But Teacher, I Am Trying (My Best)

I suppose I could call this one of my first summers in hindsight. Then again, I am letting this go out to the atmosphere without any kind of decoration or imagery to hide behind.

Foreshadowing is real. Yet it takes hindsight to have us look back and recognize that life shows us things, like windows of opportunities and warning signs that offer guidance.
But I was blind to this.
I was blind in some ways.
However, I was a visionary in other ways and somehow, I was too afraid to let myself see the life I wanted most.
I was too afraid to try and find out that something about me was wrong or otherwise undeserving, and that as close as I came to having what I want, in the end, I would always be close, but never victorious.

Did you see this coming?
Did you know that trauma lies to us?
Did you know that trauma keeps us frightened?
And me?
I was like a child, too afraid to let go of their special blanket or a stuffed animal (named Tuffy) who kept me safe.

Did your youth come with scars too?
I know they did.
And if so, did you ever wish that we met, way back when?
This way, you and I could have rescued each other from the wrongs and the scars that we both had to endure
Did you always know what you wanted most?
And if so, what were you willing to do to find it?
Anything?
Or what about everything?

I was less willing, of course, because I was always afraid that I would either miss my mark or try so hard and come up short.
Or in other words, I was always afraid to try (for you) and eventually find out that I was never enough.

Nothing is holding me back now.
Nothing can hold my words, except for an honest heart or an honest tongue, depending upon how you choose to hear this.
And yes, I hope that you hear this.
Loud and clear.
I hope that this reaches you at a time when you need this the most.
I hope this fills your lungs with something that you have otherwise been missing–and more, I hope that this comforts you and answers your questions of our history’s past.
Like I said, I am letting this go as far as I can with hopes that each end of the galaxy hears every word.

I hope you can feel this as well and imagine me, somehow speaking to you with the houselights dim and the spotlight on me.
I want this, live, and on stage in such a way that only you can see me.
I don’t mind the empty theater now.
In fact, I want it this way, which is why I reserved this entire house for me and you, or us, depending upon which way this appeals to you.

And so, here it goes –

Summer:
I would say this was somewhere around the year 1994.
This was before my life really changed into something I had never expected. This was before meeting you the way I did, or have, and this is before touching your skin, alive and in the flesh, and after the times when I first met you in my dreams.

There are certain monuments of young life and landscapes that bring the memories back to the days of our crazy youth.
And yes, I was crazy.
I was wild and mad and eager and even preposterous in some regards. I shook too many tails and pulled too many tricks to say that I did not deserve my fair share of warnings and beatings. And yes, I caught a few tags and wore a collar a few times.

I swore that I would never grow old.
Fuck that . . .
I swore that my friends would always be my friends and that my life and my regard for people would never change from what it was.
But it did
And it has.

Some say that maturity comes with age and some say that age does not cause maturity. I would have to say that awareness comes with time and that time itself is an unshakable teacher; whereas, if we choose to skip class or miss a lesson, then the teacher will agree and catch us later because in the end, no one can skip class.
No one can skip out on a lesson without having to stay after class or make up the test.

I was at an age where I could no longer claim the ignorance of youth or say that I was too young to worry about bills or having a good job or good credit.
I was immature and somewhat hopeful that somehow, I would figure out a trick or two and maybe (hopefully) find some kind of way to avoid the standards and get by on my charming personality—only, and in all fairness, the hard truth is that I was more resentful than charming. Not to mention that my personality needed adjustment.

We cannot live in a state of war at all times and hope to find peace.
Build bridges, I was told.
Not walls . . .
I built walls and burned bridges.

Ah, the angst of a young man in his twenties. The confusion of this thing we call manhood and the troubles we find when our definitions are wrong or misunderstood..
I lived this way.
The angst of living life and the need to go, be, and to feel alive was more important to me than finding my career or studying and learning better ways to make an honest living.

I got by, though . . .
somehow
And to be fair about this, I was never sure how I managed or how I got by.
Yes, I suppose any port in the storm was good enough.
Then again, I never realized that my escape routes would dwindle down to a certain few until eventually, there was no one there to help me and no place left to hide.

I never worked exceptionally hard.
No, I can say that I worked hard enough. I did what I did so I could get what I got, —and at the same time, there was never a real drive or a sense of urgency for me.
I never cared because somehow, and I don’t know why; I always believed that I would “figure it out in the end” and someone would come along and throw me a line
(or save me).

I remember the late nights out with friends. I remember the morning after, and somehow, I made it to work the next day.
Yes, I made it to work, which is not to say that I was dedicated to my job or my business.
No.
I had no interest in being a better salesman. I was unhappy in too many ways. I was unenthused by my day job. I was educationally behind and significantly aware that I had never graduated high school, let alone attended college or had the college experience.
No one sees this angle of me.
No one believes me when I tell people that I assumed I was stupid, at best, and that the predictions of me being a failure would always be true.
There was so much missing from my life.
More than anything else; I was missing.

I missed out on my youth because of my troubled ideas and poor decisions. I had my depression and my anxiety thieve away my dreams and my ambitions.
I believed in the words “junkie,” and “bum,” or “loser,” and “drunk” and I invested in the word “criminal” too because at best, this is all I assumed I could ever be.

I was living in the basement of a  home.
I drove a beat-up, old blue Chevy.

I never had a real high school experience.
I never went to my prom.
I never went to driver’s education.
And I never had the experience of wearing a cap and gown on graduation day, —in fact, or at best, I earned a diploma later in life which came in the mail. They call these diplomas G.E.D’s which stand for General Equivalency Diplomas, or to people who believed in the “loser” standard; we called this a “Good Enough Diploma.”
And to be clear; there was no celebration or party or anything of the sort for my graduation.

No.
I can say that there were kind words. There was support. There was a quick congratulations and a few “I told you so,” comments when explaining, “You can do it,” but that was it.

No special dinner..
Nothing.
But . . .
There was work the next day and life just moved from one day to the next.

And I have to say something here . . .
Early youth is the only time we really celebrate ourselves.
And think about this.
Think about how excited people are when their child can tie their own shoes.
Think about the applause and the cheers that come when little boys can put on their “big boy” pants because they learned how to use the toilet instead of wearing diapers.

We make strides and monumental changes and each are cheered and celebrated.
Then we age.
Age comes and we learn that no, there is no big party for doing what you are told.
And no, no matter how many gold stars we have on the fridge, life is life, bills are due, and the end of the month marks another month clear that we can stay in our home, because we paid the rent on time.
Safe to say that all that matters is we can turn on a light, eat some food, and drive the car which we pay for on a monthly basis.

I missed too many celebrations. I missed out on too many opportunities and yes, I was alive and well and yes, I was out of trouble (so-to-speak)

I remember the late summer nights, out at places where I was out of my league and too broke to compete with the financial settings around me.

My friends had it easier than I did.
I only had a few bucks in my pocket.
I drove shit-box for a car, which I can say that while it was not the greatest or best looking car, —I had some good times and some wild moments in the backseat of that car.

I remember the times when I was brave enough to walk away. I remember my walks in the city. I was alone and free to be myself without worrying how I looked or if I laughed or smiled at the right time.
I was away from the pressures of the crowd and away from my so-called friends and the bullshit competition that takes place between our pissing matches. There was no need to deal with the cock measuring that happens when men gather to see who is better.

I remember finding myself down on the Westside and noticing the black water, which was The Hudson River, and how dark it looked while reflecting the light of the full moon and the tall buildings of New York City.

I have said this before and yes, I will say this again, —across the river was New Jersey, which was like an entirely different country to me.

I had gone on a date with someone in New Jersey . . .
She was out of my normal range, which is not to say that her looks were beyond anything special.
What I appreciated most is she was unafraid to be herself.

I can say that she was average looking. Yet, there was something free about her. There was something that was happily unattached to all the ideas that I gripped and held so tightly.
We went out on one date —and I assumed that she, although average, would never consider anyone like me to be a man of her choice.
I never assumed she would want to have plans with me or take on her adventures or go to her business dinners.
Why?

I was aware of something so true.
But I was too afraid to address this.
I wanted to run and hide.
I wanted to run away but there was no way to hide from the fact that we are never any better than our beliefs allow us to be.

I saw myself as a “drop out” at best.
I was uneducated as far as the usual educational systems go.
I never dared. I never tried harder than say, to do what it takes to rise above my own limitations.

I never sought or tried to learn how to better myself.
No, I gave into my usual intimidations and so, as far as I was concerned, I would be fine to achieve an average life.
Nothing better would come my way.
I would have to strive and be comfortable with solitary mediocrity.
Nothing else.
Nothing more

I met a girl after this.
She was nice.
She was sweet.
She had eyes that changed color—no, really.
Some days they were like crystals, and some days her eyes appeared like jewels. And some days there was a softness to the sadness of her intimate truths that welled when her eyes filled with tears.

I never exposed much to her—at least, I never dared to show her my truths or how I felt.
I never showed her what she meant to me because to do this would enter me into a level of vulnerability, and no.
I was never brave enough to dare that sort of thing.

It is true.
And I can say this now, adding hindsight to clear my vision which was unclear back then, due to my own hysterical blindness.
It is true that yes, love can be delivered and administered through the injection of touch.
It is true that tiny little things are noticeable, like the way a smile curves or how true happiness resounds from the sound of someone’s voice.
A touch of her hand could cure all the emotional cancers in my world.
I knew this for certain.

There is beauty in the world. However, ugliness from within can cast a gloomy shade on things like true love. And so, good people with beautiful faces and truest hearts fell victim to the scumbag truths that while yes; all men can be considered animals, —some animals really do make better pets.
I was not housebroken and no. I was not a good pet.

I remember nights when I was dressed above my own nature, and trying hard to fit in, or trying hard to pull off my best approach and “look the part.”

I remember late nights while standing on rooftops and looking across the city. I took long slow drags from my cigarette, I stood in a manner to be poetic while thinking about poets like Jim Carroll or Frank O’Hara’s “Having a Coke With You.”

I’ve always wanted to be someone.
And again, if we can only be as good as our thoughts, then I assumed that I was only made to be as good as “average”
In all fairness, who the hell wants to be with someone average?

My biggest regrets are the damages and the casualties from my past. Or more, my biggest sins are the good people who had more than anyone else and yet, I acted in a way that made them feel less-than or unworthy.

No . . .
I was the unworthy one.
I was too worried about my levels of acceptance.
I was too afraid that I would never be remarkable and that I would never have a trophy life.

And it’s funny too, how hindsight comes along to clear up our vision.
I used to want the world.
I wanted a good life.
I wanted anything and everything at my fingertips, —and I had this too.
Only, I was too blind, too sick, and too immature to notice that love was right in front of me the entire time.
I never had the balls or the understanding of how to handle this.

This brings me up to now . . .
The years fell from the calendar like old leaves from the branches of yesterday’s tree,
I am here now.
Waiting, by any means
and no matter what it takes
I am waiting.

I know that I never went to a prom.

And I know that I have trashed my life in many regards and I have failed my marriages in the past.
I know this
And I know why too.

I never danced the way I wanted to.
And, so, when the time comes and when the opportunity strikes, I swear to create a prom of my own.
I swear to this and when “she” agrees, I will take my prom date to the heights of my life and show her the city from a rooftop.
And, when this happens, —I will drop to my one knee and with all of my heart and modesty, I will humbly explain that I have missed too many things in my life.
I lost too many opportunities.
I missed the train too many times and I arrived too late to repair what took place.
I saw the wreckage in the wake and the aftermath of my choices.

I have waited my entire life to do this and to be this vulnerable, —and so, no one will ever have this from me.
No one but you, I’ll say.
And I will look up, perhaps with tears in my eyes, strong or weak, either way; I do not care.
And I will tell “her” that I have waited forever for this.
No one is as beautiful as you.
And I should have let you know this a long, long time ago.
No one can hold a candle to you.
No one can make me feel what I feel like when I am with you.
I have hurt myself enough and I have hurt enough people (including you) to know that lightning might not come in a bottle and lightning might strike twice in the same place, —but the odds of a third time are unthinkable and the odds of a fourth are astronomical and impossible.
So . . .

I have never been this down or high or this low or this unstoppable before.
I have never seen anyone who can walk in a room, like you do, and simply because this happened—you make the world a much better place.

I will look up and expose the unseen parts of me.
I will show the good, the bad, the ugly and the truth.
I will show the little boy who was hurt.
I will show the child that was bullied and beaten.
I will show the dreamer in me.
I will show the love I have that I would never dare to expose or to show anyone else.

I will say I have walked far enough.
I have seen more than my share.
I have lived more than one life and lost enough for several lifetimes.
At the same time; I have not lived a day before the day when I held you in my arms.

I don’t ever want to live the way I lived again.
I don’t ever want to dare or risk the unworthy fears that somehow; everything I touch turns to stone—because you, my love, and you above all, —you deserve someone who touches everything and has the world turn to gold.

I don’t know what today will bring.
I don’t know what the morning will say when the sun comes back—but tonight, I want to give my world to you.

I want to show you the parts that no one has ever seen.
I want to love you in ways that no one else could.
And I don’t want this to be short lived or something momentary.
No.
I want this to be “us” for the rest of my life.
And as I open the little box, I want to expose the symbol of my gesture—and whether this costs nothing or every penny I have, I will offer this and say —you are the love of my life.
I have never seen anyone as beautiful or as breathtaking as you.
No one compares to you and no one will ever own this station in my heart.

Please, I don’t want to face the rest of my life or the rest of the world without you

Marry me . . .
please.
No one in the world is like you
I have already lost so much . . .
and I –
I cannot risk losing the only true angel in my life.

So, please
Will you marry me?

I’m sure the script will change when I this is in-person.
But yes,
I think this is a good place to start

Or so
I hope