Before I Go
This is story 1 of 2 which were originally written in June of 2017 as assignments at the conclusion of the previous meeting of a local writers group I had attended for a year or so. Our Fearless Leader – as she became affectionately referred to by me – challenged our small group to consider, in poetry and in prose, the seemingly simple lead-in, “Before I Go”.
I suspect that upon that utterance, most of the group had thoughts of dying and one’s impending final days, weeks, and possibly months. Of course such an ambiguous intro could easily proceed down any number of paths. One such path that came to my mind – given the way my mind works – was a trip to the local grocery for bread and milk.
As an aside, according to Wikipedia, Fearless Leader was a fictional character, voiced by Bill Scott, and a recurring antagonist in the 1959–1964 animated television series The Rocky and Bullwinkle Show. Rocky and Bullwinkle, Dudley Do-Right and Snidely Whiplash, Peabody and Sherman, Boris and Natasha, and of course Fearless Leader.
No offense to the current day cartoon writers but they do not make them like they used to and the Rocky and Bullwinkle show was one of my all-time favorite Saturday morning escapes. Knowing our Fearless Leader, as well as I think I do, or at least as well as I hope I do, I am sure that she will find the comparison flattering. Of course, after we all have a good chuckle, I anticipate that she will begin wringing her hands and casting an evil eye my way.
When I tackle a story, especially one with a connotation such as this one, seldom do the words spring from my fingertips with the speed of lightening shooting across the darkened sky. I admit to having mental images of me tapping out a story on the front porch, stopping for a moment to take a sip of Earl Grey tea, enjoying the sounds of the birds chirping just out of sight, and completing a story such as this one in a matter of an hour or so. Certainly sounds poetic but that is never going to happen.
Reality for me is generally quite different as most of the time the process takes several days. Sometimes even longer. Typically, a word document remains open on my laptop with snippets splatted across the page in no particular order. Some are but a few words while others are a sentence or two. Over time some are expanded upon, others are deleted, and a few are moved to a different place on the page as the story slowly takes on a life of its own.
Upon offering up this writing assignment our Fearless Leader then read her Before I Go story in which she relived her long and varied life’s journey. The sights, the sounds, the smells, and the experiences she might like to relive just once more – before she goes. In a page and a half, she painted a beautiful collage – a lifetime of memories as if they all happened just yesterday or perhaps the week before.
As I sit here, staring at my laptop, I too can fondly recall similar experiences that Judy and I have shared over the past rapidly approaching fifty years. Exploring the Inner Harbor and Fells Point in Baltimore. Cracking open blue crabs with a wooden mallet while our lips marinated in Old Bay seasoning. Taking a cruise down the mighty Mississippi on the American Queen. Walking down Bourbon Street as the best blues music in the world spilled out onto the sidewalk as we walked by. Riding the Coastal Starlight down the western coast from Seattle to Los Angles and back. Stopping off in San Francisco for a late-night ride on a cable car and a stroll through Fisherman’s Warf.
As I paused from my two-finger hunt and peck typing routine I gazed out upon a calm and tranquil world. I reflected upon a story that someone else in the group read in commemoration of Memorial Day. It was a heartfelt story of lives forever changed by the horrors of war. It was painful to hear, I can only imagine how painful it was to compose and to read outload to the group. It was the kind of story that reminds us all how fortunate we really are. What little room we have for complaining.
And I thought about how each day we are reminded of the lives that have been lost or have forever been changed by a myriad of tragedies. Some were the victims of war. Some were targeted for being different. Some were simply in the wrong placed at the wrong time. Far too many lives have been lost so senselessly. Far too many more have been forever altered in ways we cannot begin to fathom.
As often is the case, when dealing with a difficult topic such as this one, the pauses and the glances out the window occur with greater frequency. And sometimes my search for wisdom, my quest for inspiration comes from the most unexpected places. On one particular pause I watched as a dog hiked a back leg and left his mark on a rock in the yard across the street.
He was going about his day, just as I suspect he goes about every other day. I doubt that he ever contemplates whether this day’s routine will be different from any other day’s routine. I doubt that he ever considers passing by every rock he encounters and stopping only to sniff the flowers instead.
In that moment, I knew that I couldn’t change my daily routine either. It is what it is and I am who I am. Before I go, I won’t start planning trips to places I have been before. Sequels can seldom compete with the original. Before I go, I won’t commit a bucket list to paper. Though I must admit a cruise along the Alaskan coast and a hike along the Continental Divide have been on my mind lately.
Before I go, I probably will not hug Judy any tighter or tell her I love her any more than I already do. Before I go, to the local grocery for bread and milk, I will not stop to consider the bullies or the evil that lurks just outside our door. Before I go, I will not suddenly start living like I am dying, and I will not live lest tomorrow never comes. Those words sell records in Nashville, but I guess they have never been my mantra. As for me, I can only hope that after I go, the good deeds for which I am remembered outnumber the bad ones.
As I close out this story I cannot help but contemplate this writing assignment as well as the past few similarly themed assignments. Home, family, first times, and mentors to name but a few. And I find myself pondering the elephant in the room. Is our Fearless Leader an accomplished writer who likes to dabble in psychology or is she a psychologist who likes to dabble in writing? Hmm, I wonder. Perhaps, given our proximity to Roswell, there is another explanation worthy of consideration.