I woke up last night with a light shining in my eyes. At first, I thought maybe Karen had turned a light on. Then I realized that the light was shining in from outside my bedroom window. It was flickering and moving up and down as though it was alive and agitated. I got up to see where the light was coming from. I opened a patio door and walked towards the light. As I move in the direction of the light, it moved away. I noticed that it was illuminating a path. I started to go back inside, but the light moved rapidly towards me again. It was as though it wanted me to follow it down the path. I slowly took some cautious steps down the path. The light moved with me. I was now sure that it was lighting a way for me to follow. It seemed to be a path to nowhere.
Tired though I was, I decided to follow the light down the path. Soon, I could see someone standing by the side of the road. It was my third-grade teacher, someone I shall never forget. While singing in a class choir one day, she suddenly yelled at me. “You, stop singing. Just open and close your mouth. Do not make a sound.” I have never felt so humiliated in my entire life. Seventy years have gone by, and I still will not sing a note. Never have and never will. “Get over it” many have said but I have not been able to forget how I felt at that moment when she screamed at me to “Shut your mouth.”
I soon came abreast of my former teacher. She was just standing there. She seemed to be glaring at me. I stopped to ask her why she had made fun of me and did she know how much it hurt. She explained that I was a terrible singer, and that my “screeching” was ruining it for the other kids. She was not sorry. She had more responsibilities than just me. The light moved on and I continued down the path.
I saw another shadow ahead. The shadow became more defined as I came closer, and I realized that it was my father. He was standing there shaking his head. He started yelling at me. “You can’t do anything right. You fuck everything up. Leave it alone, I will do it myself.” I stopped to tell him that I was sorry. I always tried but it was never good enough. He just shook his head. The light moved on again and I followed it down the path.
I approached another figure on the path. As I drew near, I was surprised to see that it was my mother. My mother was a wonderful person. Many called her a saint. I never felt that I knew my mom very well. She stood by the side of the path but did not say a thing. She looked sadly at me. I asked her how she was doing but she still said nothing. I was never sure whether she loved me or not. I could not think of anything to say. I regretfully walked on following the light down the path. I could hear the refrains in my mind from the song Motherless Child. “Sometimes I feel like a motherless child. A long, long way from my home.” I hear this song frequently.
I almost passed by the next figure on the path. I could see my cousin Louis standing there. His face looked unhappy and mournful. He did not have to say a word. I knew what he was thinking. My cousin was once closer to me than anyone in my life. We had been like brothers in childhood and shared many adventures. Lou had never been a strong child and although he was two years older than I was, I was the one who fought the bullies that always seemed to pick on him. It formed a bond between us that we had thought nothing could break. We once sliced our palms and shared our blood swearing to be loyal and true to each other for the rest of our lives. I had let him down terribly.
It was after high school during the Vietnam War and we both joined the Air Force. Several years went by and we did not see each other. Lou was in Europe, and I was on the other side of the world. Something brought us together again in proximity and we soon renewed our friendship. We had both married, but Lou had managed to snag one of the most beautiful women you would ever see. I was beyond envious.
We started to get together more frequently and one night after having a little too much to drink, I cornered his wife in our kitchen and made a pass at her. I felt like King David that lusted after Bathsheba. According to the prophet Nathan, Bathsheba’s husband Uriah had only this one “lamb” and David had many, but it did not matter to David. David was selfish. I was David.
Lou had been having a struggle to find his way financially and I had been doing much better. I was on an uphill road and Lou seemed to be going downhill. Yet, all I could think of was getting in bed with his wife. Lou found out what I had tried to do and broke off our friendship. Lou never forgave me. He moved away after he found out that his wife was having an affair with her boss. Lou died of a brain aneurism a few years later on Oct 26, 1992. He was only 47.
As I left Lou on the path, I tell him how sorry I am and that I wish I could do our relationship over again. Lou just nods and says nothing. I continue to follow the light. Lou once more fades into my past. The path still seems to go nowhere. I wonder where the light is leading me. Am I on a path to hell or misery, I am not sure. I do not need all these reminders of what an SOB I had often been. My world had once been a terrible place to be. Where was the path going?
Soon, I could make out two more figures on the path as I approached their shadows. One was my former wife, Julia. She was sitting on a rock with my daughter Christina. Christy was seven or eight and they were both crying. I remember the scene well. I had taken a picture of them both that day amid that dismal moment. I was oblivious to their pain and heartache. The picture is in a scrapbook that I left with Julia when we divorced. It has often haunted my thoughts. I can see the picture in my mind just as clearly as if I were holding it in my hand. I was the reason; they were both crying and trying to comfort each other. Thinking of the pictures reminds me of the bastard that I once was and how horrible I had often been to Julia and my daughter Christy.
I walk by both Julia and Christy. I avoid looking them in the eyes. I do not want to remember this time. God, just let me pass them without saying anything. A friend of mine told me before he died that he had no regrets. I cannot understand how this could be. My regrets would fill a dump truck. I have tried many times since my divorce to tell both Julia and Christy how sorry I was for my meanness and belligerence. I can only imagine that the word “sorry” does not really do much to make amends for hurts and harm that we have done to other people. It is often too little and too late. But even on this path to nowhere, I can’t go back. I can’t change things. I silently walk on towards the light. I doubt that I will find forgiveness for myself on the path that I am following.
I know there are more shadows and more people waiting for me. I cannot bear to go down it any further. I turn around to walk back to my bedroom. I can find peace only in sleep. The light flickers behind me and gradually recedes in the distance. I am sure it will come again another night. The light will shine in my window and beckon me to spend another night on the path to nowhere.
Aging Capriciously 