The Ballad of Steve Bangalan (Part 3)

We now suffer in silence/ the quiet storm

We are the blessed’ to have known you/

Our quiet grief is blind to the world /

We have each other, and we miss you/

We are stronger now, because your strength and spirit reside in our hearts/

We are your loved ones/ and we will someday call upon you in our hour/

Watch over us, and Rest in Peace/ Heaven’s Angel

The 152s: If Only

I test my feelings every now and again, and I find that the Love we never had remained as beautiful as the day it sparked.  Had I willed for one outcome or another, would that Love have stood the test of time? 

Though we’ve gone our separate ways my unrequited Love remains.  Time perhaps has changed us, our wear and tear like badges of honor – battle tested.  There’s no going back to that moment, there’s no real chance remaining, yet there’s no regret either.  The “if only”… the “what ifs”, though entertained, doesn’t have the bitterness one would think that comes with reflecting on missed opportunities.  I find it fortunate the lens we use to look back in time is so ever merciful casting such a radiant glow on everything.  The darkness wasn’t so dark back then. 

Buried there, the remains are Gold Memories.  Perhaps in another life or perhaps on another plane of existence, but the here and now… the story of her and I... I remember her radiant smile. 

…

Me:        “Do you Love her?” I asked.

Steve:   “She’s a good girl.” The Cheshire Cat replies with a grin.   

Me:        “Of course she’s a good girl that’s why you guys are hooking up.  But do you Love her?”

Steve:   “You know, Calvin, I have strong feelings for her.” 

Me:        “Is this getting serious? Are you going to get married?  2013?  Woohoo, Vegas 2013!”

Steve:   “Come on man, no! I’m not going to get married again anytime soon.  We’re just having fun.”

I see his eyes look off into his mind; his brow furls with contemplation.  Just one more push I thought.

Me:        “Remember, we had this conversation before, but it was about some other ‘good girl’?”

He doesn’t reply.  He doesn’t have to.

Me:        “You told me you Love [omitted] then too.  You told me she was the one.”

Steve:   “You know I will always Love [omitted].” He pauses to choose his words.

Me:        “Yeah I know you Love [omitted], but this girl, Stevo.  Is this girl the one?”

Steve:   “No.” His thought complete.  He looks at me. “She’s not the one.”

…

I’m reluctant to do anything.  The weight of twelve tons of steel presses down on my chest.  The world is bleak, and I just might stay in bed all day today.  Maybe he won’t call, and maybe he’s tired too, so maybe, just maybe he’ll call off this hike. 

My cell rings.  Damn.

Me:        “Hello?”

Steve:   “You up?”

Me:        “Yeah. “ I lied.

Steve:   “Wake up.” He knew.

Me:        “We could cancel.  It looks cold outside.”  It was cold inside too.

Steve:   “Naw man.  Wake up, let’s go! I’m outside.”

Me:        “You serious?” Damn, of course he was. 

I already knew he was outside.  You could hear the world from my Victorian/Queen Mary window.  It lets in all the sounds and all the cold.  In the summer, it lets in heat and bugs.  Winter – cold and bugs.  Fall and Spring – bugs.  I hate bugs.  I can hear him talking to me into his phone from outside my window as I hear his voice coming into my ear from my cell phone.  From two places at once – space/time travel.

Moments later I was dressed and in the car with my backpacking bag stuffed for a weekend’s worth of excursion.  We were only going on a day hike.  Half a day, really.  But I wanted to test the weight of my gear to see how it carries fully packed.  Steve had coffee and offered some.  Why didn’t I think of that.  I passed.  Our ride out to Fremont was peaceful.  The grey silence that surrounded us was something out of a Silent Hill videogame. 

Me:        “I think we could die” I was only half-joking.

Steve:   “Naw man.  Come on.”

Me:        “No we are.  Look at it.  You can’t see anything.  We’re fucked.”

He sips his coffee. 

Me:        “This is how a scary movie would start – Friends going off on a trip, fog all around, it’s either a serial killer or… zombies.”

…

My negativity was a bummer.  How does anyone put up with it?  I better just shut my mouth. 

Me:        “Damn it.  So out of shape!” There goes that attempt.

“ I can’t even see the top.  You think we’ll see anything in this fog?” Such a whiny face.

Steve:   “Come on man.  We got this.”

We had stopped twice before on account of me. 

Me:        “Of course I’d pack a giant bag and then complain about it.”

Steve:   “Want me to carry it?”

Me:        “No, I’m just complaining.”

Near the peak we came across a white picket fence.  Is there such thing as a sign?  What’s the Symbology – and I think of the Boondock Saints reference… and I think of old friends.

…

I guess eventually I did shut myself up.  Good job, knew you could do it.  Perhaps I was too tired to say anything, but moments when I just want to take it all in – I let the silence speak.

The white fog was sloppily outlined with blues, greens, and splashes of violet.  I was awake whether I wanted to be or not.  Tired and sleepy – yes please, but all too heightened and alert my senses would not let me – I was gathering it all in.  Something about the clean moisture and clean air.  This fog, now really a mist, atop Mission Peak was not going to allow sleep.  No you could drown in this mist.  My body is wrecked.  Not from the climb, though obvious I was breathing heavy.  

I thought more along the lines of what have I done to myself with the alcohol and the partying?  I know I was only partying to forget lately, but I had taken too kindly to the alcohol… it’s wearing me.  This hill wasn’t this hard before.  Where I drank to forget, this hike was so I could leave it there on that hill that overlooked the valley.  I wouldn’t have to drink to forget anymore if I could leave it all there on that peak. 

We sat there in silence. 

I didn’t want to spoil it with my negativity so I did say much.  By then, after our nice meal I was not so foul.  The jagged rocks were not comfortable to sit on but I did so anyway.  My legs felt like spaghetti.  We did the whole taking pictures thing, now I just wanted the sky to open up.  I found myself cheering for the sun.  Here and there it would break through the sky and light up the valley in blotches… at least I was hoping.  The valley below was blurred to us, and at times the eyes could see details of it far below, but the fog was unrelenting. 

I unpacked my bag and brought out my JetBoil.  With water, I made us brown sugar oatmeal.   I was glad to use some of the water in my CamelBak.  I used it also to rinse the bowl and the stove after.  I used more water and made tea while we peeled and ate mandarins.  Then I made coffee, again pouring the water.  We weren’t in any hurry to hike back down.  At least, I knew I wasn’t.  I was glad most of the water was used up.  The weight of all my gear was getting heavy. 

I don’t know for how long we sat there.  We just sat and looked out into the valley. 

I was supposed to leave something up there.  There was supposed to be some magnificent reveal followed by some cathartic release.  We sat there cold to our bones.  Warm brown something close to coffee warmed our insides.  Moving by jumping up and down would help, but I just sat.  I enjoyed my small victory – although it was not my victory.  No, Steve had carried me that last stretch. Not physically, but I knew I would have called it a day long before we reached the top.  Part of getting to this very spot was because I didn’t want to let him down.  No, this was Steve’s victory – but I was… am so ever grateful to have shared it with him. 

…

Going downhill was easier.  We traced our steps and came back confronting the white fence.  Only this time did I notice the back side had graffiti all over it.  Why didn’t I see this going up?  Words of encouragements came from strangers, supporters, for no particular reason but to motivate a general optimism or to hearten faith in others to strive for a personal best.  Of course I missed the sign before, I was too negative; I only saw the mountain and the insurmountable, forgetting the invisible forces that hold us up and propel us forward. 

We missed a turn and instead wandered unto an unfamiliar trail.  The tree before us gave pause– its haunting beauty in the mist had to be captured.  Here we were heading the wrong direction, and this tree stopped us in our tracks.  Singular, alone it stood.  Almost out of place and seemingly out of time, this tree which must have been there long before our time was somehow a sign.  Was it always meant to be there to tell us, to warn us, to give us pause, and to turn us around? 

Sometimes a tree is just a tree, but maybe with the fog it just seemed so eerie. 

Sometimes a tree is more than a tree.  How long did it take for this tree to grow?  Why is it all by itself and not in a forest?  Was it a naturally occurring tree or was it planted?  Have others been lost this way too?  Has the tree also turned these wayward souls back on path?  Were we supposed to get lost and find this tree?  It stood there silent to my pleadings.   I did not voice my pleadings aloud for fear that breaking the silence would arouse something in the mists.  Or perhaps I feared the silence itself and I would only look a fool asking a tree why it came to be. 

Me:        “Um, Stevo.  This would be the perfect time for the zombies to attack.”

Of course I had to open my mouth. 

~*~

The Ballad of Steve Bangalan and the 152s:  Part 1 |  Part 2