“I don't think we have all the words in a single vocabulary
to explain what we are or why we are. I don't think we have the range of
emotion to fully feel what someone else is feeling. I don't think any of us can
sit in judgment of another human being. We're incomplete creatures, barely
scraping by. Is it possible--from the perspective of this quickly spinning
Earth and our speedy journey from crib to coffin--to know the difference
between right, wrong, good, and evil? I don't know if it's even useful to try.”
― Alexandra Fuller
I walked alone along the sidewalks of Main Street in Red
Lodge, Montana. Snow crunched under my
feet in the pale, orange light of mid-September while more snow fell in quiet
whisps—twisting and turning in a delicate dance to the ground. I pulled my hat down farther and my red down
coat a little tighter against the chill.
The shop windows, glowing against the darkening of night, gave a glimpse
into another world. Couples laughing
over dinner and wine. Friends toasting
shots. A grandma, picking out a new light.
Parked outside The Pollard was a Subaru with “Just Married”
painted on the back. I stood under the
street lamp on the corner and looked up at the falling snow and the lights in
the rooms above. I was heavy into
thoughts about endings, but I stopped to consider the new beginnings painted on
that car. I had no cynicism left.
I’ve said before that maybe happy endings are messy and
ugly. They sometimes involve lots of
pain and tears. I watched the snow fall
and it occurred to me that all new beginnings involve the ends of something
else, and then I wandered on to the Snow Creek.
The bar was empty except for Susie, the bartender, and an older
hippie sitting at the far side of the bar.
Susie was pushing 60 (or looked it), but she was dressed like the
20-somethings everywhere else in town that you could tell were working the
mountain for a few days of free skiing. They
looked up as I walked in, taking off my hat and shaking off the snow. For a second, I felt I was interrupting
something, but they both hollered a friendly hello.
I contemplated sitting closer to the old man, to make her
bartending easier, but really, I wanted to be alone to ponder things. Life.
Love. Trust.
Ordering a PBR seemed too cliché, so I settled for a Stoly Collins
(trying to remember my own free days as a ski bum). I gave her a twenty and asked for fives for
the juke box. I played Joe Purdy and
went back to my drink.
I was remembering my divorce. A horrid, ugly affair, and as I sat nursing
my drink, I remembered all the friends that felt they had to take sides. Aside from my kids, I think that was my
biggest fear of this marriage falling completely apart. It’s not so much ‘losing’ friends, but
realizing who never was one to begin with.
Maybe that was the part that scared me most.
You spend years of your life spilling your guts to people
that really don’t give a shit but pretend they do. That hurts more than knowing love, somewhere
along the way, died. I stared at the cherries;
Susie gave me two. I busied myself tying
the stem of one into a knot with my tongue, staring into the vodka, contemplating
how life was going to be. An end, and yet, a new beginning.
We’d gone away to figure out where to go. Not like we were figuring out the next
vacation, but to decide, once and for all, how to split things. How to divide up the kids and the bills, and
I guess, in the end, the ‘friends.’
Things got heated; we lost track of what the real reason for talking had
been, and decided to take a break. Past
accusations. All of our faults. I went
for a walk.
I felt a hand on my back, and someone was passing me five
dollars. The old hippie sat down beside
me and said, “I like your music. Play
some more.”
I played his money and as I sat down he said, “You can
always tell a Montana girl by her music.”
“I’m from Idaho!” I laughed as Susie pulled up a stool.
We talked and laughed and had a few shots. I walked outside to smoke and Susie
followed. “What brings you here this
time of year?” she asked, seeming genuinely curious.
By now the snow had stopped.
I took a deep drag and stared across the street. “I decided I could figure out my life by
holing up in a condo for three days,” I
replied. “I knew no one would find me
here.”
She looked at me knowingly, crushed out her cigarette, and
said, “Good luck. Your next one’s on me.”
I debated on going back in or going back and crashing under
the homemade quilt that Dorothy from Georgia made and was sure to let everyone
know she had in the guestbook on the coffee table. But, I went back in for that free drink.
As can happen when old souls meet for the first time, our
conversation got deep. As I was pulling
on my hat, and the snow started again, the old hippie said, “You stay
good. Don’t worry about losing the people
you never had. Some get you and others never will.”
I walked out into the night and back to the abode. I sat in the hot tub and watched the stars.
The next two days were deeply personal, and what I thought
was the end, ended up being a new beginning.
What I’ve learned in the last year, is that yes, happy
endings are messy and ugly and they sometime involve a lot of pain. I’ve learned that the people that judge
relationships the most have never really had a successful one.
I’ve come to appreciate the people I’ve always had, and
thank God, the ones I never did showed their colors.
Some people just GET you.
And, some never will.
Keep your stories for those who do.
