The History of Love may sound like a sappy love story, and many would skip over it's cover in a browsing session at the book store. (Yes, people still browse at book stores) I read it, and I read the book by the author's husband that draws similarities. I loved both in different ways and felt connect to both in different ways.
I read the bulk of this book at the Baltimore City Court while I waited, and waited to find out if I would serve as a juror. I never got called into a courtroom, but think the near completion of The History of Love and the BLT sandwich I had for lunch 'wins' for the day. As the lunch hour drew near, I thought about where I would go eat, and finally decided to just walked down Charles Street to see what I could find. Before reaching my destination I walked several blocks and people watched along the way. At one point I noticed a girl walking my way. I also noticed that she was carrying a book in her hand. She was attractive. I wanted to know what she was reading, so when she got closer I slowed my pace. As she passed by me I was able to see the book she was holding. The History of Love was cradled in the palm of her right hand, while my copy was clutched in my left. We were reading the same book. If this book was The Hunger Games, or any other current, popular book I wouldn't have thought anything of it. No this was a book that I picked up at a used book sale, that was written seven years ago. As the girl got further away from me I stopped in my tracks and momentarily thought I should say something to her. Something told me to say something to her. However, something else told me not to.
I couldn't help but think about the incident and how I might have missed out on an opportunity. She might have thought it was an amazing find that we were both reading this book. We might've grabbed lunch together and talked about Leo and Alma, and we might've made plans to get together another time. The other side of me says she wouldn't have thought anything of the coincidence and she would have chuckled. She would have walked away anyways.
The book in itself is a story of missed opportunities in a way, so it seems almost fitting that I considered the possibilty of this coincidence and it's later 'kick myself' moment. If I were writing my memiors, I would have several chapters titled The History of Love and Other Missed Opportunities. They would tell stories of looking for excuses, or reasons not to pursue someone. 'She didn't have eyebrows," or "Our schedules would never let it work." I need to be more open to the opportunities given to me, and get less stuck in my own head over these things. I do believe that it is not healthy to pursue unavailable women, but it's also unhealthy to not pursue someone before you've even given them a chance. I need to be open to the opportunites around me, and open to the possibility that these opportunities might not work out, and open to the possibilty that these opportunities might work out.
Otherwise....When they write my obituary....it will say, RYAN KLOETZER IS SURVIVED BY AN APARTMENT FULL OF SHIT.
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
Thursday, June 14, 2012
Just the beginning...
1. Peter
Peter and his mother sat there in the room and listened to the sounds of the machines. Hisses and pulsing and beeping filled the otherwise silent room. These machines were keeping Peter’s father and Lindsey‘s husband alive now. A heart attack two days earlier had left John unable to breathe on his own and unresponsive to all attempts to revive him. The day it happened, the doctor explained that chances of survival were basically non-existent. Without the rubber tubes breathing for him and the other machines pumping his now damaged heart, he would be gone. Peter’s mother was asked if she wanted to take her husband of thirty-one years off of life support. She didn’t even know how to answer that question. She had never been through anything like this before and now she was being asked to make this huge decision in front of their twenty year old son. This is the type of decision that John would have made for the family. He had always made the decisions and now the decisions were out of his hands.
The Hartmans were a perfect family. Perfect as families really can be anyways. They had there problems but all in all they were the type of family that other families hoped they could be. John ran a real estate agency responsible for some of the largest commercial and residential sales in the city. He won awards for his work and was never without work. Even during the so-called recession, people still called John for their needs. Through his work he found and purchased the home they lived in now. A modest home on a quiet cul-de-sac. Within it’s walls sat 3 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms, and John’s baby, a completely renovated eat-in kitchen that was featured on an HGTV special. Lindsey wasn’t a housewife by any means. Her work as a social worker left her feeling rewarded without the public attention that John’s work garnered. Over the years she considered herself lucky if she reached only a quarter of the people she tried to help. With her priority on helping children in abusive homes, she never went a day without telling Peter how much she loved him and how proud of him she was. Despite his parents wishes, he didn’t choose to follow in either of their footsteps. Appreciative of both of their work, he knew that he would never feel the joy in their respective fields. Instead he chose to follow a different path. A dual major in English Education and Creative Writing was chosen by Peter only two months earlier. After a year of travelling after high school, he entered the university undeclared but was sure of his path almost instantly upon meeting his college advisor. A man who had spent much of his life teaching English in secondary and post-secondary schools and publishing his own books would quickly become a mentor to Peter. They weren’t a perfect family but they didn’t have to try hard to look that way.
A plug was all that kept this perfect family together now. Pulling this plug would mean changing the family forever. Peter’s father had not prepared them for this. Always a planner, John was always laying things out for the others and specifically planning for most of the day to day things that others would just take as they come. Peter thought that his father would have planned for this. He, in fact, probably had but hadn’t gotten around to informing his wife and son about his wishes and giving them specific instructions. Lindsey thought about all of this too. Anger swept over her as she sat in the sterile room. Why had he never gone over this plan? Why didn’t he want everything to go perfectly smooth in this imperfect situation? She could count on one hand the number of times she had been this angry with him and found herself laughing at the situation now. She was angry at him, not for having a heart attack, but for not planning ahead for it. The laughter disipated quickly and was transformed to crying again. It had been like this for the last two days. Tears and laughter and numbness cycling over her. Now she sat there as the rest of the hospital slept and watched as the loves of her life did the same. She told herself that John was just sleeping and very soon he would wake up and feel rejuvinated and ready to tackle the next big sale. Peter slept curled up in a familiar position on one of the uncomfortable chairs occupying the private room. He had always done this. Falling asleep in chairs was somewhat of a specialty for him. She could remember a time when he was just about 13 and had fallen asleep in a kitchen chair with his legs tucked underneath his lap. A picture of that moment would become the family Christmas card that year and the original would find a permanent home on both of his parent’s desks at work. This was the first time since they came to the hospital that she had seen her son sleep despite her urging for him to do so. Lindsey wished she could do the same but felt that it would be selfish for to be asleep when John woke up. She was still holding hope that he would wake up.
The morning arrived slowly and through the window Lindsey could see the sun rise above the city around her. It was a sun rise she had seen hundreds of times but on this morning it felt different to her. Peter had woke up earlier and left to check on the house. Lindsey thought this action a bit strange considering that their neighbors had already offered to keep an eye on things. She told herself that he needed a little time to himself and hoped that he too was watching this sun rise.
Peter wasn’t watching the sun rise. He was sitting at the desk that occupied their home’s third bedroom. The desk, a “lucky find” as his father called it, once belonged to a king or a sultan or someone of ridiculous power. It could have belonged to a bum off the street for all Peter cared. These “lucky finds” never impressed him much but he gave his father the satisfaction by gushing over them. There were very few times where Peter had actually sat at this desk, or even near it. From his fathers chair now, he could see where he had sat a year ago when he told his father about his educational intentions. He noticed a spot on the desk, just above the right-hand draw where his father had constantly rubbed his thumb while working. A similar marking occupies his father’s desk at work. He came home, not to get away from the hospital, but in hopes of finding something that would direct him in his fathers absence. Contracts and other legal documents filled the desk but nothing that helped him out in this situation. Underneath all of that sat a photograph of the family on top of a ferris wheel. A moment that really lacked any significant moment at all, now left him wishing for the moment to repeat itself. Tears poured out leaving tiny little puddles on the desk. He pulled himself together and walked into the bathroom. He sat looking in the mirror telling himself that this isn’t how he should look when his father woke up. He splashed his face with cold water but only started crying again. He could barely distinguish between the splashed water and the tears. Either way, he knew that his mother was waiting for him to return to be by her side.
As Peter pulled into the parking lot he felt confident that his fragile condition would be masked by the false strength he would provide to his mother. Walking through the automatic doors seems almost too automatic on this third day at the hospital. The nurses didn’t bother to stop him anymore and the girl at the coffee stand didn’t need his order to hand him to two tall house coffees with two creams and two sugars. He felt automatic himself. As if cruise control was an option for humans, he moved fluidly through the hospital lobby, to the elevator, through the quiet corriders of the ICU, handing his mother her coffee, kissing his father’s forehead, and finally finding himself back in the chair he barely slept in. The mother and son didn’t speak for a long time. Instead, they sipped their coffee and listened to the sounds around them. These machines were running throughout the rooms surrounding them. They both wondered about the individuals occupying those rooms. The men or women lying in beds, with their families holding their breath, waiting for happy outcome. Peter and Lindsey wondered what these people were going to do. Would they choose to end their fathers, or their mothers, or their childs life. What would come after that? Would they regret their decision or know that they made the right choice.
“Fuck.”
The first word to escape Peter’s mouth in two hours caused his mother to gasp. She didn’t scold him because she just as easily could have said it. She felt like saying it too. A word that John himself considered to be among the most foul came out of his son’s mouth just as naturally as if he were saying hello or good morning. Lindsey stood up, hugged Peter, and told him that she loved him. She didn’t have to say anything else. He knew that she had made a decision and that he wasn’t going to argue with her. He felt that the decision was clear and both them were just avoiding it. He flashed back to several moments of his life when his father, the supreme being of his life, had told him without hesitation, “we cannot avoid the inevitable but I will never tell you that things will work themselves out. We must know what to do in any situation that we encounter.” Peter did know what needed to be done. Lindsey knew too and left the room to make her wishes known.
An hour had passed and Lindsey returned and told her son that it wouldn’t be long now. She held John’s hand and as the doctor and his nurse entered the room. She slid her hand away from Johns and into Peters. She squeezed hard as the doctor took vitals and explained what was to happen. Peter held back tears as the doctor removed tubes and turned machines off around them. He watched the nurse watch the doctor intently. She looked uncomfortable and Peter told himself that this was the first time she was experiencing this type of situation. She kept fidgeting with her name badge. Celia looked over at Peter and Lindsey and the look the in her eye showed how sorry she felt for them. The doctor continued to explain the formalities that would occur next and Celia moved towards the door. She stopped just short of the chairs where Peter and Lindsey sat and placed her hand on Peter’s shoulder. As the doctor walked out the room he told them that he would give them a few minutes with the body before he sent someone for it. Those were his words, “the body” and “it.” Celia was more personal about it and told them that she was sorry for their loss and that he was in a better place. It was the look in her eye that told Peter that she meant what she said and that she did believe he was better now.
Half an hour later Peter and Lindsey were in the car driving home. They had called who they needed to call and John would be picked up and brought to the funeral home in the morning. They drove home in complete silence and it wasn’t until they walked in the door that his mother said, “I’ll get the phone book.”
Peter said, “not yet.”
Peter and his mother sat there in the room and listened to the sounds of the machines. Hisses and pulsing and beeping filled the otherwise silent room. These machines were keeping Peter’s father and Lindsey‘s husband alive now. A heart attack two days earlier had left John unable to breathe on his own and unresponsive to all attempts to revive him. The day it happened, the doctor explained that chances of survival were basically non-existent. Without the rubber tubes breathing for him and the other machines pumping his now damaged heart, he would be gone. Peter’s mother was asked if she wanted to take her husband of thirty-one years off of life support. She didn’t even know how to answer that question. She had never been through anything like this before and now she was being asked to make this huge decision in front of their twenty year old son. This is the type of decision that John would have made for the family. He had always made the decisions and now the decisions were out of his hands.
The Hartmans were a perfect family. Perfect as families really can be anyways. They had there problems but all in all they were the type of family that other families hoped they could be. John ran a real estate agency responsible for some of the largest commercial and residential sales in the city. He won awards for his work and was never without work. Even during the so-called recession, people still called John for their needs. Through his work he found and purchased the home they lived in now. A modest home on a quiet cul-de-sac. Within it’s walls sat 3 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms, and John’s baby, a completely renovated eat-in kitchen that was featured on an HGTV special. Lindsey wasn’t a housewife by any means. Her work as a social worker left her feeling rewarded without the public attention that John’s work garnered. Over the years she considered herself lucky if she reached only a quarter of the people she tried to help. With her priority on helping children in abusive homes, she never went a day without telling Peter how much she loved him and how proud of him she was. Despite his parents wishes, he didn’t choose to follow in either of their footsteps. Appreciative of both of their work, he knew that he would never feel the joy in their respective fields. Instead he chose to follow a different path. A dual major in English Education and Creative Writing was chosen by Peter only two months earlier. After a year of travelling after high school, he entered the university undeclared but was sure of his path almost instantly upon meeting his college advisor. A man who had spent much of his life teaching English in secondary and post-secondary schools and publishing his own books would quickly become a mentor to Peter. They weren’t a perfect family but they didn’t have to try hard to look that way.
A plug was all that kept this perfect family together now. Pulling this plug would mean changing the family forever. Peter’s father had not prepared them for this. Always a planner, John was always laying things out for the others and specifically planning for most of the day to day things that others would just take as they come. Peter thought that his father would have planned for this. He, in fact, probably had but hadn’t gotten around to informing his wife and son about his wishes and giving them specific instructions. Lindsey thought about all of this too. Anger swept over her as she sat in the sterile room. Why had he never gone over this plan? Why didn’t he want everything to go perfectly smooth in this imperfect situation? She could count on one hand the number of times she had been this angry with him and found herself laughing at the situation now. She was angry at him, not for having a heart attack, but for not planning ahead for it. The laughter disipated quickly and was transformed to crying again. It had been like this for the last two days. Tears and laughter and numbness cycling over her. Now she sat there as the rest of the hospital slept and watched as the loves of her life did the same. She told herself that John was just sleeping and very soon he would wake up and feel rejuvinated and ready to tackle the next big sale. Peter slept curled up in a familiar position on one of the uncomfortable chairs occupying the private room. He had always done this. Falling asleep in chairs was somewhat of a specialty for him. She could remember a time when he was just about 13 and had fallen asleep in a kitchen chair with his legs tucked underneath his lap. A picture of that moment would become the family Christmas card that year and the original would find a permanent home on both of his parent’s desks at work. This was the first time since they came to the hospital that she had seen her son sleep despite her urging for him to do so. Lindsey wished she could do the same but felt that it would be selfish for to be asleep when John woke up. She was still holding hope that he would wake up.
The morning arrived slowly and through the window Lindsey could see the sun rise above the city around her. It was a sun rise she had seen hundreds of times but on this morning it felt different to her. Peter had woke up earlier and left to check on the house. Lindsey thought this action a bit strange considering that their neighbors had already offered to keep an eye on things. She told herself that he needed a little time to himself and hoped that he too was watching this sun rise.
Peter wasn’t watching the sun rise. He was sitting at the desk that occupied their home’s third bedroom. The desk, a “lucky find” as his father called it, once belonged to a king or a sultan or someone of ridiculous power. It could have belonged to a bum off the street for all Peter cared. These “lucky finds” never impressed him much but he gave his father the satisfaction by gushing over them. There were very few times where Peter had actually sat at this desk, or even near it. From his fathers chair now, he could see where he had sat a year ago when he told his father about his educational intentions. He noticed a spot on the desk, just above the right-hand draw where his father had constantly rubbed his thumb while working. A similar marking occupies his father’s desk at work. He came home, not to get away from the hospital, but in hopes of finding something that would direct him in his fathers absence. Contracts and other legal documents filled the desk but nothing that helped him out in this situation. Underneath all of that sat a photograph of the family on top of a ferris wheel. A moment that really lacked any significant moment at all, now left him wishing for the moment to repeat itself. Tears poured out leaving tiny little puddles on the desk. He pulled himself together and walked into the bathroom. He sat looking in the mirror telling himself that this isn’t how he should look when his father woke up. He splashed his face with cold water but only started crying again. He could barely distinguish between the splashed water and the tears. Either way, he knew that his mother was waiting for him to return to be by her side.
As Peter pulled into the parking lot he felt confident that his fragile condition would be masked by the false strength he would provide to his mother. Walking through the automatic doors seems almost too automatic on this third day at the hospital. The nurses didn’t bother to stop him anymore and the girl at the coffee stand didn’t need his order to hand him to two tall house coffees with two creams and two sugars. He felt automatic himself. As if cruise control was an option for humans, he moved fluidly through the hospital lobby, to the elevator, through the quiet corriders of the ICU, handing his mother her coffee, kissing his father’s forehead, and finally finding himself back in the chair he barely slept in. The mother and son didn’t speak for a long time. Instead, they sipped their coffee and listened to the sounds around them. These machines were running throughout the rooms surrounding them. They both wondered about the individuals occupying those rooms. The men or women lying in beds, with their families holding their breath, waiting for happy outcome. Peter and Lindsey wondered what these people were going to do. Would they choose to end their fathers, or their mothers, or their childs life. What would come after that? Would they regret their decision or know that they made the right choice.
“Fuck.”
The first word to escape Peter’s mouth in two hours caused his mother to gasp. She didn’t scold him because she just as easily could have said it. She felt like saying it too. A word that John himself considered to be among the most foul came out of his son’s mouth just as naturally as if he were saying hello or good morning. Lindsey stood up, hugged Peter, and told him that she loved him. She didn’t have to say anything else. He knew that she had made a decision and that he wasn’t going to argue with her. He felt that the decision was clear and both them were just avoiding it. He flashed back to several moments of his life when his father, the supreme being of his life, had told him without hesitation, “we cannot avoid the inevitable but I will never tell you that things will work themselves out. We must know what to do in any situation that we encounter.” Peter did know what needed to be done. Lindsey knew too and left the room to make her wishes known.
An hour had passed and Lindsey returned and told her son that it wouldn’t be long now. She held John’s hand and as the doctor and his nurse entered the room. She slid her hand away from Johns and into Peters. She squeezed hard as the doctor took vitals and explained what was to happen. Peter held back tears as the doctor removed tubes and turned machines off around them. He watched the nurse watch the doctor intently. She looked uncomfortable and Peter told himself that this was the first time she was experiencing this type of situation. She kept fidgeting with her name badge. Celia looked over at Peter and Lindsey and the look the in her eye showed how sorry she felt for them. The doctor continued to explain the formalities that would occur next and Celia moved towards the door. She stopped just short of the chairs where Peter and Lindsey sat and placed her hand on Peter’s shoulder. As the doctor walked out the room he told them that he would give them a few minutes with the body before he sent someone for it. Those were his words, “the body” and “it.” Celia was more personal about it and told them that she was sorry for their loss and that he was in a better place. It was the look in her eye that told Peter that she meant what she said and that she did believe he was better now.
Half an hour later Peter and Lindsey were in the car driving home. They had called who they needed to call and John would be picked up and brought to the funeral home in the morning. They drove home in complete silence and it wasn’t until they walked in the door that his mother said, “I’ll get the phone book.”
Peter said, “not yet.”
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