It's a Girl....?

New message posted on Jake's profile by Raf this week:

How goes it over in the land of milk and honey? After a few stupidly busy weeks things have calmed down a little here so i get to spend a little time getting in touch with people... how are you and the Mrs doing? Four more weeks of work then we move (infinitely better than our current place!) and have a bit of a vacation...

Nothing special, just keeping everyone up to date. (If anyone is still reading - eek!)

To Jake's credit, he is apparently executing a Master Plan (MP) by reestablishing contact with Raf . As I understand it, this MP involves the illustrious letter Jake promised to write on my behalf/about me/referencing me. Once a highly elusive and improbable concept, I received two messages this week assuring me that this epic is, in fact, nearing completion. I wonder what it will say?

Re-establishing contact with Raf serves two purposes:

1) Jake is a horrible communicator and doesn't always realize that just because he thinks about people in his head they can actually feel the contact.
2) It would be weird for Jake to write an epic letter dissecting the innermost sanctum of my relationship with Raf that started with "hey, man...I know I haven't talked to you in 7 years but here's my opinion on an issue you thought I didn't know about."

To be honest, I'm quite worried about this grandiose MP. What kind of psychoanalysis is Jake going to unleash on Raf? Does the once-implicit code of privacy still apply to my now non-existent friendship with Raf? In other words, once he gets over the total shock of a mutual friend broaching a sensitive issue, will he feel betrayed? Will he despise me even more? Will I get another angry email from Ingrid? Hmmm... so many ways in which this could go totally awry. Not that I doubt Jake's discretion, mind you. He's quite the sensitive issue broacher/inner sanctum explorer/psychoanalyst. It's just that when your close friend of a decade inexplicably abandons you, you sort of stop trusting your knack for predicting their behavior.

I dreamt about Raf on two occasions: 6 weeks ago and 3 weeks ago.

6 weeks ago

I am walking toward the familiar porch on which Raf and I used to spend hours sitting and talking during the summer. My body feels like a Nike ad - I can hear every breath leave my chest and weave in slow motion through the rain. The water drops roll down my cheekbones and nose, splattering noisily onto the red clay below. I'm running now, enjoying the cool sensation on my skin and liking the way my wet shirt sticks to my body. But there is nobody around, and I start to worry that I'm in the wrong place. Everything has led me here. Every single lie Raf has told, the pain he has put me through, the friendship he has carelessly thrown away, has led me to this. Today I get to take a Mulligan on all the bullshit. I see him suddenly in the distance and catch my breath. He's as beautiful as I remember.

He's spotted me now and begins his self-conscious stroll toward me, hands at his side, head down every so often betraying his shy nature. We are no more than 2 feet away when he draws a breath to speak.

I will never hear his words.

A palpable anxiety grips my body and my ears start to ring with my brain's message: get out. It's too painful. I cannot handle another heartbreaking set of false starts and an uncertain friendship loathed and sabotaged by Ingrid. The child they have now is innocent, and it does not deserve a lying father or a fighting set of parents. I cannot and will not be the catalyst for another near-divorce.

His hand grazes my shoulder as I turn and walk away. I'm so tired of rising above.



3 weeks ago:

For some reason we (read: myself and a sea of vaguely familiar but featureless faces) are all gathered at a reunion. Jake and his wife sent me an invitation I accepted with eager pleasure. It would be exciting to see all of my old friends and mentors at this hodgepodge gathering. As we're finishing up our standard meal of fried chicken, weak lemonade, and frosted yellow cake, Jake takes me by the elbow and steers me toward the main office down the hill. Dozens of former colleagues and bunkmates are reminiscing over drumsticks, laughing sheepishly and exageratting their gestures to mask the certain awkwardness that accompanies such reunions.

My back snaps into rigidity as I see a man 100 yards away looking up at the baby girl he is holding with outstretched arms. Raf. "Is Ingrid here?" I ask Jake nervously. I don't want to cause a scene. He responds, ever the philosopher, by nudging me toward Raf. "Very helpful, thanks." I mutter. What am I supposed to do? He hasn't talked to me in over a year! What is appropriate to say in this situation?

I wake up sweating, relieved that I don't have to worry about saying the right thing. They haven't invented a word yet for the combination of "fuck you" and "congratulations."

My Head in a Picture

Turkey Day

Happy Thanksgiving!

Scarlet Letters

Dear Readers,

I am facing a crisis: I flew to visit my parents for the weekend and am now doubting my decision to leave Raf's letters here.

Was I wrong? Should I take them with me to read?

Hooray!

The Economist has it right.

I don't know how to feel - it's been so long since I was able to be genuinely proud of my country. Will this change things? I hope so.

Check this out - What if the World Could Vote?