Before we were to check into the hotel, Patrick drove around the surrounding areas of Sacramento doing his work: appraising the damages done on vehicles covered by the insurance company he worked for. After many invitations, I finally agreed to accompany him on one of his business trip excursions, and we drove off away from Alameda that morning with the sun slowly rising from the horizon and the promise of some extra bonding time.
As he sped along the California highways, we passed farms and bridges and abandoned barns and I gasped with suffering as I would not be able to photograph any of the scenery that I knew would make an outstanding addition to my visual art collection.
We talked personally, passionately about our beliefs and our lives and shared interests which were far and few in between. It did not matter, as we had been friends for twenty-three years and what had brought us together was not things that we had in common. It was more like the fact that we had liked each other and who each other was. It was a friendship that was meant to be, we always thought.
The conversation turned to Patrick and his past loves and his past sexual conquests. I thought it funny that we had known each other for so long yet there were still bits and pieces that we did not know about each other.
When Patrick started to slow a bit with his stories, I found myself at a lost for words - not only in response but that I really had nothing to share other than my own past which pretty much would leave me entering the chambers of self-pity. So, I kept quiet.
"I don't understand," Patrick said. "You are such a handsome guy and you're nice and you have a nice body and you're smart and talented...I just don't understand why you don't have a lot of success with sex and boyfriends."
Silently, I groaned. I did not want to try to explain something that I, myself, did not understand. I did not want to hear yet another one of my friends - or anyone, for that matter - wonder exhaustively about what sex/love life I had or did not have or was responsible for or fucked up or what the fuck ever. When I did not think about it, when I did not hear someone wonder out loud to me about he mechanics or foundation of why I have had such bad luck with sex and love then I don't think about it. It does not exist. I move along with my life in a much more positive light. I am left alone.
Patrick's cellphone rang and I was happy for the interruption. Being saved by the bell never sounded to right.
Later on when evening began to settle in and Patrick was finished with his work, he called his brother and sister-in-law to remind them about our dinner plans. We picked Kris and his wife Anne up and drove to Outback Steakhouse. The dinner was good. The company was wonderful. The conversation was outstanding. It was my first time meeting Anne and I think she's wonderful. Patrick's older brother Kris is such a cool individual that I found myself bonding with him on a higher level of respect and friendship.
I watched Kris and Anne. They seemed like a such a beautiful couple. Devoted and always in love. It wasn't the way that they touched. It wasn't the way that they spoke to each other. It wasn't the years they had invested into their relationship and marriage. It was the way they looked at each other; the way that they were around each other. The mutual respect that grew from a love bourne of acceptance.
"They seem very much in love with each other," I told Patrick after we dropped the couple off and drove on to check into the hotel.
"Yeah, they're good for each other," he said. "They're both down to earth and real and honest."
No airs. No pretense. No expectations. No bullshit.
As Patrick explained to me how he thought their marriage would last, he looked forward into the traffic but his mind seemed to be somewhere else.
I thought that it was good to hear that some people do find something really special out of something so simple.
"It still makes me want to understand why you haven't found someone..." Patrick began.
I sat, suddenly still with trepidation, and hoped that the hotel would have a bar...
As he sped along the California highways, we passed farms and bridges and abandoned barns and I gasped with suffering as I would not be able to photograph any of the scenery that I knew would make an outstanding addition to my visual art collection.
We talked personally, passionately about our beliefs and our lives and shared interests which were far and few in between. It did not matter, as we had been friends for twenty-three years and what had brought us together was not things that we had in common. It was more like the fact that we had liked each other and who each other was. It was a friendship that was meant to be, we always thought.
The conversation turned to Patrick and his past loves and his past sexual conquests. I thought it funny that we had known each other for so long yet there were still bits and pieces that we did not know about each other.
When Patrick started to slow a bit with his stories, I found myself at a lost for words - not only in response but that I really had nothing to share other than my own past which pretty much would leave me entering the chambers of self-pity. So, I kept quiet.
"I don't understand," Patrick said. "You are such a handsome guy and you're nice and you have a nice body and you're smart and talented...I just don't understand why you don't have a lot of success with sex and boyfriends."
Silently, I groaned. I did not want to try to explain something that I, myself, did not understand. I did not want to hear yet another one of my friends - or anyone, for that matter - wonder exhaustively about what sex/love life I had or did not have or was responsible for or fucked up or what the fuck ever. When I did not think about it, when I did not hear someone wonder out loud to me about he mechanics or foundation of why I have had such bad luck with sex and love then I don't think about it. It does not exist. I move along with my life in a much more positive light. I am left alone.
Patrick's cellphone rang and I was happy for the interruption. Being saved by the bell never sounded to right.
Later on when evening began to settle in and Patrick was finished with his work, he called his brother and sister-in-law to remind them about our dinner plans. We picked Kris and his wife Anne up and drove to Outback Steakhouse. The dinner was good. The company was wonderful. The conversation was outstanding. It was my first time meeting Anne and I think she's wonderful. Patrick's older brother Kris is such a cool individual that I found myself bonding with him on a higher level of respect and friendship.
I watched Kris and Anne. They seemed like a such a beautiful couple. Devoted and always in love. It wasn't the way that they touched. It wasn't the way that they spoke to each other. It wasn't the years they had invested into their relationship and marriage. It was the way they looked at each other; the way that they were around each other. The mutual respect that grew from a love bourne of acceptance.
"They seem very much in love with each other," I told Patrick after we dropped the couple off and drove on to check into the hotel.
"Yeah, they're good for each other," he said. "They're both down to earth and real and honest."
No airs. No pretense. No expectations. No bullshit.
As Patrick explained to me how he thought their marriage would last, he looked forward into the traffic but his mind seemed to be somewhere else.
I thought that it was good to hear that some people do find something really special out of something so simple.
"It still makes me want to understand why you haven't found someone..." Patrick began.
I sat, suddenly still with trepidation, and hoped that the hotel would have a bar...
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