Courage and Love in the Central Valley

By Austin T. Murphy

Avoid the city of Fresno at all costs. You have been warned.

    The world is a fickle place, my friends. Although we’d like to believe we are better than the herd, we all waver between moods and opinions, living our lives in the in-betweens much more  than the peaks and valleys.

    And that’s ok.

    Permanence is beautiful, like the redwood tree, the Grand Canyon, and the Great Wall of China. But humans are not permanent. We exist here for a short time, and in that time we value our personal experiences and knowledge above all else, for that is all we know.

    That’s why it is ok for us to change our minds from time to time. After all, nothing lasts anyways.

    Hell, the media does it for us when they are constantly telling us that we should hate, then  love, then resent, then admire LeBron James, Tiger Woods, Kobe Bryant, Tom Brady, Richard Sherman, Tim Tebow, Barry Bonds, Justin Bieber, Miley Cyrus, Chris Brown, and Kim Kardashian all within the course of the week.

But that’s not really the point at all, is it? Thank goodness I caught myself, because that could have gone in a strange direction.

The point, I suppose, is that this isn’t really about humans, and this definitely isn’t about celebrities, landmarks, or nature.

This is about me, and the fact that I can’t make up my damn mind about what to do about you.

I loved you. And I use the past tense because I can’t know if I still do anymore. I haven’t seen you in months, and the last time I did I swore I wouldn’t keep carrying on.

I can be sure of that little bit, though. I definitely loved you. That is a fact.

And I’m well aware that people can change. After all, I am 110% different from the person I was five years, ten years, even twenty years ago.

And I’m pausing briefly here because I know I’m going to need some help from my favorite musicians to say what I really ought to say.

This is certainly a different kind of piece; for anyone of you reading, welcome to the real me.

Inhale. Exhale.

Some days I can’t stop thinking about how perfect it felt when we were happy. I’d call you over to the couch, put my arms around you, and bask in the smile spread across your face.

I often told you that you fit perfectly in my arms.

And then I gather myself, ten seconds later, and remember all of the ugliness that came out of us. All the terrible things I said, and remember that I haven’t always been the best man I am capable of being.

But it takes two to tango, and you have that strange ability to push my buttons even with your silence. I know you so well, and you know that I do. I’m utterly convinced that you do it on purpose when you feign ignorance and play the martyr.

I’m not perfect, but neither are you. And just because I don’t want to hold onto the bad moments or make note of every fault you’ve ever made doesn’t mean that the bad moments don’t happen or that you are infallible.

It just means that we are both human, and we are both capable of making mistakes.

And hell, maybe you were a mistake to me. But I’d like to think not.

I just don’t understand what you want at this point. I don’t understand how you can honestly think that I want to talk to you less than a week after I told you I don’t want you to in my life. I said it quite clear. I was there. And you heard me.

But of course it goes back to the precedent I’ve set. You have no reason, other than intermittent periods or months of silence, to believe that I’ll ever be true to my word. After all, I always slip up, I always let down my guard and relapse back into answering the phone when you call eventually.

I’m like a clock that way. You can always count on me to let you back in even though I shouldn’t.

In the end I guess it all just comes down to asking myself what I really want, which is about as simple as reciting the first three hundred digits of pi by memory.

3.14159265....

What I want, or at least what I think I want, is for you to wake up to the reality that we can’t try again, that we can’t be friends, and that we are both much better off accepting that and not kidding ourselves.

We have long since established that we simply have fundamental differences of opinion and values. Not to mention that I’ll forever hate myself in remembering the terrible things I’ve been and said to you.

But I can hear it in your voice when you speak that you still believe somehow. And that’s the problem. You are so sheltered and protected that you don’t see the situation clearly for what it is, and that’s not me calling you out or pretending to be better or wiser than you.

That’s me calling it as I see it, and I see that we have grown up in different situations. Sure we have similarities, but there have been so many times that you don’t understand my motives or intentions all because of how you were raised and the life you’ve lived.

You don’t understand. At all. But I want you to, so badly.

And so I have to keep truckin’, keep moving forward with blinders like Abraham leaving Sodom and Gomorrah.

Well that has to be a first. Wasn’t planning on taking this all the way back to Genesis when I started, but c’est la vie--as if that is any valid excuse.

And I have to keep my eyes straight ahead and my mind clear, and I have to try as hard as I can not to think of you whenever I listen to one of the two hundred love songs on my phone, because that’s what makes it the hardest.

At this point, I really don’t have anything else to say other than thank god I left the Central Valley, and thank god I’m naive enough to believe that everything happens for a reason.

Because, frankly, that is the only reason I can still hope that there’s an answer around the corner, another adventure to undertake, and another girl that I can lose my mind over just like I’ve always done.

It has to happen...because there’s no way I was put on this Earth just to write the abstract and objective, destined to desire but never taste the sweet marrow of life.

But if it doesn’t there’s no point in bitching about the inevitable. Whatever is going to happen will happen with or without my consent or happiness.

God, this has to be the saddest point I’ve made in awhile. If you’ve made it this far, I’m truly sorry that I can’t leave you with something more uplifting, but “Silver Springs” just came on and I need to end this before it makes me any angrier.

If you have a significant other in your life, boo for you. Because, as I paraphrase Beverly D’Angelo in Christmas Vacation, “It’s the [holidays], and we’re all in misery.” 

© Austin T. Murphy 2016