some of the inside jokes you share to inject adrenaline into the conversation. Regardless of whether we're the closest of friends, we're capable of having a good time together. This is fun.

I miss it down here. She tells me I should come back. Beyond that, she entices me with some plans I'd love to be a part of. I may very well come down and meet up with her for that. There's no mention of my buddy being a part of that proposed trip, as more time apart has made things there slightly awkward. I suppose I'm no longer a third wheel. I guess she and I are no longer just secondhand acquaintances. It's always cool to figure out you have a new friend.



She looks pretty much as I remember, but this could just be guesswork on my part. As good as I am with remembering details, I'm bad at remembering faces, and hers only elicits a vague, minor click in my head. Either way, she's nice enough as far as I remember. I wasn’t sure if she was still on good terms with my buddy, the one she was dating until timing and distance interfered, but apparently things are okay between them. This should be good night.

My buds and I are tossing Blue Moon and obscure 80s band references at an alarming rate. This entertains her to no end, as she leans to the side in laughter more than once. She even takes part in a joke now and then. She's a good sport and carefree enough to have a good time with us.

I sit on the porch feeling slightly dehydrated the next morning. The sliding glass door is being pulled open. She sits in the opposite chair, and we stir up a conversation. I tell her about my current studies, my passion for boxing, the new woman in my life, all the standard stuff. She fills me in on her current studies, her home life, her love of the water and fresh fish, and everything else that gives me a better perspective of what she's all about.

Beyond the story, I see a smart, inspired, accomplished young woman who doesn't take herself too seriously. She seems pretty cool. I'd like to keep in touch and see how things turn out for her. The feeling is mutual. We exchange e-mail addresses.



He nudges my shoulder and points in the distance toward this girl about 50 yards away. This is interrupting my double-fisting of cheap beer, but since he's sort of seeing this girl, we might as well do the courteous thing and meet up as we wait for the game to start. I'm sure she'll turn out to be a nice person.

She's pretty cute: nice tan, athletic-toned, good head of long, brown, wavy hair. When my buddy introduces me to her, I can see a good smile behind her timidity. I'm fine with her being somewhat quiet. That's my nature as well when I meet someone new.

I try to avoid feeling like a third wheel as we chat in our self-made triangle, but she's fine with me being here. I'm happy to be back in Florida, and I can tell she's happy to meet a new person, even if we don't have much to go on regarding conversation. Before you know it, it's time for me to leave and find my seat for the game.

Later she gives us a ride to the airport when our trip reaches its close. I tell her it was nice to meet her, thank her for the ride, and leave to check in for my flight. I tell my buddy that, though I didn't really get to know her that well, she seems like a good enough girl. Overall, this was a pleasant, but admittedly insignificant, encounter. I doubt I'll ever see her again.

Time

A student one row in front calls my name as I'm hanging my coat over the back of my chair. She proceeds to ask me a few general questions about getting an internship. I give her thorough but efficient answers but am forced to elaborate further when the girl to her right chimes in with a couple of follow-ups. I tell them how many hours I've done a week, when I started on my thesis, when I planned things out with my advisor, how many shits I take a day. Everyone wants to know how I'm on track to finish the program in 2 years, considering 1 person has done it since they extended the coursework.

When my professor is ready to start her lecture, the girls turn their chairs back toward the front. I space out during lecture, figuring out what I'm going to have for dinner, trying to think of another Chuck Norris quote, reminding myself to let a friend know who I bumped into earlier. I'm just going through the motions for these required classes until I graduate. I have plenty of work to do; why dedicate time to courses I'm only in because I have to take them (espcially ones where she gives us the questions to the exam beforehand)?

When lecture runs its course, I get up and leave my chair. There's a student waiting for me at the door. She thanks me for my help on an assessment of hers and updates me on her work-related issue we had recently discussed. I was happy to hear that things were resolved peacefully. We part at the bottom of the stairs: she to the parking lot, I to the library. I need to finish this last problem on my statistics assignment.

After I save the completed assignment on my USB card, I walk to my car and head home. I'm tired. I lean back in my computer chair and chat online with a good friend as I unwind after another Wednesday. Then I go to my bedroom and turn off the lights on another day.



The first space directly in front of the restaurant door is free. I turn my car into it and head to the door for some genuine latino lunch. There's an extra kick to my step. I've been craving this food for a while now but just hadn't managed to make the 20-minute drive here to get it. Today I'm in the mood for the roast pork with rice and beans. The little Dominican gentleman at the counter gives me a welcoming grin and puts on his glasses as he gets ready to master the cash register. I go through my order in spanish, idenitifying my choice of meal, what kind of rice I want, and what I'll have to drink.

He responds to me in spanish. I furrow my brow.

He says the same thing, only slightly slower. I got about half of it. Something about it being "here." I figure out that he's asking if I want it "for here or to go." He then asks me another question. I get frustrated and switch to English. I feel a little sheepish and just want to hurry up and pay for my food.

My spanish has regressed a bit lately, I suppose. I haven't been practicing with my old Simpsons dvds. Come to think of it, when was the last time I'd even been here ordering in spanish from my favorite cafe? This couldn't have been my first time back in 2006. I used to come at least once a week!



On the morning drive to internship, another song is selected at random from my ipod. I press the skip button because I'm not particularly in the mood for that song. The next one I've heard too many times, so I skip that one too. I don't even like that next one. What's it even doing on my ipod? Talk radio suddenly seems like a better alternative to skipping through the same songs over and over.

Later when I tell another friend of mine what bands I think she'd like, she informs me that I already gave her those artists. Apparently I don't have much new to offer her. The newest songs I've discovered are ones I got from a friend earlier this year. I haven't been celebrating New CD Day lately. I try to justify this by saying I have plenty of music to choose from, but that excuse is promptly rejected.

"You told me you can never stop finding music that'll change your life," is exactly how she called me out.

It's true that I was fooling myself. Maybe I should find some time to take a trip to Best Buy. I miss New CD Day.



My buddy calls me to let me know he's turning the corner of my parking lot and will be out front in about 45 seconds. I hang up the phone and get ready to meet him at the door. This will be a good visit. We have lots of grilling to catch up on, considering we haven't really been able to hang out for a while.

I open my apartment door and have to avoid stepping on the package that has awaited me. I tear open the manilla envelope as I go down the stairs. What am I getting in the mail from some company whose name I don't recognize? My question is answered just as I make it down to greet my friend. I show him that I finally got the replacement box to my Simpsons dvd collection. I had ordered it maybe 2 months before and had long forgotten about it.

This brings back memories of sitting in my dorm room with the other guys from our floor, watching Simpsons episodes I had taped during my youth (this was just before Fox made my lifelong efforts obsolete with its seasonal dvd compilations). I throw some random Simpsons quotes into the conversation for old time's sake. It's a little bittersweet to remember how often I watched those tapes. I can't remember when I put one in for the hell of it. Last week I even missed an episode, even though I was in the apartment at the time. I got sidetracked on the computer.

I update him on my upcoming start at John Jay, how the old people are treating me in Harrisburg, that I'm no longer particularly interested in meeting older women... all the important aspects of my evolution. We make some phenomenal lemon pepper wings and sit to watch the Gators play for a spot in the Sweet Sixteen.

I'm only watching for fun and for the Gators, I tell him, because my bracket is all but busted. I've been in first or second in every NCAA bracket since college, but this year I'll be lucky to finish in the top half of my pool. When I printed out my bracket before the tournament, I sighed and realized it would all be pure guesswork. I just didn't keep track of college basketball this year.

I'm really enjoying being able to sit back and watch my team play. Perhaps I should do this more often.



There isn't any reason to be nervous about this site visit. I know my supervisor likes me and won't tell my professor anything too incriminating. I take my professor to our office, where my supervisor already has 3 chairs set up. We go through a little small talk-- my professor knows my supervisor from the many visits she's made checking on interns-- before my evaluation begins.

Everything goes about as expected. I'm allowed to chime in about how I've been working hard and have been pleasantly surprised by the variety of work I've gotten here. My supervisor lists for my professor the same strengths he's indirectly told me he's seen in me these last few months. When the time comes for constructive criticism, he jokes that he's failed to get me a dead body to put my future profiling skills to task.

He then positions himself so that he's moreso speaking to me than to my professor. He emphasizes to me that he has a little concern about my egghead habits during slow times in the office. I initially wonder if it's a joke, considering that his criticism is that I, at times, get entrenched in my studies too much. How is that a bad thing?

He elaborates that he doesn't want me to miss out on some good things out there, and that sometimes people can get lost in the game of life because they are too busy with their head in the middle of an opened book.

The site visit is a complete success. On my drive home, I mildly chuckle-- the arrogant bastard I am-- that my supervisor thinks I may need to work on NOT working so hard. Then I think about the little joys in my life, and how some of them have hit the backburner lately. This is just a temporary place for them, I assume, but sometimes change can be so sneakingly gradual that you don't notice you've lost track of what you like about yourself.

I decide that I want to be a good worker but not to the detriment of who I am as a person. As long as I like who I am, there's no need to change... only to enhance. I'm once again shuffling through the same tunes on my ipod, and it hits me that the sly 73-year-old loudmouth that calls himself my supervisor has a point: I can maintain a solid work ethic while keeping track of the things I enjoy in life, be they treating myself to a meal, discovering a new musician, catching a basketball game, or expressing myself through written word.