Playing Fair and Being Kind

All seriousness aside, my spirits are good and this is an attempt to lighten myself up more since my dark hours during this past week. The older I get the more dark my thoughts. It is natural I believe. Another issue to deal with during our days. I plan to post “goodbyes” every so often. This is part uno. So without further ado I present:

I WRITE MY ‘GOODBYE’ NOTES

Regarding how I was so depressed yesterday and not so much today I’m doing a little exploring of a thought I had during my darkest moment while I was in bed hiding deep under the covers. I was curled up fetal style between the soft and warm flannel sheets trying to keep my eyes shut. Little spokes of light that can find crevices and roadways and invade the darkest places kept my eyes from being totally blacked out. Still I was able to focus on my options of how I would do myself in.

The most heroic scenario was one of me standing on a high cliff by the ocean somewhere in the Northeast, maybe even in Nova Scotia. I plug myself with a revolver and fall over a hundred feet into the ocean. I play the scene through a few times and each time I feel the cold water of the ocean. My imagination becomes fractured and the ocean is now reviving me as I go under. I must have just grazed myself. The water revives me and I start to remember all the notes I should have left behind for people to read and weep hot tears over. In reality some of them would take the notes and tape them up to their refrigerator and draw smiley faces on them. This is when I begin worrying that I need a better plan for my ‘goodbye’ moment.

Friend Nina Olff heard me out as we spoke with each other today. We always cover the most ground of any pair I know. But this day we just happened to focus for a few minutes on ‘goodbye’ notes and that I should probably get started now because I know so many people. I mean I know a ton of people. I’m not convinced that I want to speak to all of them. In fact, some of them I am sort of hiding from if you get my drift. Still there are enough of them to honor with a final comment or simple message. I’m now convinced that perhaps the bad actors in my history deserve a final insult maybe. Just to ensure they know I really meant what I said long ago.

So, here goes. My first one is to Marty Rice from my submarine days. He was not one of my friends. We had a competition going and I was fed up with his behavior one night in the Acey-Deucey Club in Rota, Spain.
“Dear Marty. I should have kicked the shit out of you right there on the dance floor instead of trying to get you to go outside with me. After I dragged you all the way out you were begging me to not do what I had in mind. I let you go.  You lucky bastard. Goodbye, George.”

Next, I thought about my three ex-wives. Barbara, Julia, and Evelyn.
“Dear Barbara, Julia, and Evelyn. Goodbye.”

My old pal Ben Adams from Boston who moved to Albuquerque for the waters. “What waters?”, you might ask to which he would happily reply, “I was misinformed.”
“Dear Ben. We had a lot of laughter and did good work at the half-way house in East Boston. You never could keep up with the progress notes on your case-load. The trouble you caused! Well, Ben. Goodbye. I might run into you someplace. You never know!”

To that cabinetmaker guy with no name I picked up around Fresno and drove to Modesto after midnight.
“Dear Cabinetmaker. In less than two hours I learned a lot about how to live from you; about surviving and about tools. I appreciate your candor and courage. Goodbye, friend.”

To the young Mormon wife flying from Travis Air Force Base in Sacramento to Hawaii to join her husband. She took a shine to me and we shared a few secrets on the flight. During an emergency decent from 35,000 to 10,000 feet she held me close and whispered, “At least we’ll die together!” I thought that was the sweetest most innocent thing I’d ever heard. An exciting airplane ride to be sure.
“Dear, Michelle. I enjoyed our time together and I have thought of you often these past thirty-seven years. I hope you had a long and satisfying marriage. Goodbye, Love.”

My first ever school pal, Eddie Coombs, saved my little soul in the first grade. Miss McCoy asked me a question my first day of school and I was so filled with anxiety I’d lost my voice. I opened my mouth and nothing but a squeak came out. I broke into tears and buried my head in my arms on the desk top. I sobbed a while and then Eddie turned around in his seat in front of me and lifted my head with his hands like it was a pumpkin. “Are you O.K.?”, he asked me. His look was so sincerely concerned I felt the love and we formed a wonderful friendship then and there. “Thank you, a million times, Eddie. You pulled my fat out of the fire. I’ve searched for you forever. I hope you lived a long, long life. Goodbye, pal.”

Oh, yeah. How about that little black Cocker Spaniel that bit me so many times when I was in middle school. Seventy years later I can still see the scars. “Hi, Mac. I hope you went to wolf heaven.”

And Mr. Broughton who lived on the second floor of the triple decker on Juliet Street in Dorchester. He enjoyed hiding in our basement between the coal furnaces that provided forced air heat upstairs. My sisters would creep down the stairs, we lived on the first floor, and call out to him, “We know you’re down here, Mr. Broughton!” My brother and I would tag along behind. We were just barely big enough to walk. Then Mr. Broughton would jump out from behind one of the coal furnaces and go, “BOO!” We would scream and scamper back up the stairs out of our wits. “Goodbye, you old bastard. I hope you are where they keep furnaces going 24-7.”

In a wine bistro just a short way from King’s Cross in Sydney I met Inger Sandal in 1973. Inge was a Dane who having moved to Australia to be a model was working nights as a bar maid. Of course I fell in love. So did she. We went to her house with her house mate, a nice American Jewish girl, who had come in to escort her home. We all went home together. At the house I was introduced to Jason, a large German Shepherd. He was a guard dog. We drank more wine and sang and danced in the kitchen. It was a lot of fun. We all sang “Me and Bobby McGee”. It became our anthem. “Inger, my dear.  I learned so much in the few hours we were together. You freed my soul. I really missed you after my ship left for the U.S. I hope you made it to the runways of fashion. Goodbye, darling!”

Oh, yeah. Here’s one. Sheriff Joe Arpaio. “You are the only reason I would own a gun. Goodbye, you prick.”