I go away every year after the holidays. I drive 2 days to reach the mountains, then park and walk. Hunting season's over by then and I'm as alone as I want to be. I am the cheese.
I used to drink a great deal. I'd start in the morning and wouldn't quit until I fell unconscious. One morning I woke not knowing exactly where I was though it appeared right away that I was outdoors. When I raised my eyes a car bumper appeared just inches from my forehead. I heard someone screaming: Oh My God! I killed him! I killed him! I sat up. I had a headache and a large woman standing over me. My mouth tasted as if I might have been licking dried cow chips, or perhaps chewing well-used kitty litter. Either way, I seemed okay otherwise. Despite vociferous protestations from the rather large ugly woman who apparently thought she'd run me down, I got to my feet and staggered up the gravelly street which I'd no doubt passed out on a few hours before. I had no idea where I was or how I got there. My pockets were empty save a VISA card. I bought a small cup of black coffee and a half pint bottle of brandy at the corner grocery, pleased the card wasn't declined. I walked to the park on the corner to sit on a peeling green park bench to get a good morning buzz going before deciding what to do next. A chill wind blew but the sunshine warmed me nearly as much as the brandy. The bells in a high white tower started ringing, not doing my head any favors. I noticed folk going into the church across the street. I figured it must be a Sunday. They were dressed in finery. Their cars sparkled in the sunshine, disgorging little girls and little boys dressed like miniature moms and dads walking hand in hand. The whole scene seemed quite beautiful to me. A man in a warm-looking overcoat covering a clean blue pin-strip suit and a crisp white shirt approached. I slipped the bagged brandy bottle into my pocket and put the white plastic cover back on my Styrofoam coffee cup in an attempt to hide my drinking at such an early hour. I don't know why. I didn't know the man and I didn't give a fig what he thought. But I did it anyway. He sat down on a bench a few feet away from where I sat. I didn't look at him directly... just out of the corner of my eye... he didn't look directly at me either, and I could tell he also glanced furtively out of the corner of his eyes, returning my glances. He seemed to be working himself up to saying something. Finally with his head down he shuffled his feet back and forth as if trying to gain purchase for a leap, then he spoke, still not really looking at me. "You got anywhere to go today?" He asked. "It's Christmas, you know." My headache hadn't eased much. I was in no mood. "Fuck Christmas," I told him. I could tell how my words shocked him. It was as if I'd reached out and physically struck him with my balled fist. But to his credit, the man didn't go. Instead he just sat there with his head lowered. By and by I started to feel a bit better as the brandy took its desired effect. "Where are we?" I asked the man. He looked at me funny and I thought how it was the first time he'd actually raised his eyes to look at me. "We're in Springfield," he said finally, as if he were being tested. "Illinois?" I asked, still trying to unravel how I got there. "No. Iowa," he told me, averting his eyes once again. "Iowa," I muttered, more to myself than to the man. My mind was still fuzzy but slowly it was reconstructing the last couple days. I'd started drinking right after getting paid. That was Friday. Yeah, it was starting to come back now... I remembered meeting a girl at a party who reminded me of Yoli, my wife, who'd passed away a few months earlier. Then things slowly went dark... I got up. The man stood too and followed behind me. "If you want a free dinner, come by the church later," he said. I knew he was doing his best to be civil to me yet I grew angry, and then, angrier still. Not at him. At life in general. It was all shit. All of it. I walked away, fast, so the man in the nice suit wouldn't see the tears forming in my eyes. The man tried to keep up with me but I soon left him behind. I stopped and bought another bottle, something with a little more hair on it. No more coffee though. As I sipped at the pint of Jack Daniels, I walked the Christmas-deserted streets; I recalled that an old friend of mine had moved to Springfield, Iowa, years ago. His name was Mike. I didn't know how to go about finding out where he lived though. Hell, we were just kids then, not much more than nine or ten years old. As I walked down a particularly clean and tidy street, a car drove by going the other way. It slowed down as it approached. And I'll be damned if it wasn't my old friend Mike behind the wheel! He was as surprised to see me as I was to see him. I still can't explain it. It seemed too coincidental even then. But I swear to Christ it happened. Mike stopped the car and without a word I got in the passenger side. "What are you doing here, Dan?" he asked. I could tell he was still flabbergasted. "I came to see you, Mike," I told him truthfully. He drove home and offered me a place to stay for a couple days. His wife was pissed but he didn't care. He broke out some booze and we laughed and we talked and we drank deep into the night. I couldn't remember having had a better time in many months. I kept waiting for the booze to carry me away but it didn't. The next day, Mike drove me to the bus stop. I hugged him and he hugged me back. And I've never seen him again. But, little by little, life grew better. It is still pretty much all shit, mind you. But it's better shit. I spend the holidays enjoying my friends and family as if it will be the last time I'll ever see them, which indeed it may well be. We laugh and eat and I have such a good time. For I know. I know I'll be leaving for the mountains soon. And I can feel the odds are growing that one of these years those mountains are going to carry me away, just like the booze used to do. So. This is it. Right here and now. Enjoy. Live. Love. Laugh. Peace out, Dan On Thu, Dec 17, 2009 at 12:57 PM, John Carl <[email protected]> wrote: > "The cheese stands alone" is a phrase I read in a Harlan Ellison short > story, a long time ago, and in the intro to the story it was called "the > greatest statement of existentialism ever written." To the best of my > memory, the way the story ended was "It may be the tag-end of a shitty life, > but it's MY shitty life. The cheese stands alone." It was about a guy > who was forced to confront that all the really good stuff in his life was in > the past. > > But somehow, he dealt with it anyway. I didn't fully get it then, not > having yet read Royce's response to Schopenhauer, but it struck a > recognizable chord in my soul that resonates to this day. > > The next reference to cheese that struck a resonant chord was in a Jr. > College field trip class, a biology class on California riparian ecosystems > that took us all over the state in a short bus with a few teachers. We > were camping at Mt. Tamalpais State Park and I'd just had an incredible > experience climbing a big steel power tower at the top of the hills > overlooking the bay and the city, and I got back to camp where one of the > teachers was reading from a book. The book had pictures of Glen Canyon, now > drowned by Lake Powel, and written by a couple brothers who'd had lots of > adventures and the whole book was comprised of semi-rhetorical questions of > the form, "Have you ever..." > > The one that grabbed me with a surprising force was "have you ever had a > cheese sandwich for Christmas dinner, all by yourself in Death Valley?" So > I vowed that year I would. And so I did. > > People asked me, why I chose to have a cheese sandwich for christmas dinner, > all by myself in Death Valley, and I said it was because I got it from a > book. But that wasn't the whole story, of course. The whole story, as > usual, is a bit more complicated. It was the combination of those words out > of a book and my own feeling of wonder in the moment when the words came to > me. Having come down from the transmission towers, an exhiliarating and > scary climb, with the memory of all those lights spread out below me, a > grand view, yes, but a grand view of lights and people and buildings, a huge > conglomeration encompassed in one single, lonely glance. I was aware of all > of them, none of them had any idea of me. > > I felt light-head and exhuberant, coming down from that lofty perch. An > incredible poetic power stole over me. I ran down that mountain, with such > speed, strength and agility that I'll never know again, and I recited lines > of poetry to myself as I ran and it all flowed so effortlessly, so > powerfully. I mean a really epic poem. I don't remember a single word of > it, it wasn't for publication. It was for me, all mine and it was > absolutely perfect. I don't know how to describe the way the words lined up > with the terrain in a practically magic poeisis, but there ya go. It did. > > When I got to the bottom, the teacher was reading, and my adventure was > sealed. > > Camping in Death Valley can be a hassle, what with the rangers and patrols > and all, so I found a spot in the surrounding hills and stayed there for a > week, right through Christmas. I fasted, seeking purity, spiritual guidance > and such, but mostly I was just lonely and cold and bored the whole time. > About what you'd expect from a lone cheese sandwich for christmas. I > learned to play the recorder and I can still whip out a few christmas carols > on that cheap plastic musical instrument when you put one in my hands, but > the most I gained from the adventure was a fierce and pure love of humanity. > That's what you get when you leave all the people behind, a sincere and > deep love of people. > > Which had the effect of making me vow to reach out and get involved with > clubs and groups and things like that. Which led to my involvement with > InterVarsity where I met Bill, and my future wife, and lots of good things > that came from that involvement. None of which would have happened probably > if I hadn't realized how much I valued human relationships. Don't miss the > water 'less the well runs dry. > > So fast forward eight years and I'm married to Lu, we have a child, another > on the way and its christmas time again. Since those years I'd stopped > getting involved in clubs and organizations and I missed the camraderie and > an opportunity came to go along with another InterVarsity group - this one > from Cal Poly - on a mission trip to Mexicali. Lu and I went along as sorta > chaperones and a visible cautionary tale to horny young people on what can > happen when you fool around - since Lu was about 5 months preggers and > bulging like a graceful whale. > > One of the places we went and "witnessed" was a mexican prison, and the > sight of my young pregnant wife wandering amongst the many male prisoners > out in the yard was a sight and memory to treasure for life. I wasn't > worried a bit. Mexicans might have their racial failings, but even the > worst criminal elements treasure motherhood and she was probably safer there > than back home. > > Back home after a week, the normal culture shock at the opulence of > self-indulgent California society was bad enough, but we went to a Christmas > Eve ceremony with my Brother-in-law and his wife of the time, and it was so > extremely shallow and vapid and nauseating that I was ready to spew the > whole thing out of my mouth. But worse yet was afters at their house with > my in-laws and everybody just went on and on about the effing mexicans > taking over. > > Ok. There are a lot of mexicans in the Bay Area. And even more during good > times such as we were enjoying back in the early 90's. But still. It was > just too harsh to confront the severe racism right on top of coming down off > our moralistic high tower and it left a bad taste in my mouth that lingers > still. My brother-in-law eventually divorced that witch of a wife and found > a much nicer one, but I have a long memory and he was certainly chiming in > with the most extreme and disgusting racism I've ever heard. > > Fast forward some more (starting to feel like Ebenezer in the grips of the > ghosts of Xmas past?) to last year. We're invited to Xmas dinner at the > in-laws once again. I'm told by my wife to be there at 4:00, she's going > early to help with dinner and knowing what sticklers they all are for > timeliness, I get there at 4:00. But I guess that wasn't quite good enough > because when I arrive, they've already sat down and started eating, which I > cheerily take in stride but I catch more than a few negative comments, > which took me by surprise and as the dinner continues and the snideness > intensifies, I start longing for a simple cheese sandwich and the cold > loneliness of desert vistas. So I vowed, "never again". > > And here we are, Christmas time again. Dinner on Christmas Eve at the > in-laws, again, only this time my brother-in-law is visiting from Missoula > Montana and he's added a hatred of Indians to his hatred of Mexicans. And > since I've gotten involved with both at D-Q University, he's bound to rub me > the wrong way and I'm bound to make an unpleasant scene. And likely, not > that it matters, to get my butt kicked because my Bro-in-law is not only in > law enforcement now, he's also a black belt, a body builder and an arrogant > prick. > > sigh. > > But boycotting the whole thing, while it looks so attractive, would upset my > beloved daughter, my beloved wife and my beloved son. > > And I'm just wierd enough to pull it off anyway. So I might. The only > problem is I'm so broke I couldn't afford to drive to the desert or anywhere > that would take more than one tank of gas. > > I guess I could hitch. > > Or take up drinking. > > Which do you think is the Quality Decision? > Moq_Discuss mailing list > Listinfo, Unsubscribing etc. > http://lists.moqtalk.org/listinfo.cgi/moq_discuss-moqtalk.org > Archives: > http://lists.moqtalk.org/pipermail/moq_discuss-moqtalk.org/ > http://moq.org.uk/pipermail/moq_discuss_archive/ > Moq_Discuss mailing list Listinfo, Unsubscribing etc. http://lists.moqtalk.org/listinfo.cgi/moq_discuss-moqtalk.org Archives: http://lists.moqtalk.org/pipermail/moq_discuss-moqtalk.org/ http://moq.org.uk/pipermail/moq_discuss_archive/
