“We’re all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.”
—Oscar Wilde, poet, novelist, playwright, and deathbed Catholic convert
20. Viginti.
[Thursday, April 19th, 2007]
You’re going to hate me.
You’re going to shake your head and fling insults toward me every chance you get. You’ll discover my character flaws, my deluded, involuntary ill reactions toward things.
Most of the disgust you’ll project will be because I’m a registered Republican, a staunch conservative when it comes to fiscal responsibilities and domestic and foreign policies. I’d like to suggest that I’m a liberal when it comes to social aspects, but I’m not convinced you’d believe me. It may be better for you to decide for yourself.
Here’s my story:
I’m looking out the living room window as the rain pounds the asphalt outside my duplex like the drum beat of a military parade. The abundant drops of rain smack the ground and persistently leap a few inches in all directions before it plops back to the earth in perfect defeat. The sky’s a rich gray, promising that the smog of the Bay Area will soon hopefully be bathed away. The wind gently hums through the evergreen trees that align the driveway. And the low-cut fire-red geraniums just outside the duplex window fight for survival. But it doesn’t look good for them.
Chopin is being played next door. My neighbor is a recluse who spends hours intermittently pounding the sounds of Chopin away on his piano. I don’t even know my neighbor’s name. I wonder if a lot of Americans know the names of their neighbors. What amazes me about my neighbor is that his melody is dead on. Today he plays Chopin’s melodically sacramental “Funeral March” in C Minor. The melody is somber and reflective, slowly crashing here and gently lulling there.
And “Funeral March” is ideal to hear at this beat moment in my life.
The TV is on Fox News, and the Democrats are having their usual fun tearing apart the dribbled policies of the Bush Administration. The Fox News ticker at the bottom of the screen says today’s date is April 19th in the Year of Our Lord 2007, only it doesn’t actually read “Year of Our Lord”. Perhaps it should.
My back’s to the TV and I make my way to the living room window, and I lean my miserable face against the cold pane of glass. Against the window, I can feel my subtle heartbeat throb within my swollen cheekbone. The glass feels soothing on my right eye, which has been bruised beyond belief. The chill of the glass calms me. It sustains me. It invites me to accept things. To accept reality. To accept the things that are “of this world”.
Abruptly, the piano music stops.
Fox News now shows Democrat Majority Leader Harry Reid state that America has lost the war. With his head suspiciously held high and his eyes firm, Reid appears convinced when he tells the American Public his message of unchecked realities.
If this is so, please tell the American Public who won the war.
The rain appears to slowly grow louder, more fierce, now dutifully smacking itself hard against the windowpane.
When I was younger, back in grade school, I remember my teacher explaining to the class why it rains. The class was interested and eager to learn more. We even sang a catchy song about Condensation, Precipitation and Evaporation. I remember raising my hand after chanting the song and telling the teacher that my dad said that God was crying whenever it rained. The teacher didn’t reply. Some of the students quietly laughed to themselves. Then some laughed directly at me. Nonchalantly, the teacher turned her back to me and went about her lesson.
Fox News continues to show Democrat Majority Leader Harry Reid persist in his irate rhetoric of defeat. He says he’s not going to get into a name-calling thing, but he eventually labels Vice President Dick Cheney the “attack dog” of President George W. Bush.
My facial wounds continue to throb.
I walk outside and allow the rain to douse my body in buckets of sacramental purity. I feel the wind carouse over me, levitating my spirit above the ground in fantastic accord. I need to be cleansed. I need my black eye and swollen cheek to dissipate and vanish in this natural blessing of rain and wind and chill. But it won’t. That’s not a reality. It’s magical and whimsical thinking. Soon I’ll have to go to school like this. My students and my coworkers will all look and ask questions. They’ll all whisper in corners about my busted face and my defeated demeanor. I’ll have to face the questions. But I’ll walk down the halls of my school with perfect posture and head high.
I block out Fox News. I block out the sound of the rain. I block out everything.
Chopin’s “Funeral March” returns from my neighbor, the recluse.
And I ask myself in complete earnestness:
Who would show up at my funeral?
I shake my head. My thoughts begin to become scattered yet collective.
And tell myself:
People say that conservative Republicans are idiots and hypocrites.
I’m a true Believer in the Messiah from the great House of David.
I am a self-centered bigot who has low self-esteem.
A Muslim did this to my face.
Maybe I deserve it.
Outside, God continues to cry.
(excerpted from the forthcoming novel When I Followed the Elephant, due out in 2009) |
