Everyone has a past.
Everyone comes from somewhere, with parents in some form
Yet within all of the similarities, we are all
individuals. Each of us has a backstory, each of us has a plot. And in some odd
fashion, our lives have a structure.
A beginning, a middle and an end.
This is where this story starts, all of the above.
Exploring our existence, viewing what once was through
Finding the pieces that never existed in the beginning
and somehow was irretrievable while stuck in the middle, as we come to our end.
As we go through time, there comes a time we examine
what pieces we have left over. Sometimes we do this early on in life, to make a
difference of where our middle will continue.
Shifting gears, taking a new path, finding a new
purpose, we all do it. In some fashion, that similarity again.
As we near the end, we hope to have some resolve or at least some admission of
where we were and how it all came to be.
Almost like clockwork, Caleb and Leah would find themselves
in these discussions. Reviewing a life passed. Not from this earthly plain, the
one we exist in today.
That the skeleton each has and the skin that covers was somewhere else at some
time in their lives.
Each segment of their lives has a story within a story,
each having an answer to where they are currently in this life.
How can one moment in time, one split decision, give way
to the breath they exhaust presently?
Conversations begin innocently, as much so as, “How was
your day?” or even, “What are your plans for the day?”
Leading into some philosophical realm of morality, faith
Some with logic some with the logic of a child still
stuck in 1970. Holding all the grudges that child held, and then the
conversation turns. It spins. Going full circle to what that year, that day,
meant to that child and what relevance it holds to the adult today.
Caleb’s story is one of awe. It wasn’t always perceived
that way. To strangers he may have come off as a storyteller, taking pieces of
a child’s memory and twisting into a justification the adult could live with in
Yet he wasn’t exaggerating, and he wasn’t romanticizing.
It just was.
Finding the meaning in it appeared to be a quest. Self-soul
searching, finding justice within the mind.
So it would all make sense. To him. It didn’t matter if
it did to anyone else.
Sunday mornings were the usual time, although any day
would work. Yet Sunday mornings were preferred.
A casual conversation turned into a walk through Caleb’s
memory box. An unwritten scrapbook, of pain, of joy and torn memories of a
Here within these chapters (episodes) are these pictures
in black and white. An examination of what was and where one lands. Mixed in
with a dose of today.
Lessons to be learned?
That’s not for me to judge. That is what one will
gather, and bring into their own. Remember, within all the similarities, we are
Even if the pain is the same.
Sunday mornings. In their first house. A grand old
square box, built somewhere in the early 1900’s. With a back porch with a view.
A view of the neighbors back porch.
One of the many reasons Caleb despised the house. And yet he liked the house
for the soul reason, it was his house. And no one was going to take it away from
him. No one would tell him he had to move, or where he could hang a picture, or
how loud he could play his music. Or where he could park his truck.
The back porch was the favorite spot, in the beginning.
Waking early. Caleb hated to sleep in, he felt he was missing something. That
he had life in his hands, right then, and sleeping those moments away just
Leah would wake a bit later than Caleb, and join him on
the stoop. Time came and went, and soon they found themselves immersed in
hobby, if one could call it this, of buying peanuts and bird seed. Hand feeding
squirrels and blue jays. While taking a tour through the history of their
Caleb would speak of his love for animals, his goals, and
his past. And he would always be dead center of where he was in the
present. Everything he did, he said
related to then and now.
Like any other Sunday, he spoke freely. His honesty
could be overwhelming for his subjects were, at times, jarring to one’s soul.
Leah grew up like, any other normal kid the 70’s. At least by her own delusions of what any
other kid was defined, especially during the 70’s.
Early in their relationship, it was difficult for her to
relate to not having food, or to being abused. It usually left her angry. Mad
at people she had never met. And when she did, by God, she’d hate them. At
least that’s what she told herself.
It wasn’t within her to truly hate someone. She had
found a way throughout her crazy little life to remove the negative from
herself, to purge it from her insides. Figuratively and literally.
She had her own demons.
Sundays were mainly reserved for Caleb.
This Sunday, Caleb revealed the pain of being a parent.
Who the hell hasn’t done this? Not like Caleb.
His life was driven by goals. Living by goals and
obtaining these goals. Someway, somehow. The how usually ending up being the
lesson learned. And usually the hard way.
Leah? Goals? Her goal was to make it from one morning to the next, there was
never anything more nor less that was a goal.
She learned she existed to exist in a world that did the
Until she met Caleb.
Caleb would exhaust a memory, for a good two hours. Leah
knew it wasn’t the end of the story for him though. He mulled it around in his
noggin, if not for the rest of the day possibly a good week.
To meet Caleb, people see him as what he is and truly
never looked at him for who he was…what his back story was, or how far he had
His point A to Point B, took years. Nothing came easy.
And his turn on the ride of life was filled with turns. Twisted. And at times,
on deaths door.
Born in 1967, the height of peace love and all the jazz
we and the youth of today revere as a time to be romanticized. When truly it
was more turbulent. Even more so when you live in a crazy bubble of a world.
His dad went off to Vietnam, and his mom, 17 at the
time, continued to live, like she was the age she was. Being married didn’t
Shortly after his father’s return, his parents divorced.
And the hope of a normal life divorced itself from Caleb.
He never and to this day, never thought if they had
stayed together life would’ve have been the cleavers.
Shoulda woulda coulda.
Who knows? And Caleb is not one to speculate on what
might have been. In all of his stories, he never laments on what might have
been. Never. Just how that impression, stuck. And molded him into his present
form. There is no justification, no apology.
Mom remarried. To a former marine. Caleb remembers that
life would be good. It would be normal.
A child’s wish.