For evermore

In the waning days of my senior year, I sat on a wooden bleacher an hour after my career-ending basketball loss to Deerfield. Tears streamed down my face because I accomplished what I set out to do; I wore the jersey.

Jamie Stock, a Libertyville cheerleader and friend of mine, saw the waterworks and walked up the empty bleachers. I cannot remember what she said, but I do remember that she hugged me for a long time. The gesture seems strange when I step back now to think about how little we interacted back then. But the hugger in question was Jamie, one of the warmest souls I have ever known.

Jamie was everywhere. If she wasn't the focus of your high school pictures, then she was in the background smiling at a friend and laughing before the punch line. She was in her cheerleading windbreaker or homecoming parade dress. She was always a nice hello and could have been a best friend to absolutely anyone.

Jamie had a seasonal waitress job at a local brewery after graduation. We all saw her during our homeward college breaks. I asked her once if she remembered my bleacher breakdown. She gave me a cautious look, not saying anything. Was she worried about embarrassing me in front of my friends?

I'm sure she remembered just as well as I will remember her. For evermore she will be smiling and warm. I will miss her greatly.

". . . you will find us always loyal and true."

Bumblebee chain

I like scented candles. I also like women. This is a strange combination. I know. I lit my vanilla favorite on the bathroom sink right before I showered. Perhaps it was the scent that took my mind through the following chain of loosely related life events.

I watched Blind Melon's "No Rain" video, which is full of dancing bumblebees, when I got home from work. In the shower I remembered Kevin Timony, a hi-friend from Libertyville High School, standing perfectly still in a mechanical sunflower suit at the Mr. LHS contest.

"Lorrie Aiello, will you come turn me on?" he asked innocently on April 20, 2002, while I watched from a dark corner. She turned him on, and he danced. Ten minutes later Nolan Semrau had cornered me in the wings. He pushed me onstage to face the blurry crowd.

I turned off the shower, blew out the candle and put on some boxers.

Lavatory sanctuary

My workplace is rough. I regularly interact with an at-risk population. Some days I wonder how I make it through. The adrenaline rush compares to ducking from a fastball aimed at the ear. When I cannot get out of the way, the ball hits me square in the temple.

I use a single-stall bathroom at the end of my hall as soon as I get the chance at 12:45 p.m. I go in. I deadbolt the door. I pretend not to hear the commotion coming from outside. I splash cold water on my face. I sit on the toilet but not always to poop. I don't always pee either.

I sit on the toilet to put my head in my hands and rub my eyes with my palms. I think about how incredible my sanctuary is.

"This is awesome," I say out loud. I wonder how many of my coworkers do the same thing.

Where the ground crackles

I used to blog. Then I joined a movement that I suspected would find the blog and disapprove of its content. I deleted the site a year ago and stupidly forgot to save a soft copy of the posts. They exist now only as a stack of papers collecting dust atop my bookshelf.

As for the movement, it might have killed something small inside of me anyway. I suspect everyone feels like he loses a little bit of freedom at some point. Maybe I felt the loss of freedom because I was too busy trying to find it for others. Maybe I felt it because I saw how little some people have.

I worry that this effort will not turn out like the last. Last time I wrote about eating bird shot by my second post. My life is not as fast as it used to be, but it sure did change. Some changes were good. Some changes were bad. Some things stayed the same.

I think I can still write. I used to live in a writer's haven, but I don't anymore. I go back to visit often. It is a place of friends where the ground crackles beneath one's feet. Below is a passage sent to my friends upon their commencement to a new chapter of life, a chapter that must be different for everyone lucky enough to get there.

"Ah! sometimes from the straight white path
Our stumbling steps may stray;
And sometimes where the hillside slopes
We'll choose the easier way;
And sometimes when the path is rough
That takes us straight through life,
Our strength will fail, and craven-like,
We'll shun the bitter strife,
To choose the broad and paven road,
And eat the lotus leaf.

Yes, some will fail and take this road,
For grinding toil and grief
Are on the sterner road you point,
With hand in hand their mate,
Good Manhood, walking true and brave
Along the path that's straight.
Yes, some will falter on this road
And choose the broader way,
But when again the soft nights come
And Spring has come to stay,
They'll think perhaps of this last night -
The Campus white and still,
The dorms, the well, the old South bell -
Of all that's on the "Hill",
And then they'll leave the broader path
That leads to life's ill wrack,
To seek again the narrow one and -
Finding it - come back.

To some will fall the ivy wreath
That marks the place of fame,
While some will plod along beneath
The peaks of greatest name;
The years will pass and very faint
Will be your call to these,
For time is scornful of the past
And ever onward flees.
But sometimes when the Springtime comes,
And the sifting moonlight falls -
They'll think again of this night here
And of these old brown walls,
Of white old well, and of old South
With bell's deep booming tone,
They'll think again of Chapel Hill and -
Thinking - come back home."

~Thomas Wolfe '20