The Prenuptial Agreement Ch. 02

I didn't work for Mother Theresa, washing the sick and carrying the bodies of the dead. I didn't work in an AIDS clinic in Africa. I didn't volunteer into the Marines to fight the War on Terror. I'm not a saint. I'm not even that nice a person. I think the best you could say about me is that I'm polite. And I'm a good tipper.

Here is a small list of things I learned about myself:

1. I like cooking. I never knew I could do it. I like turning ingredients into something that tastes complete. I like bringing out the flavors. I like the process. I like the care and even love that goes into food. I learned this in many places, in many ways, on street corners in Thailand, in Pakistani workers' dorms in Hong Kong, in kitchens in Italy, everywhere.

2. I like taking care of myself. I can do my own laundry. In a stream, if necessary. I like shaving, not having a beard. I like being clean, not dirty. I learned that in the poorest places where people with nothing still maintained their sense of dignified self by keeping clean in the midst of filth.

3. I like being with people. I never liked people much before, not like this. I'm not saying I like what people have to say or how they choose to live. There are cheats everywhere. Most people have stupid ideas. Spite is everywhere. Petty hatred is the most common action in the world. But I like being around people, feeling their lives unfold and unreel around me. It's the opposite of the cocoon in which I lived, the act of being in the world instead of being a tourist. This, I realized, is what drives the wealthy. They value being in the cocoon. They want to be tourists in the world, taking their day trips into life. I like life. I like hearing the arguments and seeing the kids play.

4. I learned that love is both fleeting and lasting. I have felt the strongest bonds with those I've known for hours or days and have witnessed the devotion, sometimes fractious, that binds people together over decades. I have held hands with an elderly man who thought I was his son and I loved him back with more heart than I thought existed in me. I have sat on a sea wall teasing the kids who congregate with nothing to do, so completely lost in the moment of the day, with the sun, with the water as dirty as it was, in this place with no future a sane man could recognize as good.

5. I've learned that most people are idiots when it comes to ideas and politics and how to achieve results. The world is a mess because we are a messy species. We can't organize. We fall prey to the avaricious and unscrupulous. We are weak except when we're bullies. I've seen riots and killings that drove home this one point: we are deep inside motivated by urges which are animal, which are not logical and which can only be satisfied with cruelty and destruction.

6. I've learned that I am what I am. That is all. I am what I am. I am no more. I am no less. I am what I am. Me. Who am I? I am me.

The wonders of the modern world make staying in touch easy. An internet email account, that's all it takes. A note every once in a while to let Susan know I was alive. A communication, a word, a sharing of emotions that at first felt forced like the bonds of my old life were preventing me from opening up. With time, I learned to say what I wanted to say. I learned that to say what you mean, you have to hear what you think.

I wrote Susan from Vietnam. "Susie, I have never forgiven myself for being born. I feel guilty for everything bad that happened to you and Mom. If I hadn't been there, Mom would still be alive. Dad was cruel to you because he had a son. It was never your fault. It was never mine because I didn't choose to be born. Mom should have known that Dad is monster. She made a mistake. We're alive."

I wrote her from Paraguay - which is, by the way, a strange place. "I don't like greasy food. I don't like gristle unless it's supposed to be there."

I wrote her from Java. "There is pleasure in doing anything with care. Cutting up vegetables is not the same as cutting them with care. The feeling matters. The thought matters."

I wrote her from Germany. "I tried to go to Auschwitz. I couldn't walk in because it felt like death." I wrote her from Staten Island, New York. "I'm bored. I like looking at the city. The ferry is cool. I had noodles in Chinatown. Only $2.25. Tasted real. One of my favorite spots in the world is the walkway on the Brooklyn Bridge, out near one of the big stone towers. You can feel the hands of the men who carved the stone and can see the water swirl against the shore and can see and feel the passage of hundreds of people on their way to work or home."

Susan wrote back from time to time. She was making progress. She'd met a guy. She'd had a real relationship and had discovered that it wasn't like what she knew. "Mike, I've learned that each guy is different - meaning they're each fucked up in their special way. Ha!"

She wrote that we should have lunch sometime. I wrote back a month later. "Meet me in Montreal on Thursday. Schwartz's for lunch." If you know Montreal, you know what that means.

I was staying in a small flat off St Viateur so I grabbed a poppy seed bagel and ate it as I walked down The Main. What is it about these bagels that I can taste the care with which they were made? The line outside Schwartz's was a little longer than usual, which meant a group of tourists had descended. I went into Pharmaprix and bought a newspaper and a pack of gum. Susan was standing with her back to me, looking at the line, a hint of anxiety in her posture. I whacked her butt with the paper and grabbed her waist. She yelped and twisted then realized it was me and threw her arms around my neck.

Susan pulled back, looked at me and started to talk but I interrupted, "We'd better get in line if we want to eat."

"You look so thin." I shrugged. "You look good."

"Thanks. I feel good." Then we stood in line without talking. The guy in front of me asked in French if we ate there often. Susan answered, saying that she'd never been to Montreal before. I didn't know she spoke French. "You mean you speak French and you've never been here before? What the hell is wrong with you, girl?"

"I looked this place up on the internet. I like the sign. Charcuterie Hebraique."

We sat at a table with four strangers, eating our corned beef and pickles. "Later, we can stop at Ben's. Viande fumée. It's pastrami. Open till like 4 in the morning."

"The way you talk you should be fat."

"I am fat. It's just invisible. A trick I learned in the Orient. So kid, you look good. If you weren't my sister, I'd be all over you." Susan cracked up laughing. "If you're not going to eat that, can I have it?"

"I'm more interested in that invisible fat trick."

"That requires great concentration and much practice. The basic idea though is that you store all your fat in the fifth dimension. You see we live in four dimensions, three physical ones plus time. You keep the fat outside those dimensions and it follows you around through space and time but you can't see it unless you possess the magic goggles which allow viewing of the higher realms."

And that is the way our conversation went. For the first time, even having not spoken for so very long, none of the phrases, none of the words, none of the emotions were shaded by pain. We just talked like two people talk. Later that afternoon, I was sitting at the window in a coffee bar, among the mix that is Montreal, while Susan used the bathroom. She punched my shoulder hard. We were back to being twins again.

"So where are you in life?" she asked.

"I really don't know. I almost said I was in Montreal but I didn't want to make a joke. Where are you?"

"I'm making progress. That's about it. I have a way to go. I may never get there but I'm moving in the right direction. Are you?"

"No, I don't think so."

"You don't?"

"No. I stopped moving. I don't know when." We sipped coffee. "I have no idea where I'm going. I don't what I'm doing. I don't know why I do things." She touched my hand.

"Are you happy? You look happy."

"I am."

"It's that simple."

"Uh-huh. If you're happy, then you're happy. There is no mystery. You don't wonder about what happiness means or whether it lasts."

"My brother the mystic."

"More like my brother the wastrel." I stretched. "You can live here. The winter sucks but the people are so real. I heard that Stevie Wonder has a new record."

"Boogie on, Reggae Woman."

"I was running on Mount Royal and found myself singing, "Don't you worry 'bout a thing. Don't you worry 'bout a thing, mama.""

"Very meaningful."

"Very. I thought about telling Dad that he's a pathetic piece of shit but he's not worth wasting my time on."

"Maybe he knows what he is. Deep inside."

"Does it matter?"

"No. I can't let it go completely." She tilted the last drops out of her cup into the saucer. "But you're right. He doesn't matter. Those are memories . . . the things that bother me. They aren't him. He's nothing."

I could end this story here, with my life passing into obscurity as I drift from place to place, never looking for or finding direction. But that is not who I am.

I went back to the city of my former residence. It wasn't home. It was where I used to be another person. I looked Jenny up in the phone book but didn't see a listing under my last name or her maiden name Wallace. Maiden name is a stupid phrase. She must be married, maybe to the guy she really loved. Good for her.

I drove around so I could see through my new eyes the places which had defined my former existence. That was my plan but I couldn't do it. I couldn't turn down the familiar streets to see the mansions, couldn't walk through the upscale mall. I found myself driving through the blue collar suburbs and the poor neighborhoods.

I saw a bunch of guys playing basketball and on a whim parked to watch. They were playing full court. They weren't bad. Ten minutes later I was in the game. "Hey man, you want to play?" Hector had a bad knee and had to sit. No introductions. I became Dude or Anglo or White Dude and then WD and fit in at the off guard, taking passes from our squat point guard and feeding the big cholo Miguel in the middle or pulling the ball out around the perimeter for Chu-Chu to loft one. Slapping hands an hour later, "Catch you, man. Be cool." And I'm gone.

"Hey."

I looked up from my chicken fried steak. I was at one of the few old places left, a blue collar roadhouse that rocked with a life no chain restaurant could ever match. "Hey. You wanna sit down?"

"I'm not sure I should." She sat anyway.

"Been a long time," I said. "I looked you up but didn't find a listing."

"When?"

"Couple of days ago."

"Oh."

"You eaten?"

"Yes. It's been a long time."

"You look good." I kept eating. "I'm not mad at you, if that's what you're thinking."

"Oh. I guess I don't . . . I used to imagine talking to you but . . . "

"It never works out that way in real life. It's never a speech. God, I'm beat. Played basketball today. I'm going to sleep well tonight."

"Why did you look me up?"

"I wanted to talk to you."

"Why?"

"I thought it would be a good idea. I came back to check things out and remembered that you were upset last time I saw you." She dropped her eyes.

"That was a long time ago."

"I know. If you don't want to talk about it, that's fine with me. I found I'm not really interested in seeing how I used to live. No reflection on you." I stretched again. This meal would stick to my ribs. "I can't believe I used to be who I used to be, if that makes sense. So how are you?"

"I'm doing all right."

"Did you ever get together with that guy you loved?"

"What? How did you . . .? Is that what you wanted to see me about?"

"No, I was just asking. I don't care about that. Really. I think I wanted to tell you that I don't blame you. I was a mess. Hard not to be a mess with my family. I don't hold anything against you." I paused. "That's it. People do stuff for all sorts of reasons. That's the way life works."

"You've changed. God, that sounds stupid."

The waitress came by to check on me. I ordered a Jack and coke - a little caffeine with the alcohol never hurts - and asked Jenny if she wanted something. She made an excuse about having to leave but changed her mind and ordered a tequila sunrise.

"People still drink those?" I said, "I thought it was all margaritas and martinis." I worked on the rest of my steak as Jenny watched me eat.

"You don't eat the same."

"I've learned to chew my food."

"You used to wolf it down." I smiled. "What have you been up to? We don't exactly move in the same circles." At that, I shook my head. Jenny tried to retract the question.

"It's fine. Doesn't matter. Nothing much matters, really, except what you can't let go of. That I've figured out. All you are is everything that has a hold on you. Some of it's good, like my sister, like a good steak and that drink when it shows up. Some of it's bad. Like my father. Like a lot of things."

"I know which category I'm in."

"Do you? Must have been hard to be married to me. I don't blame you for wanting out."

"You talk different. You sound like a cowboy, all gruff and tough. Is this an act?"

I took a deep breath. "If it is, then it's an act that fits me." The drinks arrived and the waitress cleared my plate. I turned down dessert, nodding to the glass to indicate that was my piece of pie for tonight. Jenny took a gulp and sat, shoulders hunched, her mind obviously turning things over. "Why don't you just say what's on your mind. There can't be any harm now."

Jenny shuddered. She took a sip and made a face. "I never knew I could be so unhappy. Do you know?" She looked up. "Of course you do. You've been unhappy your whole life."

"Kind of sucks, doesn't it? I'm sorry I contributed to that." I paused. "But you have to accept that it was your choice. You married me - I don't know why - and you couldn't live with the decision. I don't blame you, like I said."

"I always thought I'd be happy. I never looked into my future and saw anything but . . . I saw bad times but never this."

"It's been a while. Haven't you let it go?"

Jenny turned from side to side, her anxiety showing. "You're only a part of it."

"Sorry." Must have made some other bad choices along the way.

"Maybe if I can say this all at once. When we were married, I lost hope that you'd change. You were always angry and you kept your feelings from me. I started to believe the worst."

"You don't have to get into the Susan thing."

"I'm not. I started to think I'd never been in love with you. That I'd only ever married you . . . I started to think I still loved this guy from high school." She looked at me. "I never did anything about it."

"I know. My people were thorough."

"I kept imagining how it would be. How we'd have children - him and me - and how we'd be happy and I would be happy. You know some of this, right?"

"Pretty much all of it." She looked at me and then looked away. "So didn't it work out? I gather it didn't."

"You don't know?" I shook my head. The waitress came by and I ordered another round for both of us.

"It was awful. I broke up with him because he wasn't mature and he still isn't. I can't believe I ever thought I was in love with him."

"So it sounds to me like you need to put it all in the past. He was part of the wrapping up of our marriage and now that's over so you put him and me in the past and move on."

"I realized I was in love with someone who never existed."

"Him or me?"

"Both. You really. All the things I thought about him were just reflections of you."

"So did all this happen recently?" I was fishing. I hadn't seen Jenny in forever. If she was dwelling on ancient events, then she had problems I'd never seen when we'd been together.

"No." She saw the look on my face. "You think I'm nuts, don't you?" I cocked my head. "It took a long time to get over what happened to Susan - what I did to her - but I don't sit around wishing that you'd walk in the door."

"First, the Susan thing was my fault. I decided to go through with the hearing because I wasn't going to stay married to you. And because I was so pissed off at my father that I wanted Susan to have a day in court. If only to embarrass the fucker. Second . . . well there is no second. I thought there was but there isn't. Oh wait. You told me you're unhappy now. What's the deal?"

"My mother died two weeks ago. She had lung cancer."

"I'm sorry."

"She was sick a long time. That's why I'm here. She died at home." Tears were in her eyes. "I don't have anybody. My brother is a waste of time. He can't deal with anything, nothing. I had to do the funeral myself. I've had to clean out the house."

"I'm sorry."

"You stupid bastard. Why couldn't you love me?"

"I thought you married me for my money. That's what you said."

Jenny wiped her nose with a napkin. "What, you think I didn't want to be happy? You think I didn't love you? I made a mistake, a big fucking mistake, thinking you could change. I loved you. I loved you, goddamnit, and you couldn't ever try to make me happy. You know what it's like to live with a man who's all ripped up inside, who's so full of anger at himself and everyone else. I have to go." As she started to get up, I grabbed her wrist and pulled her down.

We didn't talk for a while. We sat. I held Jenny's wrist, not her hand. It wasn't romantic. Five minutes passed. I waved the waitress away.

"Susan's doing well," I said. "She's been dating. For the first time. Now she realizes all men are jerks - which we both think is a step forward. I saw her in Montreal. We had a good time.

"I'm sorry I was such an asshole. I doubt I would have understood if you'd talked to me. I wouldn't have been able to hear it.

"I owe you something. If it weren't for your divorcing me, I wouldn't have hit bottom and decided to change. I've learned a few things. What people say about drunks and junkies is true for a lot of things. You have to hit bottom before you know you have to change. When I was on my own, when all the shit with my sister and my mother was staring me in the face . . . I had to do something different.

"I've been wandering. Just wandering. On my own. Do you understand me, Jenny. I wanted to get lost. I couldn't figure out who the fuck I am. All I could see was a shell surrounded by piles of expensive shit. I didn't know what I really wanted. I didn't know where I wanted to go. You want to know where I am now?"

"Where?"

"I have no idea. Honest. I have no idea. I don't belong . . . I don't belong in my old life and I don't know where I'm going or what I'm going to do." I finally let go of her wrist. "I think that's what I wanted to say to you."

In a romance novel, Jenny would have taken my hands in hers and looked steadily into my eyes and then she would have said, "Where ever you go, I want to be there with you." That didn't happen. I want to make clear that didn't happen. She left and I left and I made it back to my hotel without driving into a telephone pole.

I had realized once upon a time that I could choose to be happy. And I was. I was happy. I was also bored and more than a little lonely. It was nice not having my father's voice screaming in my ears whenever my thoughts were not otherwise quiet. It was weird at first knowing that so much of my life had been an urge to create enough activity in my brain to drown out my troubles.

A couple of days later I had decided to get out of town again, this time to see the USA, not a corner of the far off world. I didn't need to run that far, but I wasn't ready to sit still. My bags were in the trunk of a Toyota, not a Mercedes, not a romantic Chevy roadster. The Toyota was comfortable and reliable and I'd learned that anything more is a choice. I'm not saying it's wrong to choose luxury or style, just that it's a choice I no longer needed to make.