Markwildyr.com, Post #245
Last week’s post about
an AI-created story didn’t generate much in the way of comments. I’m not as
panicked about it as my buddy Don Travis. I understand his post this week is an
AI story written to his specifications.
This week, I went nostalgic. We all
play the “what could have been” game on occasion. Let me know how you like this
one. (AI had nothing to do with this one.)
* * * *
WHAT
COULD HAVE BEEN
I’d known Jason Muldavid
forever. Through all the stages of my life: from Johnny Boy to Johnny to John. One
of my earliest recollections is the two of us digging in a sandbox with toy
shovels at the little park only a block from our houses… which sat side by side
on Elderberry Street. In fact, that’s what the neighbors called us, the
Elderberry twins, even though Jason was dark-haired and dark-eyed while my hair
was sandy, and my eyes an uncertain green… hazel, I think they call it.
I’m not sure that, as toddlers,
we knew which was our own home, the red brick or the blonde brick. Just to be
clear, the red brick was the Hogan household—mine. But neither of us bothered
to knock when visiting the other. We just barged in and expected to be welcomed
in those halcyon days when no one locked the front door.
Looking back, I believe we
were in love in an innocent way. I fretted when Jason—or Jase as he became to
me—wasn’t at my side. I’ve heard his mother complain he was a different kid
when he wasn’t with Johnny. I never grew out of that stage. I thought of him
the first thing in the morning and the last thing before bed. In my nightly
prayers, he was the first person I asked the Lord to take care of.
We were likely eleven or
twelve when things began to change. I distinctly recall the first time we
played softball on opposite teams. We’d been waiting for someone to drop out of
a sandlot game, and when one did, Johnny was called. When the next kid had to go
home, I ended up on the other team. At the time, I couldn’t put a name to my
internal rage when Jase kibbitzed with his team’s second baseman and razzed me when
my turn at bat came. I got a double and managed to kick the second baseman in
the ankle as I slid safely on base. After the game, as we walked home, he threw
his arm around my shoulders and blathered on like nothing had happened, but it
sure did feel like something had gone awry to me. At midnight, my eyes popped
open, and I identified my anger for what it really was. Jealousy.
That was the beginning of my
ordeal.
Simply put, over the next few
years, Jase matured physically and emotionally. I only managed the physical
part of it. Emotionally, I remained tethered to my childhood buddy. That wasn’t
fatal, unless I tried to hang on too tightly… which I did a few times. Jase
always pushed back, tactfully, at first, but when I refused to adjust to the
inevitable changes, he got a little firmer about it.
And I don’t think he was the
only one who saw things. Jason, as I said, became Jase, and was always referred
to that way, while I was Hogan. I know, it’s a little thing… but it says a lot.
Middle school was rocky but
not unbearable, but when high school rolled around, the changes were so
profound, my base, my foundation seemed to be crumbling beneath me. And all the
trouble came down to one thing… girls. Or that’s the way it was in my mind, at
any rate.
When Jase discovered them, I
was left at home hurting. It got a little better when he suggested we double
date some, so I found a girl I could muster a little interest in and tagged
along when I could. We both lost our virginity one night when he parked his
Chevy convertible on a country lane. I still recall the absolute shock—despite
prior clues—when I realized I’d rather be up in the front seat with him doing
what he was doing to his date than being in the back doing what I was doing
with mine.
But nothing was as shattering
as his wedding night. I was, of course, his best man, and it took every ounce
of self-control I could muster to keep from running out on him in tears. But I
went numb and held on. Shaking his hand at the conclusion and kissing the new
Mrs. Jase on the cheek—instead of biting her—and tossing rice with the rest of
the well-wishers got me through that hell. But that night was even worse. It
put an end to the fantasy that one day we’d put all this foolishness behind us
and discover—really discover—one another.
The agony continued through
college. We went to the same college and roomed together for a couple of
semesters before he moved into the dorm reserved for jocks—he was a decent halfback
for the team. We both remained in our hometown, although we moved from the
adjoining red brick and blond bricks to different neighborhoods. Both of us pursued
successful careers… me as the owner of the local deli, and Jase as a banker. In
time, I became Uncle John to his son and his daughter. Their bachelor uncle
because I never married. Eventually, I learned to accept what part I had in
Jase’s life and let go of the dream of what could have been.
Contrary to romantic fiction,
I never met another “Jase” or Jase’s successor in my dream fantasy.
Unfortunately, I’m a guy who mates for life—even if we never got around to
mating. But eventually, I put my obsession in the proper place and learned to
live with it.
Until last week.
Last Friday, we met for lunch
and were joined by a couple of other friends, one of whom was a coach at the
local high school. Toward the end of the meal, the coach told us of a situation
at the school—without revealing names—of a couple of guys on the basketball
squad were found masturbating one another in the locker room after they thought
everyone had gone. The coach laughed at the boys utter embarrassment and
humiliation, apparently deeming those appropriate punishments. I quietly shriveled
inside.
After lunch, we walked up the street
together, me to my shop and him to his bank, when he turned serious.
“You know, I didn’t really
appreciate it how Coach got a laugh out of catching those two boys. They’re
just going through growing pains. Everybody does things like that when he’s growing
up.”
Jase stopped and stared at me.
“I often wondered why we didn’t do anything like that.”
I must have reacted in some
way, because he grasped my arm.
“I don’t know about you, but I
thought about it at times. Lots of times.”
I managed to speak through a
dry throat. “Why didn’t you do anything?”
He released my arm and
shrugged. “Kept waiting for you to do something. But you never showed
any interest, not even when we were rooming together. If you’d given me a clue,
who knows?” He grinned. “Might have ended up marrying you.”
I failed to laugh the way he
expected me to. I just glared at him. “Jason Muldavid, sometimes you can be one
stupid son-of-a-bitch.”
In some perverted way, it felt
good to walk away imagining the glories that could have been while he stood
there with eyes like quarters and his mouth hanging open. Couldn’t help
wondering if he even got it now.
Probably not. He’d have to
think outside the box for that, and Jase wasn’t very good at thinking outside
of boxes.
I don’t know
about you, but this resonates with me. I vividly remember the guy I fantasized
about for years. Wonder how he’s doing these days.
Website and blog: markwildyr.com
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Twitter: @markwildyr
Now my
mantra: Keep on reading. Keep on writing.
You have something to say, so say it!
See you later.
