I remember the day I was fired. I remember the moment I got the news and mentally scrolling through an index of things I’d be facing in the next 10 – 15 minutes. Items I needed to check off before leaving for the last time. I knew I’d never access my desktop computers again or my phone. A treasure trove of notes, voice mails, photos and videos. Gone.
“We need you to leave the building immediately. We’ll give you a few minutes to collect your things.” I figured that meant about five. They gave me less than two minutes – just enough time to grab my jacket and stuff a few small things into the pockets. Over the next few days they contacted me several times to demand I turn over my laptop. We negotiated a trade – the laptop for the iPhone. It wasn’t the phone I really wanted; The content and information stored on it … was everything. I remember the moment standing in the lobby for the exchange. The CFO of the company, a man I was fairly friendly with, walked past and averted his eyes. As I walked back to the car, I turned the phone on and discovered it’d been reformatted. So much digital history erased with a push of a button.
It’s New Year’s Eve. After an afternoon skating, my daughter and I head into Boston to meet up with friends for dinner. The city will be crowded tonight, but it will be good to catch up and have some fun. Lots of excitement to keep me in the moment. And yet, there is a feeling, a vague sense, something I’ve felt before … She’s here. The idea of bumping into her makes me uneasy … what would I say? She’d probably be with her new guy. What would I do then? No … it’s impossible. But what if …
Before midnight I consider texting her. I wonder where she is, what she’s doing. I wonder if she’s happy. The clock counts down. It’s a new year.
It’s late February – post Valentine’s Day. The therapist in the big Hyde Park house explains to me a … theory (?). Love is a triangle, each side an aspect of it: commitment, intimacy, passion. The goal is to have a relationship with equal parts of each. A marriage with some intimacy and commitment but no passion is … friendship. She get points for looking a little sad as she explains this. I shrug my shoulders. At least being friends (sort of) is better than being enemies. I miss the flavor and heat though. I miss …
It’s early April and my doctor calls to tell me the results of my recent physical and blood work. I’m in really good health for someone my age. This is good news. I’ve been conscientious about how I treat myself – eating healthy food in moderation, no drinking, exercise, etc … But he includes a caveat. “Stress can kill you” he says. It hangs out there for a few beats. No, nothing in the tests to point to it exactly, just something he’s noticed about me over the last three or four years.
I start running again a few weeks later.
A warm evening in June. I’m at a car wash with my daughter. We’re vacuuming it out before it gets washed. “Why do you have this board under your seat?” She holds up a section of clapboard from an old house – the faded yellow paint peeling off in thick flakes. Fair question. It’s a memento of sorts I’ve carried around for years. I was going to give it to someone as a gift once. “Who?” she asks.
“i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go”
Well, I used to anyway.
It’s July, I have the girls for the weekend. It’s really hot out so we head to the beach. Horseback Beach is known for its warm water and energetic surf. Sure enough the waves are pretty big. Each of them wants to go in but I’m not so sure the younger one can handle it … even with my help.
Eventually I cave under the pressure and give it a try. The three of us wade out past the point where the waves are breaking. From here the surges rock us up and down like a giant cradle of water. Getting back the beach is the challenge. As we make our way to shore a rogue wave overtakes us. My older daughter dives under. I lift the little one up high in hopes it will pass under her, but the power of the wave knocks me over and drags her out of my hands. I scramble to the surface in a panic and scan the frothing water around me. Please God. Seconds. Life guards sitting in their tall white chair don’t notice a thing. I scan again. She surfaces a ways off sputtering just as another waves crashes down on me … I blunder over and pull her into my arms. “Daddy, I was scared.” she tells me. Yeah, me too. A valuable lesson learned.
This would have been a lot easier, and a lot more fun, with another adult …
It’s now late August and I’m staying with the girls at a small motel on the beach in Gloucester. My brother’s family has the room across the courtyard. We get takeout for dinner and eat on the patio overlooking the beach. This is the same place my mom and dad used to take us when we were kids. My daughters love it – exploring, swimming, sandcastles and and lounging under my brother’s beach tent. After dinner we play Uno by candlelight and watch a rat scamper around a nearby garbage bin looking for scraps of food. Someone says a full moon is rising over the water. I head down to the beach to watch it. The fine sand is cool under my bare feet. The darkness is punctuated by the twinkling of distant lights and a pale yellow moon slowly climbing over the silhouette of an island. It’s peaceful out here.
In the moonlight I can make out a couple walking hand in hand along the water’s edge. It’s been a long time since I held anyone’s hand.