Twist

This evening I spent in a rather peculiar manner.

I got into my car and just started to drive. While I was driving, I ended up at some interesting places (or so I think). It is amazing what unfettered melancholy will do to an individual. The air was so cold, but I drove with all the windows down. I felt as if my whole body was numb from the dark, icy air that moved around me, but it made me feel strangely warm on the inside. I smiled, as if what I was doing was naughty.

I found myself at the bank, firstly. I parked in the private, covered garage. It was so eerie. I had never been there so late while being alone. The somber lighting created strange shadows along the walls and floor as I walked. I took the elevator to the third floor where the board room is located. I sat in the darkness with only the light from the hallway permeating through the ajar doors. I found myself in tears. I cried so hard. Then I noticed the portraits that hang around the room's perimeter. They were strangely watching me, I could feel them. Many of their eyes reminded me of my own.

I still don't know why I was there. I just was.

The next place is the strangest of all. I left the bank and headed out of the city. I found myself driving on a narrow road that leads through low rolling hills which are only a mile--or so--from the Ohio River. Setting on a secluded hill rose the marble mausoleum that houses so many of my family's dearly departed. It was flanked by an incandescent orange glow that hung heavy in the cold night. It was almost as if I were looking through the eyes of ghosts as I neared. I'm not sure if I felt a cold chill rise along my spine, considering a cold wind was whipping around my body through the open windows of my car. Knowing where the key is hidden, I easily opened the tall vault-like doors and peered inside. I turned on the overhead lights and noticed the final resting places of my dead family members, which line the walls behind sealed concrete and capped with marble. I sat calmly on the large bench that stands in the middle of the room.

I asked them audibly if they were proud of what I had become. Of course, the dead are great listeners, but seldom offer tangible advice. They never interrupt, however, which I appreciate. I wanted to know if I was a product of their collective genetic flaws, or should I look somewhere else for my unhappiness. I stayed there for who knows how long. It seemed quite peaceful, though--almost like Romeo and Juliet. I was surrounded, after all, by the bones of my kin.

(I hope I locked the doors when I left. I hate to think any of them got carried away in the night.)

Next, I drove toward the city. I found myself driving slowly down a familiar street, which took me past my parents' house. It sat eerily dark in the distant shadows. I know they were home, or so I think. I quickly saw the lake's surface shimmering in the lights that dot the property. I almost decided to drive to it, but I decided against it, as the gate would alert them someone was on the property. I'm not convinced that my emotional situation stems from those bones in the graveyard or from the warm bodies behind those high walls.

My parents never taught me how to love. They taught me dependence, instead; I think. I depend on them far too much. In many ways, I am still a small boy, who calls out to his mother in any harrowing situation. My father is a man whose real family is his work. He never took me to do the things that a father does with his sons. He never taught me to play catch (not that I like sports). He never taught me how to drive even. My mother compensated for it, I believe, in her own way. She dotes on me, and my brothers, but mostly me. I was my mom's confidante, and I still am, as I grew up. She tells me things she would never tell another living soul. I got everything I could ever want, except my father's deepest approval, from her. I guess moms can't do everything. Even though, my parents have been married for over thirty years, I am not sure I was taught the lessons which lead to a meaningful, healthy relationship.

Finally, I returned home. How do I feel now?

Surprisingly, I feel quite better--almost at ease. My stomach is calm. My mind is at peace. All-in-all, I think it was a very sobering drive. (I should do it more often.)