And So.. .It Begins

March 6, 2007 at 12:38 AM | Posted in Personal | 1 Comment
  I started to write a different piece.  Started?  Hell, I was almost finished.  Select all and space, and it all disappears.  We all have our secrets.  I guess I’ll have to keep this one. 
  Detroit has a secret trunk, filled with secrets.  You know the drill:  If I saw what was in it, I wouldn’t like her as much.
  Well, now I know what she means.  If I would have written what I wrote, she may not like me very much.
  And no, dear, it wasn’t about this morning.  I realized that I had to be a bigger man. . .and accept your apology.
  No hints, no clues, no guesses.  I’m serious.  I realize that I need to have a secret, one of my very own.  After all, I hold secrets now for so many others. . .

  But this is what this should be about:  A friend of mine just died.  I was thinking just a few months ago that I should look him up, too.  Back in 1987, he came to work for me at Domino’s Pizza.  Later I moved on and he moved on.  Such is life.  In 1991, I was managing the Domino’s in Blackjack, and he drove by and recognized me in the window.  He stopped by.  Man, it was great to see him again.  He came to work for me again, part time.  Later, his brother did too.  Both great guys.  Again, I moved on, and they did too.  I haven’t seen him in 14 years.
  On the way to work this morning, listening to the news:  Murder suicide, and they said the names.  They said *his* name.  My friend had shot his new wife, then himself.
  I couldn’t believe my ears.  See, he wasn’t like that.  What, I haven’t seen him in 14 years?  So?  He wasn’t like that, he wasn’t. He was upbeat, funny, intelligent– a great guy.  It didn’t matter that I hadn’t seen him in so long; we could have gotten together for a beer and picked up where we left off.  Who really knows, I guess, what secret inner turmoil we all possess?  The Shadow?
  My fleeting, sidetrack thought was that now I am approaching the age where more people I know will die.  Friends and contemporaries.  This is the part that makes me a grown-up, and adult.  Hell, I never felt like an adult until about after the time my mom died… Forty?  Forty and I finally felt like an adult?
  Yeah, yeah–fear of death, blah blah, creeping mortality, yadda yadda–this may all have some deeper meaning.  Then again, it may not.
  I had a conversation with a woman at work, she said she wanted to write a book.  I said, "You know what?  Do it!  Go for it!  Get to it."  She was taken aback.  I continued thusly:  "Listen, I’m going to tell you a secret, okay?  Don’t tell anyone else."  I leaned in, for effect.  "I recently discovered that. . .we’re not getting any younger.  You, me, any of us.  You’re running out of time.  Start writing.  A year from now you’ll be a year older either way.  Have something to show for it."
  She smiled, she nodded, and her facial expression changed over the course of many moments as what I said started to sink in.  "Oh my God.  You’re right.  I have to start now–"

  I should be a fucking motivational speaker.  Just write me a check for any amount.

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  1. SECRETS?! YOU\’RE KEEPING SECRETS FROM ME?!? WHAT THE HELL???
    I DO NOT have a trunk full of  secrets! They\’re called old diaries and journals. I think there might be little odds and end things in there, too, but nothing life altering.
    Oh, and baby, sweetheart, love of my life… no hard feelings. You\’re a dick. I accept that. I love you anyway. In spite of or despite it, not sure.
    Detroit


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