FRIENDS WITH FATE

From the R.M. Dolin novel “The Dangling Conversation.”

Chapter 16: Friends with Fate

ISABELLE: “YEAH! I hear you and again, apologize but it’s not like you’re owed an explanation. I don’t mean to be terse and get that you’re worried and you’re right, it’s not like me to up and take off somewhere. What I’m trying to say while politely telling you to mind your own damn business, is given my history of hiding, I’m glad you worry. Stuff’s been getting the better of me lately and the thing is, it’s causing me to put my petri dish of regrets under the microscope only to find a whole lot of crap not to like.

“I had to go home in a hurry, an all of a sudden crazy out of nowhere kinda hurry. We knew she was sick but none of us thought much of it, turns out she’s good at not letting on about that kind of stuff. When something like this happens, you start questioning pretty much everything. It’s not that her and I weren’t close, but it was a long time ago and life languishes in the irony of letting go of things you only later realize are precious. We’re all so busy chasing crap we need to be happy we fail to see how epically we fail at the things that matter; running around like rabid rabbits chasing the next shiny trinket we’ll never have and most likely wouldn’t cherish even if we did. And in our wake are the very things that once gave us the profound happiness we’re hoping to recapture. We’re like rodents in a cage spending our days running to the edge of exhaustion on a fly wheel that doesn’t go anywhere. If we could just move forward one inch, one stinky inch, but no, all we do is run, and run, never moving.

“That’s how life defines itself these days; if you ask me what I’m after, I’ll glibly go on about the importance of being happy. If you tell me to define happiness, I’ll smile sardonically while surface searching my soul to tell you I haven’t a clue. That scares me, scares the living crap right out of me; in part because I know just below that surface lies a whole lot baggage I don’t want to disturb, too afraid of what I’d learn if I looked. There’s a whole lot of nasty in looking. Think about it, you’re not happy, I’m not happy, is anybody really ever, or are some just better at blowing smoke up their ass? I don’t know that I’ve ever known anyone who’s happy but if I did, I’d likely find their secret’s knowing how to be satisfied. I believe people exist who long ago stopped chasing the next new shiny something but I’m certain I’ve never met them.

“Her name was Margret but that’s an old lady’s name, so we called her Margo; it has an exciting pizazz, a sorta sexy vibe, even though Margo’s anything but sexy or exciting. Darcy was the last one to see her; she only found out Margo was terminal days before but had to promise not to tell the rest of us. According to Darcy, who later confirms it with Tara who’s two years ahead of us in school and a nurse at the hospital, Margo got the traumatic news eight months ago and of course spent the first five working through her multi-layered stages of denial while trying the few lifesaving options. After coming to terms, she makes a decision to live happy for as long as possible; that’s different than giving up, just so you know.

“Sounds stupid to say she lives out a life terminally cut short while still in her prime by being happy. Margo manages it though, I’ll give her that, if anyone can simply make a decision and will its outcome, it’s her. That’s who she was, a freaking force of nature, which is why she keeps things secret, doesn’t want to spend her remaining months sitting through a pity parade of gallows drama from well-intended friends.

“What I regret, well maybe not so much regret as am disappointed about, is she doesn’t give me a chance to say goodbye. I can’t seem to shake irrational feelings that linger like a lover’s misplaced scent; sometimes I’m angry and what the hell’s up with that; she’s dead and I’m mad at her for dying. I regret that she doesn’t see me as a close friend, someone she can confide in, someone who’ll provide comfort without adding to her burden. Then I feel ashamed for making her death all about me, I mean really, what kind of person must I be that one of my dearest friends doesn’t want me at her side on such an emotional journey. And that’s when it all goes a little dark, what if I am that person you don’t want by your side when your world turns to shit; that’s a rabbit hole I don’t know how to crawl out of.

“Having someone close die is a new kind of crazy, and I can’t shake this sense that now that the barrier’s broken, now that one of our group has passed, the rest of us are destined to fall like dominoes. I keep obsessing about where in this marathon of life I’ll land; I likely won’t be next but I’m equally likely to not be last; at least that’s how I’d bet if I were wagering on my own dead pool. That’s how me and the girls leave things, no one saying anything but each of us playing the same damn game; sorting each other into bins ranging from saint to sinner to generate an ordered list of how our dominoes will fall. It’s so damn morbid, yet how do you not play. The irony is that while I’m obsessing on my pending death there’s still a part of my soul that believes I’ll live forever.”

KYLE: “I have a crew back in the day, a small but tight cohort like yours who lose touch as life takes us in different directions with divergent demands. None of us stay in our hometown, the days of hometown living have come and gone and to be honest, I can’t decide if it’s a good thing or at the very core of why the world’s in constant chaos. Sounds like you and Margo were part of the same click, even if you may not have been besties. It’s different for my crew; the guy who goes first is the one I’m closest to.

“His name’s Ted, but we call him Red on account of being Irish; ironically, he has coal black hair and hardly any freckles. It isn’t his lack of Celtic flare that defines him, the prairie’s littered with dark-haired Irishmen lacking freckles; hell, South Dakota winters combined with relentless prairie wind wipes blemishes off of anyone. What earns Red his reputation is the predictably consistent way whatever he does spins out of control with unfortunate outcomes. Ya see, Red’s a decent enough fella but the problem plaguing him his whole damn life is he’s a modern-day Sisyphus; no matter what incline Red tries to push his boulder up, he somehow manages to get pushed back just as he nears the top, usually due to circumstances of his own demise.

“I meet Red at the start of freshman year, he’s lived in our small town his entire life but I’m new, and if that isn’t bad enough, the transition from junior high to high school is pretty damn rough. I’m sitting alone in the cafeteria when this easy talking cowboy welcome wagon just plops down beside me and starts yacking. Back then I’m a bit of a book nerd and Red’s anything but, so we should have never become close friends; sometimes though, clicks cross over and before long we find ways to bond. He quickly corrupts me but it’s mostly because I’m drawn to his brand of adventure; like pretty much every boy in my high school, we drink beer, chase girls, and drive fast cars. What sets me and Red apart is there’s a comfortableness with him, I don’t have to pretend to be macho, or dangerous, or fit into some expected mold; we’re just two guys hanging out taking on life as it comes at us full throttle.

“We have more than a few damn awesome adventures, including run-ins with the law a time or two but never get busted in ways that stick, at least not for the serious stuff. There are a few high-speed chases in his old Chevy SS when it seems certain we’re going down, but Red always manages to execute an escape. His dad’s a big deal in our little town so Red has to mind himself more than me, only he doesn’t; or can’t, which is why I suppose he and his dad don’t get on so well. All through high school Red assumes there’s a place for him on the family farm but being the youngest of three boys means once schools over he has to make his own way. That’s the harsh reality of modern prairie life; the pie’s just not big enough to support everyone and the oldest gets first dibs on the homestead.”

ISABELLE: “My group comes together in first grade, and we stay tight through high school, a few of us, including Margo, all the way past college. Margo steals Darcy’s first boyfriend just before junior prom and the resulting drama’s really something. They do eventually patch things up but never really put it all behind them; it causes a dark vapor wall to form between a famously deep friendship that’s never fully pierced; and to be honest, they never really try all that hard either. I don’t want to suggest there’s something sinister about Margo, but when I look back, it seems she’s always working angles that have a diabolical twist. Never anything overt of even really noticeable at the time, and certainty nothing you can point at to call her out, but little crumbs eventually make a cake and when I look back at some of the crap my group endured, the consistent catalyst is Margo.”

KYLE: “Red’s catalyst is his inability to befriend fate; seems whenever he starts getting his shit together, she intervenes, and never in a kind or gentle way. One thing working against him is he’s a perfectionist, as imperfect as any perfectionist that’s ever lived. Not in a, “I want to be as good as I can,” sorta way, Red’s a pathological perfectionist, if he can’t be the best at something right from the start, he doesn’t want to even give it a go. He’s frozen by an inability to start things because he can’t process the need to invest in any required learning curve, which of course leads to lifelong frustration and disappointment.”

ISABELLE: “It’s awful to say, which is why I shouldn’t, but I’m deeply disappointed in Margo, not for dying, for being a bitch. I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but boy does some nasty shit come out at the funeral, stuff I could have ever imagined. FYI, and to properly set the back-story, she, more than any of my friends in college, convinces me to break up with Sergio just as it’s almost certain he’s gonna propose. Her argument’s rock solid at the time, “Chefs!” Margo tells me with certain certainty one night after we’ve had way too much wine, “are no different than medical doctors when it comes to lifestyle and expectations.” She proceeds to point out how they’re always working nights and weekends, always on call. Margo eloquently argues, “a doctor you can at least marry for money, but if you hookup with a chef, you’ll be supporting him your whole damn life.” I don’t know if it’s the wine or my fear of what happens next, but her argument seems spot on and even though I love Sergio, it suddenly seems obvious we won’t last long term. I want a normal life with a husband who has normal hours and Sergio’s never going to be able to live like that. The more I stew the more breaking up makes sense and it becomes painfully clear I have to do it before he proposes because in my heart, I’m honest enough to know if I wait, I’ll say yes.

“Fast forward through the disastrous years that follow and who do I find mourning in the front pew of Margo’s funeral, a mournful mess in a stylish black suit with slicked back hair, none other than Mr. Barcelona. I do all I can to avoid him at the reception, but he hunts me down like a repo man on a mission; he begs me to have coffee somewhere we can talk. I don’t want to but there’s a desperation in his eyes that amplifies unresolved guilt that’s laid dormant for more than a decade. A guilt inside my soul telling me I at least owe him that. So, an hour later I’m in a quiet café listening as Sergio tells the tale of how he and Margo came to be a thing. According to Sergio, I left him, “a broken man with a hollowed heart and depleted dream teetering on the edge of foolish folly.”

He doesn’t wallow in self-pity though, the Sergio I knew never would. After years of struggling, of constantly moving from kitchen to kitchen to earn his bones, of bouncing in and out of relationships with no hope of forming a lasting bond, he winds up the executive chef at a restaurant that earns its second Micheline star three years into his tenure. As fate would have it, one evening after Margo, who’s just relocated to town, is out celebrating with co-workers at the city’s most posh restaurant, decides to impress her friends by sending a dish back for not having enough cilantro. Rightfully insulted, Sergio indigently rushes out of the kitchen to set this patronizing patron straight. Now at this moment, Margo has no idea Sergio works there and he’s barely able to remember her, but out he comes ready to challenge any ignorant foodie-wannabe who presumes to know anything about authentic Spanish cuisine. Immediately Margo recognizes Sergio and once he’s up to speed all he can do is try to control the floodgates from his painful past that are so inescapably tied to her.

“Margo recovers faster than Sergio, which makes sense given she had no real skin in the game. Before he can even wrap his mind around what’s happening, Margo’s proposing a toast to her dear lost college friend. Sergio tries to step back, to tell both Margo and her friends that his memory from all those years ago is vague and he can’t really place her; only it’s not true and that’s not only obvious to Margo but to everyone at the table. Not one to miss a beat, Margo jumps in all excited and starts going off about their college experiences, only they’re plagiarized from things that happened between Sergio and me; things no one but my best friend could possibly know. Poor Sergio does what he can to recover on the spot even as the contents of precious things closet to his heart that he’s kept locked for over a decade now come cascading down on him like marbles meant to hurt. Margo keeps going on and on with stories of her in my life until she accidentally mentions me, then, her story stops, just as the story Sergio’s telling me in the quiet café abruptly stops.

“There’s a long silent moment where Sergio seems lost, he painfully swirls his coffee before slowly looking straight into my eyes and forcing the slightest of smiles before tentatively whispering, “hearing your name, sweet Isabelle, was like a magic word breaking the spell that cast me into darkness, like awakening from a dream that’s been dormant so long it lost its hunger.” I’m not sure what the hell that means or what he’s trying to imply, but am convinced we’re not talking about Margo anymore.

“Eager to stay on track, I divert Sergio around his decade old detour and back onto the Margo story. According to him, one thing leads to another and before long they’re dating; he tries to explain the details of how it all came about but to be honest, I really don’t care, not after the bitch does me dirty. I mean at the very least she owes me a heads-up on whole hooking up thing. It’s highly hypocritical of her to be dating the guy she convinces me to break up with, there’s a code about such shit ya know, and I don’t care how long ago Sergio and I ended our deal, stuff like that isn’t bound by time. And that’s not really even it if I’m being honest. I’m sitting in this crapped up café listening to this sorrowful story and all I’m feeling is jealous rage over a dead woman finding happiness with something I discarded. It doesn’t make sense, which is why I’m all balled up in a twisted knot.

“Now that there’s a little distance and perspective it helps me understand the whole you and Nadia thing. I mean what I’m feeling for Sergio as he tells his Margo story in pleading words that leave me torn between angst and anger, is like we’re transporting back to just before I foolishly end things and everything I feel for him then floods back with a freshness that flusters me. I’m overwhelmed with this sense I’m awakening from a dream I put to rest with a potion that’s lost its punch.”

KYLE: “Dreams definitely do ebb and flow, but they are nonetheless essential. My dream was always to live a swashbuckler’s life of epic adventure so, out of high school, I go to work for a commercial plumbing crew that travels around our five-state region. Red opts for a similar destiny but takes up with a seismographing crew out of North Dakota. It’s a big deal back in the day because oil barrens are still trying to assess how much crude’s buried beneath our tall prairie grass. Seismographing is hard hazardous work but pays well. These guys go into a field and drill a series of small diameter holes several hundred feet deep that they then pack with explosives that are set off simultaneously to map the shock wave as it travels through the ground getting something that looks like a medical x-ray image of the earth revealing hidden pockets of underground oil.

“Red’s living large with his nice new pickup, killer stereo, and girls chasing after him. I’m doing good, but this guy’s in a whole higher stratosphere of better, but like I said, his boulder’s never able to rest at the top of an incline. One afternoon while packing explosives into one of his holes it prematurely detonates. The blast wave shoots out of the uncapped hole with so much intensity it tears off half his face. After months of hospital rehab the doctors manage to reconstruct him into a reasonable resemblance of who he once was, but inside, Red never recovers. One enduring side effect is getting addicted to opioids; the thing is, doctors don’t really give a shit who they destroy, all that matters is the profitable payoff for being a high-performing pusher.

“It’s a dark time for Red that keeps getting darker, he winds up with another addict who gets him into crack and heroin. Before long they’re living in a halfway house in Arizona doing whatever’s required to get high. When she gets pregnant, Red tries stepping up; he gets them both into rehab and they’re on a solid track to achieve sobriety, but his disability payments aren’t enough to set up a life outside the halfway house away from other users. He can’t work because of the drugs and injuries, his history’s just too much of a risk. So, one day, out of desperation for trying to do the right thing for his pregnant girlfriend, Red modifies his disability check thinking no one’s gonna notice an extra zero. By the time that’s all sorted out, he’s in an Arizona prison, where if nothing else, they at least sober him up and prepare him for life back out on his own.”

ISABELLE: “That’s the kind of harshness Sergio describes, he talks about his struggles, the pressures of being a Michelin chef, the sacrifices he makes to get there and the even greater pressure to maintain. I feel sad for him as he talks about his loss and what Margo meant. I admire him for the person he became, especially given the way we left things. He’s achieved so much after starting with so little, how can you not be impressed?

“The problem is he’s now writing and texting, wanting to get back together and I’ll confess, I’m a bit torn. I mean there’s Henry who I love and the potential for the future we might have; then there’s Sergio, who I never stopped loving and the history of all the things we had. I know it’s shallow but I have to admit that seeing him now with his Michelin stars, knowing how he was back in the day as short order cook practicing hundreds of tries to make the perfect omelet, and imagining the journey that takes him to his Barcelona, makes me love him all over again in new and profound ways while regretting the journey I wish I could have taken with him.

“There’s nothing going on between us; I would never betray Henry and it’s too soon after Sergio’s loss. But I find myself being pulled into this bizarre hybrid relationship. I never imagined ever seeing Sergio again and now here we are bouncing emails and text messages like I’m back in college. He knows about Henry, knows nothing can come from our reconnection; says he doesn’t care, that just having me back in his life in any form is necessary for his soul to find peace. Sounds a bit too poetic to not have a romantic connotation, which is why I know I should shut things down and yet, I am so totally unable. At the same time, I feel an unrequited guilt regarding Henry; while Sergio knows about Henry, Henry’s in the dark about Sergio and I don’t know what to do about that.”

KYLE: “It’s hard doing the things we know we should, that’s certainly the case for Red; he finds ways though, and I respect that. He manages to get clean in prison and once released starts driving truck. Things are finally coming together; his daughter’s about to turn two, his girlfriend’s back on the needle but trying to get sober, and he’s finally able to provide for his family. It’s so damn nice to see good things flowing his way. But then, one day as he’s entering Albuquerque with a load of artificial grass he’s hauled in from California, his trailer somehow comes unhitched and starts erratically weaving around traffic lanes miraculously avoiding the cars behind him; that is until the tongue digs into a soft spot in the road and flips into the lane of oncoming traffic. As the inverted trailer lands, it takes out everyone in a passing car without mercy. The police at least rule it an accident so there’s no jail time for the deaths Red’s caused, and while the financial obligations ruin him, the guilt burdening his soul is debt that can’t be expunged.”

ISABELLE: “It’s exhausting trying to carry the weight of our past. Everyone has someone from a time when all the wonderful things about life are possible. Sergio and I can’t be together for a whole host of practical reasons but at the same time, we can’t deny what’s lain latent in our hearts for so long they’ve integrated into the very air we breathe. He’s still the same incredible man I fell inescapably in love with; warm, compassionate, deeply philosophical, and always understanding, even after I break up with him, which to this day stands as perhaps the stupidest damn thing I’ve ever done, and that’s from a long list of regrets.

“I know it’s wrong to have this thing, whatever you call it. Perhaps the past needs to be just that. I really don’t know any more than I can pretend to understand how you and Nadia pull it off, twenty plus years, bouncing in and out of each other’s lives, in and out of love. I’m not saying I’m in love with Sergio or out of love with Henry, or even if it has to be one or the other. I’m not saying anything because there’s nothing to say, no absolution required. I just feel like I’m stranded on a rocky ledge, and every next step is fraught with life and death, so I must be ever so mindful about how to proceed.”

KYLE: “Sometimes I feel like that Greek guy pushing a rock up an incline, guess we all do to some degree, the only differences are the size of the boulder and the grade of the incline. Mark that down as my geometric consequence of life.

“At this point Red’s crashing hard but hasn’t reached rock bottom, it is, however, coming. His girlfriend walks out leaving him to raise their four-year-old. I don’t know how he pulls it off and to be honest, am afraid to ask. Red keeps a roof over her head though and that’s gotta count for something; keeps her in school too, all the way to graduation. He tips over a year later; doctors say it’s an accumulation of his seismograph injuries coupled with years of drug addiction; I think it has more to do with him finishing his chores and completing his purpose. Life can only take on so much loss before the cage gets closed in debtors’ prison, that’s where he is in the end; he persevered through so much shit doing the best he could for as long as he should then his markers get called in.”

ISABELLE: “The outcome’s different but the journey’s the same for Sergio; he perseveres through years of struggle until he pays his way out of debtor’s prison and now, seeing all his success, I can’t help but wonder if he would have gotten there with me? I can come at this from multiple angles; there’s a part of me that says he’s so devastated by our breakup it propels him to culinary greatness. On the flip side, it can be argued that being free from me finally allows him space to pursue his dreams unhindered by the weight of my baggage. Either way, he finds greatness, I’m less than nowhere, and Margo’s dead, what does that say about life? I wish I had the chance to ask Margo why she convinced me to break up with him only so years later she can suddenly decide he’s exactly who she needs. We needed that conversation; for her it obviously no longer matters, but for me it portends my passage through cascading conflicts that remain far from resolved.”