Almost There

The best is yet to come. Right?

I wanted to be a pediatrician because I liked children. I’m always impressed by their wonderment by the most mundane activities that life offers. I could bet that many, like myself, would like to return to that time. Whatever the case, college wasn’t something that my family thought was possible. “Humble” would be the proud way of describing our upbringing.

My home wasn’t the best, but I’m here. And no, I didn’t become a doctor. Rather, I was married at 19 at the barrel of a shotgun. Her dad was livid when we walked in his dank basement office. We were both shivering, clutching one another’s hand, eyes darting at each other, then him, then back, then at the floor. That continued as he rained down hellfire and brimstone on us. I haven’t since see someone so dexterously use “fuck” as a noun, pronoun, interjection, conjunction, preposition, verb, adverb, and, obviously an adjective.

Sherrie and I made it through that day and Nolan’s birth, but we didn’t make it much longer after.

“Dan! Did you buy the salt?” Sherrie screamed from the kitchen. Burners were all lit. Caldrons were bubbling. She pored over cookbooks like she was studying for her final exams.

I heard her, but prudence advised me to act like I didn’t. She repeated herself, much louder. I knew I was going to get a beating for this mistake. “No hun. Sorry. Store is closed now or I would go.”

The silence was so deafening. I swear I could hear my wrist watch that was sitting on in my nightstand all the way up in my bedroom. I sat on the couch and waited for her to approach. She didn’t explode. I followed protocol and grabbed my blanket from behind the couch, curled up and fell asleep to a dry bedtime story by Ron Popeil.

She never came. She quietly imploded. The next night, when I came home from work, she wasn’t there and neither was our three year old son Nolan. It was the last I would see either of them.

Now, don’t think I’m sort of absent or unscrupulous father! I wanted to see them. Problem was, I had no clue where to find them. A critical bystander may say that I could’ve looked harder, but I always thought Sherrie just needed some time. Then after a while, I needed some time. Then, there was just a lot of time and, yep, that’s that.

I will never understand people. I’d like to think I’m simple. If I’m fed, have a roof (or ceiling) and a remote control, I am contented. Those who want more seem crazy to me.

Always looking for the next big thing is insane. Living in a state of “almost there” is equivalent to being “never there.” I may be unambitious, but, like my proud father, I can sugar-coat it as, simply, easygoing.

But, it’s New Years eve. The day for looking forward. God knows I don’t want to look back at the wreckage. Time to place your bets on life. I’m placing a very special bet that I’ll be alive next year.

Good luck with the exercise routine.