Winter-break writing.

Sorry it's been so long since my last post.  Here you go, a little non-fiction essay.  Hope you enjoy!

The Spark

Mark

“What?!” I hear my wife, Noe, gasp on the phone, the sort of tone that immediately conveys that something is not right coupled with a note of sympathy, signaling distance from the actual bad news. Her mother, Marylou, on the other end of the line describes the terrible news as we relaxed on Saturday morning. Earlier that morning their elderly next-door neighbors, Marge and Paul were leaving in separate cars to take one of the cars to the mechanic. While backing out of the driveway Paul had a stroke, lost consciousness, and the car pummeled down into the ravine with him in it. Noe’s father, Mark, just happened to walk out the back door shortly after this, and could see the car in the stream, water rushing into it. Mark yelled for Marylou to call 911 as he scrambled down the sloping Pennsylvanian hill. His attempts at trying to save Paul were useless Paul had already passed away. Marge turned back, after realizing that her husband was not following behind her, only to encounter that same scene that Mark was seeing at nearly the exact same time. Noe’s phone call with her mother ended and she told me the about the tragedy and we discussed the craziness of the story. You see, years before Noe’s father was in the middle of building a shed, that lay very close to the shared property line of these neighbors, when he heard a gun shot followed by a ping of a ricochet, very close by. Noe’s father quickly scrambled inside to call the cops telling them that he was sure it came from the next-door neighbor. I confirmed with Noe that these were indeed the same neighbors that they didn’t get along with, and one thing stood out in my mind that morning, how Mark reached out without thought to help others in a time of tragedy.

Tommy

It was a cold, dark and rainy Saturday morning in West Seattle on November 10th When Matt Rice’s sister found him unconscious. The night before, Matt had had a friend over and they both had taken a concoction of Oxycontin, Xanax and cocaine, which left Matt comatose. His friend had already gotten up that morning and left thinking that Matt was still asleep. After his sister had discovered him, he was rushed to the hospital where he was placed in critical condition with his family and friends standing by. One of his close friends was Tommy, who watched as his dear friend’s body went through series of medical catastrophes.
Tommy, I met while going back to college, I needed a part time job as many people in that situation do, so I found myself working at a family owned bagel shop in a nice part of town. One of the best reasons to stay at the job was my fellow co-workers, one of the more hard working, was this kid Alex who was extremely intelligent and educated but also able to withhold a disposition of commonality among the rest of us. Later his brother Tommy would come to work with us and eventually also made his way into our lives as something completely different from his older brother. Tommy was a free spirit, all tattoos and earrings, but he still had the same sensibility as his brother, which made him great to work with.
While lying on the hospital bed, Matt suffered severe brain damage that would make his eyes twitch, giving hope to those standing near him. Tommy looked on in the cramped hospital room as Matt’s uncle pleaded, “wake up Matt, wake up for Jerry and Barb.” Jerry and Barb are Matt’s parents who stood with their two daughters and looked on as their only son was afflicted by minor heart attacks followed by brain hemorrhages over the next three days. After fighting for three days Matt’s body finally gave up, Matt was gone but his friends and family celebrated his life. Tommy jumped right in helping the family wherever he could be of assistance, even playing guitar at the funeral service. The place Tommy was in mentally was draining, full of sorrow, guilt and ultimately inadequacy. As a friend of the family he couldn’t do enough to show his grief, I know this because I was in a similar place ten years earlier while at Noe’s parents house on my first visit to meet her family.
It was a few days into our summer trip when the news arrived that Noe’s brother had died of a drug overdose in L.A. The family immediately lost their spirit, time slowed down and little moments took on completely new meanings. As the outsider I tried to help wherever I could, ironing and folding clothes for their trip, until the whole family left for California the next morning. I was left in the house alone, exhausted from trying to be more than I was. I tried to be a better boyfriend, a better supporter and just a better person, it was exhausting, the moment they left I broke down, I lost it. I cried. I cried hard even though I’d never met her brother, I was crying because we had gone through some very powerful and very profound. I had been set into a group of people I barely knew and through one horrible event was brought into a family as one of them, accepted without thought, without hesitation. That single event accelerated what would have normally taken years, it was a beautiful thing, so beautiful that it drained me when they left, to the point that I felt completely alone after having felt so close to them.
I knew Tommy needed support because all his support was being funneled into Matt’s family. I offered to be there for him and still it felt insufficient, so I did what we all do when overcome with guilt or remorse. I began to tell people that day what had happened to Tommy’s friend, and Noe’s parents neighbor all on this same strange day. What I ended up getting back, from one person at least, was yet another story that left me stunned.

Debra

I met Debra years ago when Noe was invited to teach ballet and small ballet school in eastern Washington for a week, so I went with her. The owner and director of the school, a wonderful Australian women who reminded us of Noe’s mother, (also Australian) made us feel at home with her endless stories and endless drinks. She had such an amazing personality and warmth, we came back year after year, resulting in a true and solid friendship.
That Saturday evening while talking with Debra about the days earlier tragic events she shared with me something, in her own way of reaching out I guess. Days earlier, she tells me, a couple in there mid seventies were at a hospital in Pasco, Washington because of a heart condition the man had. They were there only for a checkup, and while leaving the hospital that afternoon the married couple were crossing the street, and a man driving a truck, not drunk, not on drugs, and not paying attention to them, struck the two. The old man had tried to push his wife out of the way, but he just didn’t have enough time to react. He was placed in critical condition and his wife passed away that afternoon.
As she was telling me this I realized that Debra offered this story as a way to connect, to show that our lives are closer than what I had imagined originally. It was her way of bringing the world in closer and creating a bond. In essence she was trying to create that same connection, created from that same spark that made Mark look beyond his past squabbles as he ran down a hill and waded through the water to help another human in need. That same spark ignited a friendship with Marge that may not have ever developed. Just in the same way that spark made me an instant part of my wife’s family after her brother passed. And in Tommy’s case, because of that spark, he ended up being a much bigger part of Matt’s family, than he had ever been, or ever intended. It seems all of these stories contain intense moments that somehow create a bond between people. It sort of condenses time and intensifies friendships to a degree in which we have no control over. There is a famous saying by an unknown author, “it is a fearful thing to love what death can touch.” And although that is very true we should also remember the spark that will be there bringing us closer to others still around us.