Jess Ross Grogan
August 12, 2006—2 AM
San Giovanni in
Persiceto, Italy
An Unexpected Turn
The silent air
rising up from the fields stung our faces as we barreled down the remote
highway of the Italian countryside. On
our way home, the alcohol fueling my train of thought had allowed me to succumb
to the depths of an attitude of causeless jealousy for the angel behind the
wheel. I had regretted my previous words
and the aggressive punctuality of them in response to those around me. The smell of the crops and their stagnant
irrigation canals permeated my thoughts as they ran alongside us in the
illustrious glow of the full moon which chased us home. The taste of cheap beer and pizza still rang
clear in my mouth and tightly wrapped my palate so that I held my tongue to
prevent my breath from escaping into the dark, cramped cavern of our vehicle.
“Are you mad at me for
something?” she calmly sang, with a perfectly balanced hint of subtle defensive
dictation, allowing each word to be softer than the next.
“No, of course not,” I
replied. But she knew better and so did
I. She had grown used to my critical
behavior and unnecessary shifts in temperament long ago and I secretly
regretted forcing her to have done so, but in that moment I would have never
admitted it. I felt guilty. I had become quite touchy when she had openly
disagreed with me earlier that night about some senseless, empty conversation
we were having with her group of friends about a topic which I could not now recall. But unlike the memory of words past, the
feeling stuck, and now I was faced with climbing back out of the hole which I
had dug for myself and into which I had sought refuge from those who I had
assumed were attacking me without reason.
In my vague, drunken
stupor I had wished that she were in America , in the company of my
friends, so it might be different. And
for what? So I could do it to her in
return? What a pathetic sentiment clogs one’s mind when they lose
control of the ability to think considerately!
I realized the error of my ways, and turning to look at her realized
again how much and why I was so in love with her. Sometimes in a relationship it is quite
possible to neglect the foundation of the relationship itself due to the harsh
reality of complacency which sets in both eventually and inevitably. Forgetting how much you love someone is, in
my opinion, and, as seen from the perfect hindsight which is shared by all
lovers, a prime and often habitual motivation for treating them in a way which you
had previously swore to them that you wouldn’t.
She could have lashed
out at me and put me in my place, hastily shoveling the dirt which I had
excavated from the hole right back upon me, holding me hostage against my own
pointless actions. Instead, she had
pulled me out and brought me back to life, just as she had always done. What a pitiful triumph one finds in revenge,
I thought. I finally began to comprehend
how someone can triumph with love and understanding, never journeying to the
vile depths of what seems to be justifiable recourse. That is, to me, real love. To use the fire within to warm rather than to
burn. To control the storm of emotion
which accompanies everyday interaction and to strive to keep the levy from
breaking. I wanted to be just like her—and
it hurt me to realize that I wasn’t.
Still, it brought me back to life once I recognized that she loved me
anyway.
We arrived back home
and slowly climbed out of the car into the densely humid night. Before opening the front door of the house I
strode forward to meet her hand at the lock.
Slipping my hand around her waist inside her jacket, I grasped her as
though it would be the last time—the soft curve of her torso tormenting me
exponentially as I gently bowed my head in resignation into the fold of her
neck and shoulder. She caressed me, and
understood. No words were needed to
express the feelings boiling inside me as I struggled to regain some semblance
of dignity, lost within her world.
Eventually we made our
way into the house and went to sleep.
It’s funny how the most
important things in life are also the most ordinary—the things we take for
granted. We assign such large values to
such trivial things, while our lives pass us by—like dropping a rock into a lake…slowly
descending, without the knowledge or foresight to see the approaching end or its’
location. Like such a stone, heavy with
burdens bore from our own hand-picked destinies descended from the
self-fulfilling prophecies we create in our lives, we wander—knowing not our
direction nor purpose but breathing on the pure hope that someone will soon
reveal it to us. With hard shell we prey
upon those who are far from allies to our enemies, praying to be recognized for
being just in our actions. We dream of
how life should be—yet we rarely step out upon those thin limbs of aspiration, lest they break, leaving us to find
ourselves unarmed in unknown territory.
Sitting contently, we watch those extensions of our lives sway in the
gathering winds blown by another.
Complacent in our displacement, we pride our every move upon a provident
allegiance to a force greater than ourselves, begging to ascend. Our heart, a trunk deep with many roots, acts
as a beacon to our soul—infallible to us, yet flawed by the same evil which
lies within us all, filling us with such bitter confidence and fastidious expectation—hope.
Jess, I think this post was amazing. Your self-awareness is so refreshing. I can't wait to see what you write next.
ReplyDeleteThanks so much Ashley, I really appreciate you saying that. Im gonna try to write a new post or post something that I wrote a long time ago at least twice a week. I wrote this late one night in 2006 while I was living with my wife in Italy for the summer. I appreciate you reading it.
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