It's Time to Make a Decision

I remember a time in my adult life when I lived far up north in Michigan. It was early December but the weather was unseasonably warm. A high of 68 degrees that day rings a bell and the warmth persisted into night. Normally the temperature at this time of year hovered somewhere between the high teens and mid twenties during the day and the nights were much colder. I walked around town that day in a pair of jeans and t-shirt well after the sunset.

I found myself down by the water that was so important to this small university town. The water of Lake Superior is cold any time of year and as I was near its edge I could feel cool fresh air from the lake brush up against my skin. I walked along the boardwalk and looked at the lights of the town across the water. It was a truly beautiful winter experience, one of those surreal events you experience once or twice a lifetime. I felt nostalgic as it was happening.

My mood turned introspective as I neared the end of the boardwalk. I’d had a couple of beers and the party mood of the town was winding down for the night. No matter how warm it was people still had to get up the next morning and head to work or get to class, but there I was.

I stood there alone and looked at the water. I sat down on the end of the boardwalk and let my feet dangle over the edge. I couldn’t see into the depths where I had swum the summer before. The water was dark and looked rather murky as I went reminisced about the experiences I’d had by this water.

My first marriage fell apart in this town. I’d skinny dipped with one of my ex’s boyfriends along with a group of people in this water. I’d had sex with more than one person on a more remote section of that very boardwalk. Then took a dip then did it again. I’d taken many walks along the shore and played some guitar as well. My heart turned bittersweet as I recalled my life there.

A pensive mood struck me as I sat there thinking. I was alone on the boardwalk. Eventually my thoughts turned to my life as a whole and what it meant to me. I stared into the water and realized I had a decision to make. It was almost like God was asking me a question. I realized that I could just end everything in my life right then and there. I looked down into the water and thought to myself that I didn’t really have to live anymore. All I had to do was let go and slide into the water. The water was icy. Hypothermia and lack of oxygen would take if from there. In about a minute and a half I’d be done, expired. I’d lose consciousness then simply float away and become a part of the ecosystem until someone found me and decided to bury me.

Now I must say here that I did not feel particularly suicidal. I didn’t harbor secret thoughts about my demise. I simply realized how easy it would be to end it all. My life up until that point hadn’t been all that great. I’d done a lot of things I’d wished I hadn’t, but still I didn’t see a reason to kill myself. The odd thing was that I didn’t really feel a strong urge to go on either. I was at a crossroads. Like Robert Johnson before me I found myself faced with a decision that affected the rest of my life.

Right about then I heard a car pull up behind me. I knew it was a police car and briefly looked back to confirm this feeling. There were plenty of police cars around this town. The funny thing was that the normal winter patrol vehicle was a Chevy Blazer. Today the policeman drove one of the cop shop’s Crown Victorias. Then something truly strange happened. The policeman sat there in his car for a moment then got out. Then he walked slowly up behind me to my right and asked me if everything was ok. I looked at him and smiled then made up a story about how my roommate was arguing with his girlfriend and I didn’t feel like sitting there in my apartment listening, which was partially true. The argument had been on the phone and had ended before I left. He smiled, looked down and nodded. Then he told me he just wanted to make sure everything was ok.

It’s funny how my mind’s eye can recall certain instances from my life with surprising clarity. The simplest thing can affect people for the rest of their meager life. This moment was one of those times. That policeman appeared almost out of nowhere and took the time to make sure everything was ok. He could have just driven past and looked to make sure I wasn’t drinking in public. But no he felt compelled by something to check on me. Maybe it was the fact that I was locally famous, I’m not kidding about this, and he recognized me. Maybe it was the fact that it was summer in December, or maybe he had a feeling I might be thinking what I was thinking.

Whatever he thought I got the message that someone somewhere just checked up on me. It was like God looked over my shoulder and said, “well Matt it’s time to go on. You don’t need to do this and I have some things I want you to do.” The policeman was just a messenger, an angel if you will all dressed in blue and wearing a gun.

After the messenger policeman left I sat there for another couple of minutes and smiled. I’d gotten the message and made my decision. I think at some point everyone makes this decision. Everyone is faced with their own life and they have to decide whether or not it’s worth living. Unfortunately, or maybe not, some decide it’s not worth living and they go away. But on that day I decided to go on. I’m glad I did.

That warm summer day in December will always stay true in my mind. I’m glad for the experience. It truly changed something in me and every time I get a chance I wear a t-shirt outside in the winter. Today was one of those days and tomorrow looks like one too. I plan to go for a walk in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. Too bad there’s no body of water in this town or I’d walk around that.

As always, thanks for reading to the end.

Scott Became Great, the Great Scott

During the summer of my twelfth year I saw my parents divorce officially and my mother achieve new lows in parental ineptitude. This is the summer we had lived with Lou the Weaver. Some of you may remember the story about the Weaver from a previous column.

Anyway, that summer portended nice weather and painful mishaps with my diminishing list of friends. I didn’t really know how to relate with people very well at that time. My mother’s obsessive tendencies were not an example of how to make friends. Her “mentoring” was quite possible why I was frequently inappropriate when trying to meet new people. I blame this tendency toward inappropriateness on an overactive and underused brain in an extremely addictive environment.

I was a very intelligent only child. I knew how messed up my life was but I had no recourse to change the situation. I thought that if only I could go live with my father life would improve. The only problem with this pipe dream was that my father didn’t really want me to live with him. He and his wife were swingers, and as far as I understand, they never once went to court to say, “hey, this kid might do better if he lived with us. His mom is a drunk, can’t really hold a job that pays the bills and is a mess.” I guess the prospect of a fat, smart, creative but destructive asthmatic just didn’t appeal to my father.

But this column isn’t really about all that. It’s about my friends and what happened with one of them. The friend I refer to is Scott. I wish I could tell you his last name but libel prevents me from doing such. Scott is a pretty great person. Sometimes now I even think of calling him out of the blue and thanking him for being my friend once upon a time. I’ll explain all this in a moment. Scott showed the kind of insight and heart you rarely find in a male 12 year old. His bushy red hair and smoking habit belied his true sensitivity.

All the kids I grew up with smoked by the way. Even I did. We all lived in the worst part of a stupid little upper class town. In my part of town, when the fire marshal showed up to ask someone if he had a permit to burn his leaves he would escort the fire marshal off his property at gun point. Shortly thereafter the police would escort said leaf burner to jail. This happened more than once. My friends and I smoked because that’s what all the adults did. We might have had sex with each other if any girls were around. Instead we were testosterone machines cruising around bumming smokes off each other. We lived without roll models and did the best we could.

Here’s why Scott was special. One time Scott had spent the night over at my house. He had done this many times before, but this time my mom drove him home drunk. I didn’t even notice because by this time she always smelled like alcohol. She was also pretty good at holding it together in my presence so as not to set me off. But Scott’s mom noticed, and she stopped letting him come over to spend the night. His mom was understandably appalled my mom would drive kids around loaded.

I had no idea of these things of course, so I dutifully called Scott every week to see if he wanted to come over and hang out and spend the night. For a couple of months he said no he couldn’t. He gave me great reasons why and I believed them. I didn’t really have any other friends so I just hung out alone in my bedroom. My bedroom at the Weaver’s house was walled with that great paneling in mobile homes from the 70s. It was dark and depressing.

Finally one Friday I called Scott and asked him to come over and spend the night. I heard a discussion in the background and Scott said he would call me back. Ten minutes later he did and said that he would come over that night and would stay most of the next day. He rode his bike. We only lived about 3 miles away and the ride was pretty safe. We spent the night watching movies and shooting the breeze. We just had a good time hanging out.

That next day we were outside, sitting in the sun and swapping fart stories when he said he had to tell me something. He told me the reason he didn’t come over the last few months wasn’t because he was busy. His mom wouldn’t let him. He said the reason why he made up all the excuses was because he didn’t want to hurt my feelings. He also told me the reason why his mom wouldn’t let him come over was my mom’s drunkenness when she dropped him off, her smelly breath and slurred speech. The only reason he even got to come over this time was because he begged his mom. Apparently he knew how much I needed a friend and told his mom so. His mom finally gave in and decided to trust his judgment.

A tear comes to my eye as I write this. I can’t believe the heart that boy showed simply by choosing to be my friend. Eventually we grew apart. My mom separated us by moving to new locations and eventually entered into alcohol therapy. I am not sure if his mom stopped letting him come over. But as things normally go we just drifted apart. I was always happy to see him. Scott was a quiet and shy person. He was short and had fair skin but he meant a lot to me.

Scott was one of those special persons in life. He believed in me as a person when there wasn’t a whole lot to believe in. He did things to help build my confidence. We talked about our dreams and did his best not to let me grow up in a vacuum of confusion and self-doubt. Life is hard enough.

Thanks for reading to the end.