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future of sinners
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future of sinners |
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noah j Member
since 2003-03-05
Posts 82on the open road with the wind blowing in my hair |
future of sinners by: noah goldkamp “All saints have a past, and all sinners a future” -Russian Proverb I remember how he used to play with his hair sitting in that chair over there. Just twirl it around and around until it was all tangled. I used to tell him that it was a very effeminate gesture, twirling his hair like that. He didn’t care. He would just look at me with those deep blue eyes and scrunch up his face a little. I suppose that was why I would say it, just to see that response. He was just so damn cold. He never showed any emotions. I used to beg him, please, Grayson, I am your mother—talk to me. He never did. Even when he got the sickness, he never told anybody how it felt. Never once cursed God, well, I am not sure he even believed in God. Even though I prayed every day he would have a personal relationship with him. Funny the stuff you remember—he was one of seven kids, but he had his own specific traits. You know some of my sons would tell me everything and anything, even the way they felt about this girl at school. I mean they would tell me about the smallest crushes they had. But not Grayson, he would keep it all inside. I found out after he was dead that he had a girlfriend for a year and a half in high school. He had never even mentioned the poor girl to us. Turns out she had found out she was pregnant after he broke up with her but he didn’t feel the need to tell me. I wanted so much to share his life, to love him. But he always went his own way, did his own thing. It hurts me to know the pain he must have suffered through in silence. I do gather comfort in the words his ex-girlfriend spoke to me. She whispered in my ear at the wake, “Know this, you raised a son who took responsibility for himself and had a good moral compass. He may not have always used it, but he always knew where he was—good or bad.” To tell you the truth that was more than I could have told you about him. Sure I knew he liked salami sandwiches with a dab of mustard in his brown-sack lunch, but whether he was a good person it seemed I was the last person he wanted to know that. It was as if he was scared that I would judge him. He didn’t ever want me to know any of the mistakes he made. Anytime I would ask him about his life he would answer in a defensive manner like he thought I was criticize him for something. Even after they found the cancer in his spine he would not talk to me. He would just go to his room. Sometimes I could hear the sobs coming from his room. I would pause at the door and gather up enough courage to confront him. But I never twisted the knob. God how I wish I had now. Not a day goes by that I don’t regret that. I mean I have my bad days. Some days I don’t feel like getting up. I question a world where mothers are made to bury sons, where sons are estranged from loving mothers, where healthy people sit in a hospital and become shadows of themselves. God, I miss him. The other day I was looking at the books in his room and listening to some of the cd’s he used to have. He loved those things. He used to sit in his room and read books and listen to his music. It was a different world that he saw. I think he saw without the cruelty and bitterness. I was crying like usual when I thought about him and I was flipping through one of his notebooks, I hadn’t read of any of them for privacy’s sake. But I saw this there and it struck me. i painted a picture (empathy) by: grayson philips i painted a picture easy as can be i drew everybody in detail everybody except me i left me a shadow up on the wall but when the time came for color i didn’t know what to do at all so i mixed black and white and made my favorite color and i painted the world as i see it today in wonderful shades of gray It surprised me to see the writing of this kind in his journal. He had never intimated to me that he wrote a lot (he had like 5 journals filled) right about then I felt the need to eat. I hadn’t really eaten very much since the funeral and I could see that it was taking its toll on my body. So I walked to the kitchen and opened the fridge. The only kind of meat was salami. I fought back the tears in my eyes as I defrosted two pieces of white bread with my hot breath and placed 5 pieces of deli salami on the bread. The mustard was the finishing touch, as I rubbed it into the bread I broke down. It was the first time that I had let loose after his death. I just sat there and I cried, I cried for the son I lost, and the brilliant mind the world lost. I cried for many reasons but mostly I cried for the son I would never know. I wiped my eyes and did my best to try to eat the sandwich. But I had only finished half of it when I received a phone call from my eldest son. “How are you making out,” he enquired. “Well you know me. I’ll survive. Always do.” “Don’t think that is what I asked ma. I asked how you were doing” I didn’t know what to tell him. I mean I still was his Mom, I was the rock that he was supposed to rest on, and I was not sure that I should confide in him the pain I felt. It took me awhile to respond but I told him the truth eventually. “I have my ups and downs—but mostly they are downs. Sometimes after Dad goes to work I stay until bed till noon. But I am not sleeping I am just thinking, sometimes praying. I mean my whole life I have believed in this God that is benevolent. I remember when I was a little girl and I used to think of God as this sort of father figure that would be nice to you as long as you believed in him and did right. Where did that God go? Did he die or did that little girls God die? I wish I knew. I try to explain this to my son, but he does not understand and I don’t expect him to. I get off the phone and lay down on the love seat. I pray but it does no good. the only people for me are the mad ones-mad to live, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at once--jack kerouac |
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| © Copyright 2003 noah goldkamp - All Rights Reserved | |||
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JamesMichael Member Empyrean
since 1999-11-16
Posts 33336Kapolei, Hawaii, USA |
Nice writing...James |
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laurie Member
since 2003-05-28
Posts 153canada, ontario |
beautiful... you told a story most would have done as nothing but pain, and brought up the question of life, and whether we ever truly know someone... maybe a journals the key to understanding.. l almost cried. laurie. |
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ESP Member Elite
since 2000-01-25
Posts 2556Floating gently on a cloud.... |
Beautifully written, everything about is silky smoothe. The tone is gripping and pulled me through right to the end of the post. Like floating along a river. Luv, Liz xx Ok but one thing sometimes: It got a bit clumsy, I don't really know what it was but something didnt work...perhaps just a few of the descriptions could be revised. But hey, as I know not what I am talking about, best would be to ignore this bit  "Gorge the honey from life, and live through the stomach aches knowing they will pass..." ~Liz Pinard 2003~ |
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