An open letter to my appetite

Hey,

You know how much I love you, but we really need to discuss your choices these days. Seriously, your neverending desire for Mexican fare has become a problem. We both know it is more a rental than a purchase as it is just passing through. While the amount of time spent in the water closet (see, that trip to London was worth it) provides an opportunity to catch up on my reading, it has left my stomach complaining as well as leaving me tender in certain places. Plus, the smell is less than appetizing although it doesn't seem to bother you. Why don't we just skip the middle man and drop that burrito directly in the commode? Okay, I know you'll never stop, so let's compromise. The chips and salsa, mild please, are wonderful. I realize asking you to end it with a chicken sandwich is unreal, so how about a basic taco or two, or even fajitas? Give it some thought the next time you guide us to one of the local Mexican joints.

Best wishes.

Witness

The smell of disinfectant filled my lungs as followed the directions I had not memorized as well as planned. Plaques were posted everywhere telling me where to find certain groups of room numbers. I silently weaved my way through the white maze before finding the room. I double-checked the room number with my memory since there was no name on the door.

I found him sitting at her bedside as I gently nudged the door open. Once again, my mind berated my being there. He didn't immediately sense my presence as he held her hand and whispered in her ear. He suddenly turned and met my gaze. I nodded and crossed the threshold into the room.

The machines beeped as the various tubes snaked in, out, and around her body. Her small size made it seem like a child in the bed, but the gray hair shattered the thought. He gently laid her hand on the bed and kissed her cheek before standing and turning in my direction.

"She's not doing very good. I kept telling her to take it easy, but she is so stubborn." His hands fumbled nervously as he looked into my eyes.

"What happened?" The emotion in his voice was alarming.

"The heat, she collapsed due to overheating. I rushed her home and laid her down. She woke up for a moment but that was it." His voice trailed off as he turned in her direction. His hands were now shaking as he pushed them deep into his pockets.

I could find nothing to say as I stood and watched a stranger. I had never witnessed a single emotion from this man - at least one not alcohol-induced. I couldn't take my eyes off of this small man. It was something I had to see with my own eyes, and I didn't want to miss anything. There was a surge of elation as I watched him breaking down before me.

I wanted to take a picture and show the world that he wasn't a monster - that he did care for someone other than himself. My moment had arrived, I could finally return the favor and kick him when he was down. After all, he had seemingly danced and applauded, almost wished, the various low points in my own life. And, how many times did he let myself and the rest of the family down or easier to count the times he did come through - none.

It was an empty feeling as the elation never really materialized. All the years of proclaiming my rightful place as his son, that I was just like him, were not true. I felt sorrow and pity for the old man. I reached out and grabbed his shoulder and squeezed - as close to a hug as any of us would get.

"I'm really sorry. What did the doctors say? Can I get you anything?" My hand inched from the shoulder to his back and I patted him. A smile flashed across his face before quickly disappearing as he thanked me. He relayed the news from the doctor - word for word - and I listened attentively before getting him something to eat.

We talked as he ate, or rather I listened as he talked. He thanked me again as I prepared to leave. The urge for a hug swept over me but I resisted. As I walked out, I turned and watched as he returned to her side - grabbing her hand and talking. I knew she would never wake up and I wondered about his future - what was left of it - as I dialed my cell phone to hear the voice that meant so much to me.

Nowhere

His chest rapidly moved up and down as he rolled onto his back. He breathed heavily and pushed the hair back with his hands. She turned toward him and smiled while gently caressing the chest as its movement slowed with each breath.

"Where is this going?" She propped herself on one elbow while still rubbing his chest.

"What?" Her words were like a punch in the stomach. The joy of the day, their time together, was suddenly smashed.

"This. Us." Her body shot up as she sat waving her arms wildly. The sudden madness in her eyes was alarming.

"Why does it have to go anywhere, isn't this enough?" He sat on the edge of the bed as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He reached forward to grab the boxers, dropping them when it turned out to be a towel.

"Is this what you want?" Her arms dropped as she was obviously deflated.

"It was a few minutes ago." He took two steps into the boxers and approached the window and parted the curtains. Her naked body was suddenly bathed in light - like a spotlight at a strip club - and he remembered why he was there. He wanted to change his answer to yes, but he knew her question was different.

"What does that mean?" The tiring and familiar sadness crept into her voice as she pulled the sheet to protect her body from prying eyes, as if a peeping tom would climb to the twentieth floor.

"It means everything was fun, everything was okay until you try to make this more than it is. I thought you were different, but you only want like everybody else." The pain was real. His cold stare locked on the face that was slowly losing its meaning.

"I'm sorry, I was just thinking. I always do that after an orgasm, you know how women are." She fell back into the oversized bed and forced a laugh.

He watched her while emptying the water bottle on the dresser. She often laughed uncontrollably when coming and he had loved hearing that laugh, but it no longer mattered. The small chair creaked as he sat down. He suddenly wanted to leave and wanted her gone forever. He leaned back with closed eyes and wondered why everybody always wanted something from him.

They had been friends for so long and she had heard his complaints and worries so many times, but in the end she had not listened to a single word. In the end, she was no different than the others. He tossed the plastic bottle in the trash as the mind clicked over. He would treat her like the others and be done with it. The boxers dropped to the floor as he returned to bed and pulled her to him.

Working

"Have you ever been knee deep in shit?" He speaks while working with his boots without looking in my direction.

"Uh, are you kidding? Did you forget about last year?" I shake my head and lean back in the vinyl kitchen chair. His wife motions towards me to sit all four legs on the floor, I quickly oblige. I watch my older brother remove his boots and set them aside. He leans back while twisting the cap from a bottle of beer. The bitter taste makes him grimace as he looks at me with contemplation.

"Can you ever be serious?" The response is a letdown when he finally speaks. He has been asking me the same question for as long as I can remember.

"I am. That woman brought more misery to my life than I could have ever imagined." The room goes quiet as the words hang in the air. I turn the bottle upright to finish my beer while staring into space.

"Well, you brought it on yourself, but anyway, I'm talking about real shit. Look at my boots." He motions to the boots on the floor near his seat. His hand glides through his thinning hair while gauging my reaction.

"Are they new?" The matter-of-fact tone of his blaming me stings. I stare at the boots without realizing the point. I look to my sister-in-law for help, but she is lost in a magazine.

"No, dumbass, they are covered in shit. I had to go to this guy's house today. The sewer line had backed up in his basement and there was sewage everywhere. I choked back my gag reflex as I surveyed the job, it was disgusting." He groans while retrieving another beer from the fridge. The door closes quietly has he walks in front of me. I instantly recognize myself in that body - the same legs and lack of an ass as the ex liked to tell me.

"Well, you're the one that chose plumbing as a profession." He had lucked out with a plumbling apprenticeship after quiting school in the tenth grade.

"No doubt, a little real work wouldn't hurt a college boy like yourself." His voice took the familiar fatherly tone as he leaned back and examined me. He often chided my education and career while stressing education with his kids at the same time. This was a man I would never be this close to without being related. Blood was our common demoninator.

"Hey, remember that time you got the chemistry set for your birthday? You fished a turd out of the toilet and we examined it under the microsope?" I laugh while remembering following my older brother around while conducting his odd experiments. The image of him retrieving the feces from the toilet was burning in my mind - he used a wooden spoon from the kitchen.

"Shit, you don't forget anything. Was it mine?" He slaps his knee while turning to look at his wife who faintly smiles at the story she's heard countless times.

"Yes, it as yours andyou know it. Remember how you threw it in the neighbors basement window well when we were finished? I could probably lead an archelogy expedition over their, dig it up and find traces of your dna." It is good times talking with him. The laughter feels good, it is invigorating.

Alike

I grew up convinced that my parents had no clue about family. I knew every family was better than ours. The families of my friends were so much better than mine. I watched in awe as their parents had real conversations with them. They actually cared what happened at school and throughout their day. I stood in the shadows watching the parents - both the mother and father - preparing dinner together as the kids helped. I desperately wanted to be assigned a chore, but it never happened as I remained a guest, the outsider. I was jealous and felt sad upon arriving home to silence without a simple question about my day. I latched on these other families - going as far as they would let me. They happily invited me to family gatherings and shopping trips, but I would never be one of them. I was always an outsider and we both knew it. As I grew older, the perfect facade of many of these families broke away to reveal a less-than-perfect environment. It should have, but it didn't, deter me from dreaming about the Leave it to Beaver family.