Ritorno

What about moving back to Arkansas? Why does that sound like a good idea? No, not moving back to Texarkana (never back to Texarkana). Was thinking about it while making my bed tonight. What if? Where? Fayetteville or Hot Springs? And, seriously, how would I make money?

I’m so shell-shocked by my current job. Maybe I should escape and find a part-time gig bringing wireless to the back woods. Fukkit. I dunno. Maybe I should quit computers and find something that makes money in an area that just doesn’t understand computers. I dunno.

If not I.T., then what? Fuckifiknow.

Nobody said I had to stay in Austin. Actually, my love for this city is unrequited. Austin doesn’t give a shit for me; it doesn’t even know me. Then why be a small fish in a big pond? Opportunity? Moral grit? Comeupance? But for 16 years this has been my home, and I’m so accustomed to it. I’m 44 and am becoming less flexible as the years pass. Eventually, I’ll move somewhere else and end up missing all of the creature comforts that are only found in Austin. (But, just like I miss some of the creature comforts of Greensboro, so I’ll miss those of Austin.)

So then, I ask: what next? Where and Why? I don’t fucking know. I hate computers. I hate loneliness. I need reconnection to humanity. If I can’t find that in Austin, then where, eh? Where?

Avoidant

I can only feel something good when I’m drunk. Because I’m nervous as fuck when I’m around you people. And that fact makes me more nervous.

I keep hoping I’ll have a breakthrough, a glorious moment when I’ll realize where I actually am, what the consequences actually are, and where I’ll stop giving actual fucks and be the amazing man I was meant to be.

But that hasn’t come yet.

So Big and So Strong

Hey Stacy–

Remember that night after the night when we first met? We were hanging out at Maxine’s in Hot Springs, getting our buzz on. Live guitarist sang “Come a Little Bit Closer” as part of his acoustic coffee-bar set. Remember that girl, the waitress? Remember, during the chorus, she put down her tray on our table and sang, directly to me, the whole chorus, as if she meant it? I just sat there and smiled and blinked while she went through the entire rousing chorus, as if I’d never heard it before. Such an amazing, impulsive girl.

(That night was impulsive, what with my planned trip, but your impulsive ride-along — we’d just met!)

Well, something like six months after the little one month relationship you and I had, I went back to Hot Springs, just to hang out and spend the night in a motel (needed to get away, y’know?). Well, the following morning I had breakfast at Shoney’s (remember those?). Yeah. Guess who sat at the table next to mine. You guessed right: the cute, impulsive waitress…and her girlfriend.

As is the way of things, I was not her kind of man. Neither so big nor so strong.

The irony of the whole thing is lost on most of the world. But I see it. And now you do, too.

Requiem for Greg, Who Lived In Excellence

Requiescat In Pace, Greg Reddin, my friend.

Greg was my best friend in high school. He took me in when I needed a friend. At the time, I was in a state of floating between groups of acquaintances, without anchor, associating with a group of people who insulted me at every opportunity. I would occasionally look over at the lunchroom table where Greg and his friend Steve usually sat, and simultaneously roll my eyes at their laughing antics and be jealous of their joy. After a few weeks with Greg in my bowling class, one day I felt emboldened to ask if I could join their table. Greg swept his arm toward the open chair and accepted.

Within weeks, we found kinship and were the best of friends. Our first outing was to go see “Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure”, and it became a bonding experience for our little group. Later, and for the duration of our youth together, Greg and I would have long conversations about life, friends, love, music, the concept of God, of holiness, of faith, of trying to save the world from itself. At the time, we were brothers in Christ, our only schism being that my church membership was First Baptist and his was Missionary Baptist.

In the course of time, I graduated high school and went on to Ouachita Baptist University. A year later, Greg graduated and went on to Central Baptist College where he and Tanya met and started a lifelong relationship. Greg and I were moved apart by fate, but I still admired him from a distance and held him in high regard.

For the countless years of our adulthood, we were incommunicado — not by malice, but by time and distance; just drifted apart. Through the faculties of the Internet, though, we reconnected a few years ago and caught up. I was surprised at the time to learn of his long and fruitful marriage with Tanya, of fathering 5 wonderful children. More surprising to me was that he went on to learn computer science and find good work writing software in his chosen Arkansas hometown of Conway. During all those years of our youth, it was I who had the computers and programming skill, but he went on to learn it and make it his adult livelihood, for the sake of his family. He exceeded where I made half-measures.

Greg became a vociferous advocate for bicycling in Conway. He helped form a cycling advocacy group, and through that convinced city council to create bike lanes, pedestrian paths, sharrows, and increase the safety and convenience of cycling in the central Arkansas region. There is now a bike path named after him. He exceeded.

Greg and Tanya were avid hikers; I’m sure there is nary a locale in the state where their footsteps did not tread. They took their children along on these adventures and instilled in them a love for the outdoors. He exceeded.

When I learned of his diagnosis with cancer, I was crestfallen. I watched from a distance as Struggle and Hope held a tug of war over Greg and his family. After surgeries, after rounds of chemotherapy, I still held hope that he would turn a corner and get better, that he would return scarred and bruised but enwisened by his battle from within. I thought that he would exceed.

In the end, Greg succumbed to that which ate at him from the inside, weakened by that which was intended to weaken his enemy. By the time he went into intensive care, we knew it wasn’t good.

I got a message from our friend Ruth Ann that he had passed away, age 43, leaving behind a loving family and a legacy of excellence.

43. Greg lived a life of excellence, of servitude to his Lord, of love for his family, of faithfulness to Tanya. He lived his life the right way. He followed the script for success. He breathed the scripture. He did everything right. Cancer.

Where is the justice in that?

Greg, I will miss knowing that you’re out there. I weep for your family and hope, in time, that they will be able to exceed and continue with life. Your pain is over, theirs has just begun. I’m sure that at some point during this struggle they had already made their peace with it, but now the war is over. Their struggle is to piece together what’s left and rebuild, scarred and bruised, but enwisened.

Tanya, I wish the best for you and the children. Greg’s excellence will linger forever in your heart and in their eyes. There is love around you; receive it where you can. You are the survivor. May you also be strong.

Greg Reddin was a good man. An excellent man.