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Tuesday, June 1, 2010

Brian 3

Soon after Brian returned to Atlanta they took the opportunity to head to the north Georgia mountains together. Mac met Brian at his home and they drove together listening to that new age music Brian had a knack for finding. Talking came so easy when they were together so the two hour drive was over in no time at all.

When they arrived at Brian's Blue Ridge home he made sure Mac followed him to where the key was kept and how to turn the water on under the house. They stopped on the front porch while Brian explained that the upside down skate board on the porch railing was part of his security system. Old men on skateboard jokes now became part of the regular repartee along with the ones about the nine year olds that required running over with bikes. Brian was adamant that Mac would need to know where everything was and how to get it all going for when he brought Clay and Harrison, or any other of his friends, to the cabin.

They stayed longer in Blue Ridge than planned, partly because the soaring temperatures in Atlanta discouraged them from returning but mostly because they wanted to. Brian had expressed how he did his best thinking at the cabin and Mac came to understand that too. There was something about being in the clear air, or being away from Atlanta and the strife of his fallenness, or away from the hectic schedule of work. On the other hand, Mac was beginning to think more that his brain was simply clearer when Brian was around.

One of the early morning outings they took was to Jack Falls. They never made it. Somewhere along the way they took a wrong turn on one of the poorly marked forestry roads but that didn’t matter. To each of them the company was more important than the destination. While Brian drove his Nissan Pathfinder along stony roads, Mac happily videoed and photographed the day as it went by.



The idea of getting lost in the north Georgia Mountains turned into a big joke. Mac shared with Brian a story that Harrison had told him in which the punch line was that if you hear banjo music you’d better paddle faster. Brian’s chortle was infectious and soon they were both laughing about what could happen to them if they were truly lost.

At one point, long after they realized that they were on the wrong road to get to where they had planned they saw a sign for lakeside camping ground and opted to head there to see what could be seen. A stroll around the lake was wonderful. They talked easily about everything and once again Mac found he could listen to Brian all day long. As he had in Florida, Brian guided them along the trail with commentary about intricate details. Here he pointed out plant species, their growing habits, and the similarities and differences between the plants. Mac watched Brain closely and caught himself on more than one occasion that afternoon daydreaming about the two of them. Whenever Brian caught Mac looking at him he’d just smile back and continue his botanical dissertation.

When they returned to the vehicle it was discovered that the front passenger side tire was flat. Brian initially thought that Mac, in the spirit of the day, was joking. The two of them tried as they might to get that flat tire off the car using the standard equipment but they found it impossible. Mac in his usual imitable style attempted all kinds of solutions to the situation using whatever could be found in the trunk and a MacGyver-like attitude. Nothing worked so as the day was fading Brian went off to find someone in the campground who could help.

“Beware of Banjo music,” Mac called out as Brian disappeared through the woods. Brian’s gentle chuckle could be heard by at least three squirrels that all ceased from their activity and held their little hands together in a still and silent prayer for safety and quick solutions. Mac wondered what this feeling was that overcame him as Brian was swallowed up by the darkening woods. Was this loneliness? How was it that he missed his friend in such a short time? Mac dismissed the emotion and walked around the parking lot picking up other people’s trash just as his father would have done.

Before the end of that day three more tires on the vehicle were torn to shreds by the unreasonably large stones some incompetent person had decided to put down on the road. This of course meant that the two men found themselves sitting in the car on a remote track as the light faded in the sky above the trees. The only way to deal with the visions of bears coming out of the woods and crawling over the car was to joke about whether they would prefer A grade American meat or the finer imported Australian flesh. Discussions also included the best way to ration the water and the hundreds of energy bars that Brian always had in his car.

As they talked Mac could still see the matchless blue of Brian’s eyes. Moments of catching the other’s eyes were followed by lingering smiles and each discovered new comfort in knowing each other, of being able to look deep into the face of his friend and not need to turn away. Mac’s heart was falling for this man and he was certain the feeling was mutual. But he had no idea what to do about it.


As the last remnants of light were sailing from the sky their solitude was interrupted by the arrival of an AAA truck ready to haul them back to Blue Ridge and perhaps to reality. Well, at least to another more ordinary reality. As the lunatic driver sped through the mountains the roads seemed so much more treacherous than when Brian had been driving. The harrowing journey back to town was barely enough distraction for Mac to wonder what would have happened, to hope about what could have happened, had they been stranded over night.

The few remaining days at the cabin were kept simple; a float in the lake each afternoon, a stroll down main street, pizza at Blue Jeans. Future plans included another cabin retreat in July while Mac was on vacation from school and then some days at the beach on the Gulf in the few days prior to Thanksgiving. Mac worked hard to convince Brian that they should take a trip to Australia together in the following summer.

“When you go back, you don’t need the complication of a man in tow.” Brian’s response was adamant. And wise. As much as Mac would have liked to take Brian back with him he figured there was only so much his sons, parents, siblings, and friends would cope with. It would be the first time that Mac would return to Australia since his separation and consequent divorce and that would be challenging in its own right, let alone the whole coming out thing. And to take a man with whom you are exploring a romantic relationship with would be unfathomable, at least for the first visit. Brian agreed that he’d make the trans-Pacific journey at a later time.

In the lead-up to their planned retreat to the cabin there were the typical days between phone calls. One dinner somewhere together one night when Mac was too tired from a hectic day in the classroom was the only face to face moment. Both were glad to have even that evening together as short as it was. The physical contact was more tender than on previous dates albeit an extra long hug with a whispered “love you” to each other before Mac climbed into his car and drove home to get a good night’s rest in preparation for the next day. Later at a graveside he would regret not pushing himself harder to get more time with Brian no matter how he felt.

Sometimes there were extended times between actual conversation between the two men. They’d leave messages on the other’s voice mail or write a quick email but Mac knew that Brian was all over the place for his work and life and didn’t tie himself to a desk with a phone and a computer with internet access. Neither of them believed in the sovereignty of the phone. They’d often ignore their phone ringing when in conversation with someone who shared a physical space at the same time. People with them were always more important than people somewhere else. The only exception to this that Mac had was if Brian called but it seemed that Brian could only get to a phone during the day when he could get a moment away from his mother while she had a nurse with her and while Mac was at work. It was frustrating but Mac didn’t feel the need to be impatient about developing a relationship. After all, they had years ahead of them.

Sunday, May 23, 2010

Brian 2

So met Brian and Mac. Two hours later they were still sitting together talking as if they'd known each other much longer. By the time they decided to go and get dinner at a nearby restaurant they were fast friends. Kindred spirits. In an ancient book there is a story of two men whose spirits were Knitted together. Knots tied so securely that they wouldn't, couldn't come undone. Brothers bound with something stronger than blood.

Over the following months, between the shared meals, walks and coffees, Brian had taken more frequent trips back to his parents home in Florida to care for his aged and sick father. Eventually Brian stayed on for weeks until his Dad passed away. During this time Mac's and Brian's communicaes were limited to text messages, voice messages and short phone calls when Brian was out of the house. The occasional email to one another expressed their desire to be nearer to each other and to be able to talk while looking at the others face. A longing developed, an affirmation that they suited each other and that they enjoyed being in the company of the other.

His father's death was hard on Brian. He had worked diligently to be the best carer possible, bringing comfort and strength to what can only be described as an agonizing journey toward death for his dad. Brian expressed to Mac that he simply wanted to return the love and care his father had given him as a child.

Mac was almost surprised when Brian asked him to go to the beach house at Inlet Beach with him right after his father's funeral. Mac had initially declined not knowing what such an invitation actually meant but he agreed to think about it overnight. Brian's gentle and persuasive words worked. And the next day Mac was taking the eight something hour drive toward the Gulf of Mexico. Brian's voice was clearly happy as Mac called to say he was on the way and he'd be there that afternoon.

Their embrace upon Mac's arrival was sweet. Mac had forgotten what good hugs Brian gave and he hoped that Brian thought the same. "Mmm, good hug," said Brian, and went for another one.

Their days at the beach were filled with good times. The comfort that two men can enjoy in simply remaining quiet in each others company is a rare thing. They shared that comfort. But don't begin to imagine that's all they did.

They spent butt numbing hours riding bikes at an easy, cruising speed around the neighborhoods adjoining one another in the maze of expensive and delightful homes along the beachfront. Brian led the way pointing out one style after another, highlighting architectural features on various homes, pointing out the discrepancies in building code adhesion and so on. Whenever they came to a corner where there was the danger of a pedestrian stepping out in front of them Brian whistled cheerfully as a warning that worked most of the time. One particular incident gave rise to the ongoing joke about looking for nine year old girls for Brian to run over with his bike.

That short vacation for Mac was one of the most liberating times he'd ever experienced. Brian had Mac floating in the Gulf of Mexico for the first time ever and took pictures of him laying on the sand as the waves pushed sand up his swimming costume. Brian was the first person that Mac was able to confide in about so much. Jill, fatherhood, his concern about Clay not wanting to talk to him, new singleness, a future. Brian listened.

Brian took pictures of Mac to send back to Clay and Harrison. He wanted to make sure there was plenty of contact between the father and his sons. In hindsight it was perhaps a deep reflection of Brian's desire to hear from his father. Never the less, the time at the beach was too short really and Mac drove back to life in Atlanta while Brian stayed on for a few more days. They were the last days that Brian spent at his beloved father's beach house with the white walls and the seats on the roof and among the mature gnarly trees.

Saturday, May 15, 2010

Brian 1

The wind blew cold across the silent graves. It wasn't meant to be this way. Somewhere in heaven, or hell, there was laughter.  A sick joke.

Mac stared at the little box that contained all there was left of his best friend's body. Such a big man reduced to so little. And cardboard. If it had been up to him he would have made sure that Brian's ashes were in something more fitting of a creative vibrant man. Brass, pottery, carved wood. Goodness, were the brothers so detached and insensitive that they were unable to even notice the exquisite taste with which Brian had decorated his life? And now they put him in a little cardboard box not unlike the ones you get when you buy a cheap mug from a one dollar gift store.

The green velvet cloth under the box flapped in the wind. Mac so much wanted to open the box and throw the ashes upward to be caught in the airflow but he knew that Brian would have wanted to be put in the earth next to his sweet mother. Someone else must have decided the box was too cheap to look at and they rearranged everything on the pedestal so that the cloth was now completely covering the box and the top half of the columnar pedestal - one of those cheap looking ones funeral homes seem to specialize in.

This was so wrong on so many levels. Brian and Mac had planned to spend the weekend - a long weekend - in the mountains. They both looked forward to getting away from Atlanta and back to the sanity and serenity the cabin offered. No such serenity now as Mac's mind swirled around the thoughts that now plagued him. How much he missed his friend.

"Damn," thought Mac, "should have worn another layer. Is it always this cold in Tallahassee?" The chill wind went straight for the bones.

Barely ten months prior to the funeral, Mac sat in a crowded Starbucks in Midtown. It was one of those drives he forced himself on after Jill had left. He knew he had to get out of the house or he'd rot so sitting in unknown coffee houses was the solution. At least it wasn't a bar. Caffeine didn't kill the loneliness any more than alcohol would have but at least it gave him a bit of a buzz and he could drive himself home.

The coffee shop was full. Mac found himself at a small table with two chairs alone and there he was sipping his cappuccino. He noticed a tall man walk in wearing a blue shirt. "Nice color," Mac had thought at the time, "matches his eyes." The stranger bought a cup of green tea served obscurely in a disposable cup and turned around to look for somewhere to sit. There was but one empty chair in the place. He moved toward Mac and asked if he minded if he occupied the chair.

So met Brian and Mac. Two hours later they were still sitting together talking as if they'd known each other much longer. By the time they decided to go and get dinner at a nearby restaurant they were fast friends, kindred spirits. In an ancient book there is a story of two men whose spirits were knitted together. Knots tied so securely that they would not, could not, come undone. Brothers bound with something stronger than blood.

Sunday, May 9, 2010

Do You Love Me Enough? 3

She sat on the love seat, he on the sofa at right angles to her. This was good, Mac thought, no direct face to face contact. Conversation began again about her arrangements for going back to Australia, how it fitted in with what was “best for them all”, and how the boys really did need them back 'home.' Screaming out inside, but this is home, Mac remained calm on the exterior, like a white washed wall against a thunderous sky. Then it came. The question.

"Do you love me enough to come back to Australia when it's time?" Her voice seemed to come from somewhere else. Mac wondered for a moment about Jill’s question.

His first thought was that it came from her insecurity, from that place in her that never seemed to get enough of the love that she craved. It hadn’t mattered that Mac diligently said he loved her at least three times every day. He never left the house without kissing her goodbye, never came home without kissing her again, always said goodnight with a kiss, and each occasion was accompanied by the words, “I love you”. It didn’t matter that they held hands just about every time they went walking together or sat with arms around and draped on each other when they sat in church or watched a movie or shared a sofa at the home of friends. No, she always looked for more affirmation than all that and so she had asked often before whether he loved her or not. But this time was different. The question was marked with an addend, an appendix, a suffix of sorts.

Next his thoughts went toward her tendency to want to control a conversation and thereby the situation. It could have been her way of collecting evidence to be used later. If he answered yes then she could later recall “But you said…” He’d lost many arguments before with that kind of trap. Mac didn’t want to fall into her snare again but at the same time he knew he needed to be truthful.

Mac decided in an instant that it didn’t matter what Jill’s motivation was although he suspected he knew the question’s point of origin. He heard himself answer.

"Of course I do."

Despite himself and all that was in him he actually meant it. He did love her enough to go anywhere for her. He had been willing to go along with the plan to go back despite how he felt. But it was more than that. Although their intimacies had grown less and their love making gone stale he knew that he did love her deeply. Somewhere in his gut he knew it but he didn't feel it. What was that the preachers had said countless times - love is an act of the will and not an emotion? He could love Jill that way, he had for years. Simply an act of the will: a set of activities sequenced in such a way to give the appearance of love in the desperate hope she'd fall for it. Mac was beginning to think that the nature of her question was a hint that she realized that he was merely acting in love instead of feeling it. Besides, he was going to stick to the plan.

"Yes, I love you and the boys enough to go back to Australia." As if reiterating it would make it more believable. It didn’t work on himself so he doubted it worked on her.

She stared at him. Jill was trying to decipher her husband. He had become very difficult to read lately. Actually ever since his diagnosis and subsequent deliverance from depression three years ago he was somehow changed and she hadn't known this man. Firmer, assertive to all, except her in bed, and yet more guarded. She had wondered if he had something to hide but she had concluded that he was merely allowing himself to be less vulnerable.

"But that's an unfair question." Mac’s voice was calm. She stared. She hadn't counted on this. Her reckoning was that he'd leave it at his answer to her question and not ask anything back. That's how it had been for years. She'd ask. He'd answer. End of conversation as long as she had made her point. But this was unexpected.

"Do you love me enough to stay?" Mac's skin prickled much like those who have been struck by lightning say they felt right before it happened. The smell of ozone could almost be detected in the atmosphere of the living room.

"No, I don't."

She hadn't even stopped to think about it.

Experts tell us that it takes years to build up impenetrable walls within us. Family of origin issues, bullying at school, lowered self esteem during pimple ridden teen years, betrayal by friends, terrible bosses with unrealistic expectations. Bad experience after bad experience, brick by brick the walls are raised. That instant Mac knew that all the theories were wrong. Massive structures of steel and concrete came out of nowhere - he wasn't sure if they'd been lowered from above like theatrical flats that instantly change the scenery on the stage or if they had sprung up from the dark earth below. Thump. There they were. Mac found himself in a thick walled fortress and he knew he'd never let her in again.

He looked across the room at her and noticed her mouth was moving as if to speak. He heard nothing but had the vague sense that she was trying to work her way out of the hole she had just dug with her tongue. That was okay. It's not as if she would ever say sorry. That had never been her style and Mac doubted she'd begin a new habit now.

Jill got up and moved into the kitchen. Mac's coffee sitting on the end table at his left hand had gone cold.

Sunday, April 25, 2010

Do You Love Me Enough? 2

Do You Love Me Enough? 2

“They’re up to something.” Who said it they couldn’t remember, they were too busy scrambling through the house in search of the boys. On discovering the back door open they then understood that Clay was tall enough to reach a formerly unreachable handle. Jill also understood the heart and gut wrenching sensation when a mother suspects her children may be in danger. Mac figured they’d be playing in the yard somewhere.

Both parents moved toward the gate that led to the front of the house. If it had been open…

Just by the gate was the sand box that Mac had thrown together with his primitive wood working skills. It was just a rudimentary box on legs, made from salvaged lumber after the builders had finished their house, so that the boys could stand and play with their trucks and diggers in the sand.

Clay and Harrison were there. Clay was clearly in control of the game. He had Harrison standing face down in the sand and had built ramps of sand up the side of his face so that toy cars could be driven over the now sandy head of his little brother. Harrison stood upright when he heard the muffled sound of his parents’ laughter. His ears were filled with sand. His little eyes blinked away the gobs of tear stained sand and his tongue worked hard to expel as much of it as possible from his mouth. Diaper changing for days after was a terrible task but the event was always viewed with such hilarity. Afternoons were like that.

But not of late. Not today.

She sat on the love seat, he on the sofa at right angles to her. This was good, Mac thought, no direct face to face contact. Conversation began again about her arrangements for going back to Australia, how it fitted in with what was “best for them all”, and how the boys really did need them back 'home.' Screaming out inside, but this is home, Mac remained calm on the exterior, like a white washed wall against a thunderous sky. Then it came. The question.

"Do you love me enough to come back to Australia when it's time?" Her voice seemed to come from somewhere else. Mac wondered for a moment about Jill’s question.

His first thought was that it came from her insecurity, from that place in her that never seemed to get enough of the love that she craved. It hadn’t mattered that Mac diligently said he loved her at least three times every day. He never left the house without kissing her goodbye, never came home without kissing her again, always said goodnight with a kiss, and each occasion was accompanied by the words, “I love you”. It didn’t matter that they held hands just about every time they went walking together or sat with arms around and draped on each other when they sat in church or watched a movie or shared a sofa at the home of friends. No, she always looked for more affirmation than all that and so she had asked often before whether he loved her or not. But this time was different. The question was marked with an addend, an appendix, a suffix of sorts.

Next his thoughts went toward her tendency to want to control a conversation and thereby the situation. It could have been her way of collecting evidence to be used later. If he answered yes then she could later recall “But you said…” He’d lost many arguments before with that kind of trap. Mac didn’t want to fall into her snare again but at the same time he knew he needed to be truthful.

Mac decided in an instant that it didn’t matter what Jill’s motivation was although he suspected he knew the question’s point of origin. He heard himself answer.

Tuesday, April 20, 2010

Do You Love Me Enough? 1

Mac and Jill had sat like this countless times in their marriage. At the end of the work day they had always enjoyed the time together finding out how their days had run, their achievements, frustrations. Times past had been happier though, more joyful.

Some sixteen years prior to this had been one such afternoon. Mac arrived at their home in Gawler after taking the forty-five minute commute from his school in the northern suburbs of Adelaide. He carefully opened the front door as always because Harrison had the precarious habit of waiting right behind the door for his father to arrive. Harrison, it was recognized, was Daddy’s boy. Jill often joked that the boy even from the early days of mobility could hear the Isuzu Gemini that Mac drove change down gears as it was steered into the neighborhood. Enthusiasm belonged to Harrison as he crawled up behind the door that he knew his dad would soon enter.

Even now as a toddler he still hadn’t figured out it wasn’t safe to stand right behind the door. Mac cautiously opened the door and swept Harrison into his arms. Hugs and kisses. Kind words from Dad. Appreciative kisses on Dad’s cheek. That was the happy routine.

Jill had already had the kettle boiled. She was after all attuned to her younger son’s movements and recognized his shift toward the door. The coffee was hot, made in no time and Mac and Jill took their places in the living room together. Harrison had probably found his older brother by now somewhere in the house.

As they sat and talked Mac realized how much he enjoyed talking with her. Being in a room with twenty-four ten year olds all day wasn’t the same as talking with his wife. Mac liked hearing her talk and tried to remember to ask her how her day was before he shared.

Jill thought at times like this how much she looked forward to his homecoming each day. Perhaps had she been younger and could get away with it she’d toddle to the door like Harrison and wait. It was no fun for her being stuck out in the almost God forsaken place with just her two infant sons all day. It was nice to have an adult to talk to again even if it was about children, eating, and diapers. She’d listen to Mac as he unloaded about his day, too. (KEEP or DELETE or MOVE: There were times Jill would bring it up in conversation at dinner with friends and family that Mac tended to dominate their time together by unloading his emotional baggage he got from work.)

They didn’t realize, even later, who noticed first that the boys were awfully quiet. Jill thought that this was the first time that she’d been able to sit with Mac for longer than five minutes before either of them had to get up to attend to one or both of the boys.

“They’re up to something.” Who said it they couldn’t remember, they were too busy scrambling through the house in search of the boys. On discovering the back door open they then understood that Clay was tall enough to reach a formerly unreachable handle. Jill also understood the heart and gut wrenching sensation when a mother suspects her children may be in danger. Mac figured they’d be playing in the yard somewhere.

Both parents moved toward the gate that led to the front of the house.

Monday, April 5, 2010

Airport 4

The short drive home from the airport had his head swinging two directions. It wanted to weep over Harrison’s departure but the relief from Jill being no longer around was so great it overrode any hope of tears. Mac got home and cleaned the house.

He started in the kitchen where he rearranged the contents in the pantry so it was easier for him to see and grab oft used things. Jill had her kitchen arranged just the way she wanted. He didn’t have to think of it as her kitchen anymore.

Funny thing that. When they first got married Mac would help out in the kitchen often; food preparation, cooking, washing up, and so on. He’d take the time to prepare an amazing spinach pie every week and it was often the case that when they had guests Mac would be the one to produce the desserts like Pavlova, a cheesecake, or a chocolate something. But Jill always called it her kitchen – not their kitchen – and as time went by Mac got more and more the impression that she believed her own publicity in this regard.

Jill had always had her way of doing things but Mac didn’t see how it was necessary for her to tell him how to peel potatoes, or cut carrots, or how to wash a plate. But that was what she did and he just went along with it. She overlooked the fact that he had been doing it since he was a little boy when Shirley had left and he found himself as the family’s chief cook and bottle washer.

At various stages of their marriage Mac had tried to tell Jill that he knew how to do things in the kitchen but she went on regardless. Mac giggled quietly to himself one day when Jill was telling Harrison how to wash lettuce and Harrison said, “Mum, you can tell me what to do, or how to do it, but not both.” Jill had called out to Mac to come and deal with his son but Mac pretended he hadn’t heard the conversation.

The sad thing was that over time they had spent less and less time in the kitchen doing things together. Quite a contrast to when they were first sharing a house. Back then they had often delighted in acting on the quote they’d heard from some marriage expert that sex begins in the kitchen. They’d tried that out plenty of times initially but eventually that came to an end too as Mac found it easier to avoid the kitchen than tolerate Jill’s bossiness.

Later, on one of his Thursday evening suppers with his good friends, Joy and Carey, Mac shared this story and Carey laughed heartily. He then related to Mac a time when Mac and Jill had been over at their house and Carey was preparing a stir-fry for them to share. Jill couldn’t resist and had proceeded to tell Carey exactly how he ought to cut his vegetables.

Eventually the hostilities between Jill and Mac had grown to a quiet smolder and when she had recently begun to tell him how she wanted the sink cleaned down he put down the cleaning sponge and spray bottle, took off the rubber gloves and said, “I know how to clean a sink, but you can do it your way yourself.” He left the kitchen and headed to the patio with a beer in his hand.

“No need to act like a victim,” she called after him. Mac’s skills at ignoring her were getting better. He knew this because he smiled.

Now as he cleaned out the pantry he wondered if she’d like her four bottles of Paprika and two boxes of cornstarch. He kept the freshest of everything and threw the rest into the trash. And when the kitchen was cleaned and reorganized into ‘his’ kitchen he moved on through the remainder of the house. Mac scrubbed the bathrooms, polished the woodwork, and dusted down the sills. He even vacuumed the carpets although he strongly suspected that the cheap vacuum cleaner they had picked up at a discount store had never done anything other than noisily push the carpet pile around.

Mac went to sleep that night and slept the sleep of the weary and had escaped the need to think about where his emotions were. He had crawled into bed around 2am and knew he would have to be up in time to get to work. The only thing he had in the back of his mind as he drifted off to la-la land was that he hadn’t looked in Jill’s walk-in closet. He was pretty sure there were plenty of things in there that he’d have to deal with but he decided that three hours sleep would barely be enough to be sane the following day and he could leave the closet door closed until he was ready to sort things out.

Thursday, April 1, 2010

Airport 3

Harrison didn’t turn back, true to himself, although Mac longed for one more look into his eyes or a glimpse of his smile. Instead he found himself face to face with Jill.

Mac had already found the card she had left for him on the dresser at home. In it she had implored him to come back home to Australia and be ready to give her his whole heart. He knew he couldn’t do that. She hadn’t given her whole heart to him. Talk about hypocrite. She had already ripped his heart from him and discarded it. Right now he had to get through this goodbye thing and get her onto the plane. Then he could go home and start to work on preparing for his imminent return to Australia in eight months time as per the plan that Jill had initiated and to which he had given complicit acceptance.

They hugged, kissed, tried to make it meaningful. Jill picked up her hand luggage and moved to follow Harrison who was already out of sight and probably putting his shoes and belt back on at the other side of the security checks. Unlike Harrison though, Jill turned back.

“You can always come home earlier than we’ve planned.”

The comment infuriated Mac. It was her typical style; have the last word, make sure you’ve covered all bases. Mac discovered later in conversation with some of his friends that Jill had told them that there had been conversations about Mac returning earlier than the end of the school year. No there hadn’t. That one line as she departed was her version of the conversation. True to her controlling communicative habit she turned away before Mac could respond. Mac nodded his head upward, as the locals do when they wanted to give a noncommittal recognition to someone or to something that had been said. Jill didn’t see as she was already on her way having said what she needed to say.

Mac had anticipated something other than what he felt. He was certain that twenty-three years of marriage would contribute to a certain degree of sadness, disappointment, broken heartedness. Nope. Nothing. Nothing but a gigantic wave of relief crashed over him at that moment. She was gone and he didn’t have to see her again for eight months. He didn’t have to hear her on a daily basis for eight months. He didn’t have to touch her.

He knew there was something wrong with this picture but he realized that at this point there was no sense of loss in him and in the days and months ahead there would be benefit on benefit; gain on gain added to him because of Jill’s absence.

Monday, March 29, 2010

Airport 2

Clay’s last days in Atlanta were less than happy. He was eager to get back to Australia to see his girlfriend and to resume his life. Living life abroad had not turned out the way he had thought it perhaps might and his anger and disappointment was poured out on his father. It was after all, Mac’s fault they had all uprooted themselves. It certainly didn’t help that Jill was in Clay’s ear constantly about how much she hated living in the States, how Mac was leading them all the wrong way, and how their place was really in Australia.

Mac had helped Clay pack his bags in preparation for the departure but even with all the effort there was a bag that was overweight and then it was discovered that due to conflicting airline arrangements the bags couldn’t be checked all the way through to Brisbane airport. Clay would have to collect them at LAX and then lug them, as heavy as they were, and his hand luggage through to his international departure terminal where he would be charged a further amount in oversized, overweight fees. Mac was angry at himself for giving his son one more reason to dislike him.

In one of Clay’s outbursts prior to his departure he had challenged Mac’s notion of being called by God to work in one of the school districts south of Atlanta. In his hostility Mac had recognized some of Jill’s own poison working its way through the dialogue. She had Clay’s ear more than she had Harrison’s and Clay obviously felt the need to pass onto Mac that he was wrong about the call on his life.

“After all, if you’d been called here wouldn’t we all sense it?” Clay’s challenge merely echoed Jill’s sentiment issued weeks before. Mac wasn’t entirely sure but he was pretty convinced that when Abraham had been called to the Promised Land that his wife Sarah hadn’t been consulted or that when Joseph was told to take his young family from Bethlehem to Egypt that Mary simply went along. Mac had wanted to point out the inconsistencies in Jill’s, and now Clay’s, argument from a Biblical point of view but figured it would only inflame already raging emotions.

Not that Mac felt that he was in a position to quote scripture. On the contrary he was in his own opinion far from being in a position to teach others about hearing from God. This thing he had battled with when he was growing up had in recent years gotten the better of him and he had for some time struggled to maintain what most would consider being a good Christian lifestyle. One thing he hated was hypocrites and he didn’t want to become one to any greater degree than he was already by getting preachy about the Bible when he knew what the Bible said about the likes of him. He might be a lot of things but he wasn’t going to add hypocrite to the list of accusations God or anyone else acting on His behalf could sling at him.

So in the final days of life with Clay in the United States Mac had merely resorted to maintaining peace in the home at all expense. Patterns of family life being what they are meant that in the lead up to Harrison leaving there were more conversations that didn’t happen that should have. And now here they were, departing ways with deep sadness and with a great lack of clarity about where they stood.

Saturday, March 27, 2010

Airport 1

Alone again. Mac was surrounded by a myriad of people at Hartsfield-Jackson airport. There was this giant flow of humanity toward exit gates. It washed past him as he stood like a stone in the midst of a fast flowing river. Frozen eyes desperately holding on to a flickering glimpse of Harrison as he moved toward his boarding flight.

“Love you,” Mac had said as they embraced just moments before.

“Love you more,” had been Harrison’s gentle yet sad response.

“Love you most,” they said together. This had been an almost daily ritual since Harrison was just little, a secret code between father and son, a mantra they shared to remind one another of their love for one another. They were made of the same stuff these two although Mac hoped everyday that there would be some vital departures from the mix that Harrison would make. Mac did not want his younger son to lead the same unauthentic life he had forced on himself.

Embracing for longer than usual each was trying to store up man-hug points. Neither knew how long it would be before they saw each other. Deep down both suspected it would be a whole lot longer than the planned eight months of separation but that thought remained unspoken for a couple of months yet.

They broke away and Mac reached up to kiss the cheek of his younger offspring. Tears welled in both pairs of eyes. Harrison reached to the ground for his hand luggage and moved toward the security gate. He had vowed to himself that he would not look back, it would have been too hard to see his dad standing there crying.

Mac’s heart broke. Sorrow larger than the sea filled him. It was a sorrow as overwhelming as when Clay had left Atlanta only months before. Although he didn’t know it until now, Mac’s heart was still raw with that pain. Back then Mac had cried for hours, broken.