I haven’t done this in some time.

I had quite a bit to drink this evening. It being St. Patrick’s Day, I had to celebrate because it had always been one of my favorite holidays growing up. In middle school, that’s pre-secondary school, it was the day we looked forward to pinching or being pinched by certain classmates. Usually, for my part, I remembered the green, but there were a few years I had to endure the “pinch” because I had forgotten to wear green that day. Tonight, I remembered how I loved this holiday, and how in my adolescence I crossed the threshold of personal space and expressed how I truly felt about a certain some one. There were different types of pinch, and yes they all hurt, but some more than others. One that particularly hurt was from H.S. Tonight, I looked at every face in the bar, and was hoping to see her. There was no particular reason or plan, and it was really a fool’s hope. I just felt that tinge of reverie, and when you dream of a moment for so long, you start seeing it everywhere. I should have pinched her harder when I had the chance. I still remember her pinch, but could she remember mine? Every St. Patty’s Day it’s all the same. I think of H.S and wonder, is tonight the night I run into her again? Because this time, she would be in for a hurt of a lifetime, and she won’t surely forget me. It’s only fair, she completely owns this holiday for me.

Ice coffee, sangria, and then...

I was tripping off of both ice coffee and sangria last night. Here's what I came up with:


I woke up with a fearful spasm thinking the worst had come. She had past before I could tell her what purpose she played. It rendered my existence obsolete and void. I clung to her rock, and kissed the cold. This will be my marker that I come home to from now on. I am at once both free and vacant.

I long and live as a wraith among men, drifting through life compensating vitality with longevity. In my wretched old age, I find myself back upon that rock, and there you were. Briefly like a ghost, you dance in the light. I run towards the horizon to my midnight hour, and dying I whisper my spell. I dance in the wind for all to hear. I now join the voices of all the forlorn. I live on in eternity on the hind winds of an afterthought, wishing if only.


Yeah, I woke Monday with the thoughts again, and I tried all day to find a way to explain it. Of course, what I ended up doing was repressing it even more. So here, for all the world to see.

Testament of an Endless Friendship

Dear Mac,

You hold a special place in my heart. During a time when life was a mystery, when the relationships all around me seemed broken, you proved that the little things could impact one’s life forever. High school was a trying time, and for fear of getting hurt again, I never opened up more than I had to. In all honesty, I didn’t know what I was doing half the time. In the middle of the quad, in front of most of the school, you shared your homemade macaroni and cheese with me. We literally sat there and had a picnic.


I’ll never forget that moment, and I’ll never forget you.

When I saw you the other day, you were just as beautiful as I remembered; you will always be beautiful because you will always age gracefully in my eyes. I had all my barriers up in high school, but you found a way into my heart despite of them. You have been in my heart since.

High school and college passed us by, and I check your online profile from time to time. I wanted us to be friends like during Ms. Lara’s social science class. I wanted to let you know, that you forever changed macaroni and cheese for me.

I have changed, reverted, matured, and held fast to my ever-expanding circle of experiences. At its center is a frightened boy who was too scared to say how he felt. He writes it here now hoping for the best.

Because when I saw you the other day, though I have dreamt of that moment many times before, I was still caught off guard. Your presence knocked me speechless, and I could not believe what was happening was real. The thousands of rehearsed conversations in my dreams vanished. All I had to say was that you look amazing, and we need to catch up sometime. All I wanted was our friendship back and for us to be closer, but I could not get pass the formality of meeting an old friend. Somehow, I wanted to relieve you from your burdens, however briefly, and impact you the way that you have impacted me.

I hope you could see the genuine, bewildered, and sincere look in my eyes. If that moment could last longer, I might have been able to say something more lasting.

Something like: you remain one of the highlights of my life, and we will always be friends despite any and everything.

Your friend forever,
Cheese.

Me and Jack back at it.

My computer was on the fritz so I apologize for the lapse in posts. I will continue posting a Journey of Music (2 of 3) once I locate the back-up and/or re-write the excerpt. Tonight, Jack and me will be pontificating about misguided Love.

For every one of cupid’s arrows in his quiver, for every aim and shot he takes, sad to say, there are missed opportunities.

Tonight I saw her again. She wasn’t the one that got away exactly. She was the one I had no idea how to approach. I was scared, alone, and uncertain. The last state of being, most crucial. For uncertain, there was self doubt and with self doubt, followed complicated mixed signals.

I didn’t know what I wanted then. I have a better idea now, but seeing her again… it reminded me of wanting better. Not just for myself, but for everyone I care about. She’s included in that list whether she knows it or not, because however briefly we connected, we connected. That’s all that matters. Through the traverse of space and time, through the infinite combinations of algorithms, through wavelengths of energy, we connected and together we existed for however briefly it was.

“It’s complicated.” She says.

“It always is,” I say.

On those first cold winter nights, moving back home, her voice was a reminder that home wasn’t the prison I envisioned. That I was free to live and breathe outside the confines of my complex scenario, that I was free to love and free to touch the souls of others… hers was a soul corrupted for loving someone who hurts her.

Maybe not entirely, but enough, because there was and is pain. There is sadness. In her eyes, in her avoidance, she was not free, trapped in her complex scenario.

That was the kicker. That despite meeting so briefly and sharing the same wavelength, we were, for better or worst, from different worlds. She would go back to him, and I would continue on alone. Our paths diverge, and we trek endlessly in space. She found herself progressing to a bartender position, and I found myself there drinking alone.

“Another Jack Daniels on the rocks, please.” I barely speak, a mumble really. I need to project more.

“You’re bored?”

“Yeah…” and I mumble. It must have been inaudibly, because she didn’t respond.

Like daggers, I wish I can make her see. That it doesn’t have to be so complicated, but I know better. I’ve never really made thing exactly simple. Had I really an honest chance before? She was and still is in love with someone else. Someone I can never be, in her eyes, and in mine. That’s the other kicker, the one that makes you doubt your own ability to help others… to help yourself.

So I drink and wonder, how misguided Love makes drunks of us all?

A Journey of Music (Part 1 of 3)

(Names have been altered to maintain anonymity for the guilty)

Thursday night was filled with restlessness as I franticly pack for the week ahead.  Jason, a long friend, one of the oldest I know, had just cancelled on me.  He was on the fence whether he wanted to come with me on this road trip or not, and I made the executive decision. 

            “It’s just that I could be working, and I have exams on Monday.” 

            “Right, I’m not coming back till Tuesday.  There, I guess you’re not coming.” 

            Strange how when all those years I was living down in Orange County or when I moved to L.A., Jason never felt inclined to visit.  Now that Bethany is in Irvine all of a sudden he wants to go on a road trip.  Too bad he epically failed, which works out for me.  I work better on my own. 

           

*

 

            Friday morning, I dragged my feet out the door having checked the locks and double checked the stove to make sure everything was off.  I walked my mom’s little dog one last time hoping that I won’t be coming home to a shit filled house. 

The five hour trip was desolate scenically, but the landscape of my mind was brimming with colors and images of days long gone.  Initially, I had Social Intelligence on audio compact disc filling the morning silence.  Strange choice, but I was trying to learn new things daily, as oppose to disintegrating into complete ignorance.  It’s a strange feeling after college, that I can feel myself getting dumber.  Ironically, I’m sure I consumed much more alcohol in college as oppose to now.  

It followed with a few hours of rocking out to music; of notice were some Gwen Stefani tracks, the Orange County Girl herself.  As I entered the charted once vestal maiden lips of Los Angeles, now just a paid and laid asphalt entryway, the main California artery that is Interstate 5, “Californication” by The Red Hot Chili Peppers was playing. 

            Driving to Los Angeles from the Bay Area, you first enter The Valley.  Which is an L.A. term for the buffer that separates homo sapiens superior and homo sapiens.  Which is which and who belongs where remain matters of argument, but needless to say, the buffer exists.  The Valley invokes many memories of late night shenanigans.  At its center is Six Flags Theme Park, a giant reminder of the world I left behind, of a world I left with unexplored territory.  There were so many things left unsaid and so many things left undone. 

I instantly remember and regret never having said goodbye correctly to Mary-Joe.  Mary and Joe were two people equating to one couple, and everyone just got to calling them Mary-Joe for short.  They were cool in many ways and were the first ones to introduce me to this wayward territory.  They were Valley-folk in all its greatness and gravity, as real as people needed to be in the shadow of Hollywood.  They were built from “of the earth” people, as oppose to being built on a soundstage from dreams and the magic of light, smoke, and mirrors.  Yet even here, the Valley can’t escape completely and come out entirely clean. 

It is here you find the porn capital of the world, and it is here that coming is a matter of the bottom line.  You inevitably always lose a touch of innocence driving through the Valley.  I did a little bit that Friday driving down. 

            Out of the stereo speakers came “Perfect Situation” by Weezer.  They had performed a weekend earlier at San Jose State. I had missed it.  This song and two other songs capture the existence of Mary-Joe for me.  Their influence and how they’ve touched me is not limited or boiled down and extracted into these three songs.  It’s just that these three carry their essence to this day, and with luck, they probably always will.  The story goes, “Perfect Situation” played on the radio one night as Joe drove us back home to our apartment from some club out in Hollywood.  Mary was slightly drunk in the passenger seat, and I was slightly more so in the back seat.  We sang every line and wallowed every woe the whole way home. 

Another song was “Dani California”, by the Red Hot Chili Peppers (almost anything by them reminds me of Mary-Joe really, but this song does so particularly).  Mary-Joe towards the end of our lease brought back to the apartment a dog they named Dani.  Dani was a black Labrador who was sick, and Mary-Joe nursed the poor creature back to good health.  They were really good at that. 

The last and most important song is Champagne Supernova, by Oasis.  I can still hear Mary’s raspy voice pouring out as Joe strummed his bass guitar.  We’d all have no doubt been drinking, and found ourselves in a circle singing again.  There was always an amazing high while we mostly likely butchered this beautiful song.  Even now, when I play the song, if I close my eyes, I can here them, Mary-Joe, raspy voice and all. 

Between the Valley and L.A., L.A. lays Sunset Boulevard.  I’m sure many people have thought of the irony as they sat there waiting for the 405 to move.  Driving that stretch of the 405 was driving home for two years.  It tugged at the heart strings as I exited Sunset at the cusp of the 405 traffic.  I was back in Westwood, and the first leg of my journey was complete or so I thought. 

 

*

 

            There’s a place in Westwood called HQ.  It’s changed location throughout the years, and consequently its nature has changed somewhat.  What happens is that several friends move in together, usually it takes two, but somehow it ends up being three or more.  We get a place, split rent, and live together.  This becomes headquarters or HQ for short.  Friends move in and out, locations and the names on the lease changes, but I know there will always be an HQ in Westwood or L.A. in one form or another.   That Friday, I knew there was a place in Westwood for me, I called anyway. 

            “Hey, Audrey. Yeah, I’m in town.  Are you around?”

            “I’m at the apartment.” 

            “Can I swing by?  I need a place to crash tonight.”

            “Yeah, of course.” 

            “Thanks, I’ll be by in a bit.”

            And so I came, and soon after we, Audrey, Kitty, and myself, found our way to Sawtelle Street.  Over old stomping grounds at Hurry Curry, we reconnected.  The songs elude me now, but at the time, they were the icing on our diner conversation.  Hurry Curry had some interesting beats. 

            Audrey and Kitty, like Mary-Joe hold special places in my heart too.  Before, Dani, before the collapse of HQ Prime, before the falling out of Mary and she who will not be named, I found myself thrown into a pit with several wayward souls.  Together we found our way out, but in the process, we fused an ever lasting bond.  Audrey and Kitty were two of these wayward souls that I welcomed into HQ.  I fed them as best I could, and saw to it that their respective vices were seen too.  They were younger but not in the way I was older but not.  We watched movies on projector and laughed ourselves to sleep. 

            There, before me, I see the changes in them.  The music has changed somewhat, and they’re now older.  Not the graying older, or the degradation of time older by any means.  It was older in the lost of innocence.  It was older in the lost of friends who moved on and those that are left behind.  I had seen it in myself, and now I saw it in them.  It pains me, but I couldn’t stop time and stop them from growing up.  Not that we were all grown up, talking about silly things there at Hurry Curry, just more so. 

 “Is it hot in here?  Or is it just my curry?” was a button that held the evening’s coat tail in place.  The music, the warm curry and chicken cutlet, the familiar faces and places, they compounded, and it was music.  It wasn’t completely the same songs from our yester years, though there were familiar repeats, there were some new songs for better or worst. 

            Back at HQ, we fell routinely into our respective spots on the lounge couch.  We idled in front of the television watching our favorite shows from behind our laptops.  I didn’t bring mine, because I wanted to be in the here and now to take in as much of it as I possibly could. 

It was like old times, and just like old times, just when I thought the evening was winding down, we head out for a drive. 

            Kitty had a birthday party to go to, so it was just me and Audrey.  What was supposed to be a simple car swap, drive up to Audrey’s parent’s place in Valencia to switch cars, wasn’t that simple. 

At Audrey’s parent’s house, I sat as a spectator observing and absorbing.  Her parents always amused me as I can see and have known Audrey for quite sometime.  I was observing the science and mystery of development, parents and there affects on children.  It’s like Mr. Smith said, “Parent’s, they just don’t understand.” 

I got to figuring as I inevitably do, that at one point, as a family and not just limited to Audrey’s, I’m sure all the members played in sync and in accord.  There must have been times when the music was harmonious, while at other time it must have been chaos.  There must have been down notes and up notes, and like an orchestra, they played onwards together.  Just watching a family interact, just on the surface, and just here and the now, it was strange to see that people are a residual bunch.  We cannot forget as we hold on to that last note. 

Audrey’s Dad’s dog, a variation of a basset, took to me kindly as Audrey paid her visit.  For some reason, the dog remembered me as the guy who would pet her if she insisted.  I’ve only been to Audrey’s parents place once or twice before.  Yet the dog insisted, and I obliged to make her happy.  I tickled behind her ears and rubbed her belly.  Some would say I’m a sucker for bitches, but in truth, I acquiesce to their needs simply because I know their sweet spots.  It makes me happy to make them happy if you will.  The rules still did not escape me, simply one: you don’t get between a man and his bitch.  So there I was rubbing down a bitch in the man’s own living room, no, that wasn’t awkward at all. 

            “Calvin, you want some Scotch?”

Triumphantly, I declined Jerry’s offer.  Audrey’s older brother Jerry was helping himself to some scotch.  After a long drive, and now as I was rubbing down a bitch, I could have definitely used a drink, but that would have been an easy out.  No.  Pounding scotch was not the answer.   I resolved to the situation I was in, trying not to decline too many hospitable offers, and all the while remaining stubbornly and nonchalantly oblivious to any awkwardness whatsoever.  Reminding myself that the wagon was definitely worth the trip, I stayed on it despite insecurities urging me onwards with the good times. 

            As Audrey pulled out of the garage leaving the scotch and the dog, the house and the family, and the whole exchange behind us, I felt relief in staying sober and relief in calling it a night.  But the evening wasn’t over, not by a long shot. 

In her old civic, Audrey turned on the CD player.

            “Let’s see what’s in here.”

            If there was a theme for Audrey, the track that came out of the stereo would be it.  During the many shenanigans that went down those Westwood nights, it was Audrey driving to this song.  We were welcomed fellow journeymen along her trip.  To “Knights of Cydonia” by the Muse, there, supposedly as I can neither confirm nor deny, were cars racing around UCLA campus playing Nerf gun hide and seek at midnight.  As the backdrop to many a late night Mickie-Dee’s runs or the Sunset Blvd cruises, it was this song.  Up and down the PCH it was Audrey’s drive that propelled us on this wavelength.  And so began a detour that propelled our night forward.  We ended up at a 24 hour Wal-Mart.  Ode to days long gone. 

            Now I understand the arguments against Wal-Mart, but admittedly I am grateful for such a well lit refuge for those insomniac nights.  This Friday night in question, had me digging through the $5.00 DVD bargain bins.  As if going to Wal-Mart to hunt for bargains wasn’t sad enough, knowing full well how it undercuts the competition in pricing, you’re also reminded of your station in life even further as you dig through unwanted or unsavory DVDs in these bins.  Like a kick to the mouth as you scurry about in the mud.  There are hidden jewels mind you, but they must be earned.  Like making a monkey dance and squeek to earn a treat, we dug and dug bin after bin.  It was late night, and like the freaks we were, Audrey and myself dug half attempting to organize these miscellaneous discounted DVDs.  Organize, had we actually done so, we would have been there still.  With Wal-Mart, there carries a heavy buyers guilt, and because of one Alfred Hitchcock, I was able to assuage away some of it.  Still the fact remains, I was slopping around in the mud, and Wal-Mart kicked my teeth in, thanks. 

            Before returning to Westwood, we stopped by Receda in the Valley to see Mark.  I had found out about his accident along the 405 and wanted to pay him a visit.  It was the least I could do.  The story goes, as he drove home one late night on the 405, somewhere near the Ghetty exit, he lost control as his car flew off the highway and onto an adjacent street, one Sepulveda.  There was a sign he bulldozed, a hill he tumbled down and somehow his car still managed to land right side up on the street below.  Amazingly, he got out of the car and walked away as it caught fire and went up in flames.  In my mind, it was like a Hollywood movie, with loud explosions and all.  Lost in the fire was a new iPhone, various personal electronic devices, laptop and such, and what hurt the most was a notebook filled with music Mark and written since junior high.  He survived, and that was the important part.  I imagined a part of him must have died that night, but rather that than too lose all of Mark. 

When Mark and Audrey hang out, inevitably Bob Marley plays in the background.  That night in Receda, in the car with windows rolled up, I heard “Buffalo Soldier.”  I’m happy to say that I resisted the urge to partake in the exchange between Mark and Audrey, but in a car with windows rolled up, you end up secondhandedly absorbing the positive vibrations friends radiate  as they celebrate those special “escaping a near death life experience occasions”.  

Afterwards, in Mark’s room, he played for us some sounds he was working on.  As a musician, artist, and producer, Mark had a sweet set-up.  Guitar cases laid on the floor and leaned against the wall.  Sound dampeners lined the walls.  His rig had two monitors, some switch board, cross fading equipment, and cool software to produce his sounds.  He sampled a song for our listening pleasure.  Though it didn’t have a title as far as I knew, the beat and sound was inspiring.  It was the song that followed.  When everything goes up in flames, keep working and write another song.  You can only live in the moment; let that be a life lesson. 

As we chilled, Mark answered his ringing cell, a quick replacement flip phone.  The night wasn’t going to end just yet.  How would we feel about going on a car trip to K-Town?

“I’m cool.  I got nothing to do.”

“Yeah, I haven’t seen you in awhile, let’s hang out some more.”

So we drove to K-Town.  That’s Korean Town in the heart of Los Angeles to the non-natives.  Here, you will find non-English signs, gobbledygook to some, but hidden treasure to others.  You’re in another world inside the L.A. microverse.  For several blocks, only street signs will help you find your destination, unless you happen to read, write or speak Korean, you’re shit out of luck.  It so happened, Mark was one such Korean.  Natives managed to find their way navigating such streets after several trial and errors.  Somewhere between a native and a non-native, I was once again grateful that Mark was there.  

We had to go K-Town to pick up Mark’s girlfriend, Sofia.  She was at a bar, club, lounge or some combination there of when we picked her up.  She was booking, a term use for having a host that escorted your party from venue to venue.  She was also highly buzzed.  It was another car swap, as I drove Mark’s rental (his blew up) to a drop point, and he drove Sofia’s car to pick us up.  In the backseat again, I watched Sofia describe her evening.  Her larger than life mannerism struck my humor bone as Audrey and I sat in the backseat enjoying Sofia’s description of why Brittney Spear’s “Womanizer” was a good song.  Sofia continued to share her thoughts regarding our next destination, Mickie-Dee’s.  There was the Monopoly event taking place, and being Asian she no doubt had to play and not only play, she had to play to win.  This was Mickie-Dee’s Monopoly, and this was serious.  If you’re Asian, you understand the nature of gambling.  I laughed at the humor and truth of her statements.  There was a big smile on my face as Mark drove and Sofia told us what was on her mind.  We left behind Hollywood and the 101 in the rear window and found a disappointingly closed Mickie-Dee’s in Receda. 

“That’s no bueno Baby.  You need to make up for it tomorrow.  You have to eat Mickie-Dee’s for breakfast.  We need to eat Mi-ckie-Dee’s as much as possible.  Oh my god, I’ve eaten Mickie-Dee’s so much already this week.  I feel so gordo.” 

We ended up at a taco joint, Del something, and Audrey ordered a coke.  She spilled it on herself, and capped the evening with another lesson.  Sometimes the lid is not secure, and shit spills on you.  Wipe yourself up, put a cap on it, and go home.  When we reached Mark’s place, Audrey and I said our goodbyes.  It was back to Westwood, and it was finally an end to the evening.  In one night, I relived many an L.A. adventures.  “Knights of Cydonia” played again as the curtains came down on part one of my weekend adventure.  

It's that quiet before the shit storm.

Somewhere in the midst of their preparation for tonight's vice-presidential debate this thought probably surges through their minds.  

I'm not sure whether I'm anticipating this event because it's been so publicized or whether I do care of the outcome.  The blanket media has that effect.  As far as I'm concerned, the debate ended sometime last week, but the whole show and pony has to continue.  

The word is jaded.  

I have hope, but it seems like there's been too many disappointments lately.  Economic Crisis, anyone?  You'd like to think, especially with people in charge, that they're not motivated by self interest.  That thought is just naive, and is probably a moot point anyway.  That brings me to the question, who's self interest coincides with the nation's self interest?  

I can't speak on behalf of the country, but just being attuned to the voices shouting out, there needs to be change.  The old reactionary wait and see tactic, though cautionary and safe, is ensuring the old ways.  It's safe guarding the people that put us in this mess in the first place.  

It'll be nice to see a change, something more proactive.  I'm not speaking about the election on this last part, but just in general.  Maybe in myself as well.  I could use a dose of pro-activism seeing how this wait and see thing with law school is dragging me down.  

Mission to the Moon and beyond.

I know when we look back, we tend to romanticize the past.  I'm just saying, there was a different passion back then.  People looked to aspire to be more than what we are today.  It seems internal squabbling is getting us nowhere fast.  We need to aim higher, and I think our leader, whoever he or she may be, needs to see that it is this shared hope that brings us together.  

We need to make space exploration real again, not just something we did way back when.  We need to show accountability for our mistakes.  Use to be a sign of strength not weakness to admit we screwed up.  We might of pushed the moon landings too soon, jump the gun, but in the face of adversity we rose to the challenge.  It showed the human spirit was capable of greatness.  We need to feel that way again.  I know I do.  

You might not feel the same way about space exploration, that the mysteries on this planet are a plenty.  I agree that less money, time, and effort could be spent on this big notions, and the grounded truth is more easily obtained.  That is the grounded truth, but I'm speaking of flight.  I'm dreaming that boyish dream of dawning an astro-suit to explore strange new worlds.  It's not so much about the discovery as it is about the journey.  Just doing it, being able to, and striving to, and possibly falling short says something more about humanity.

The word is Hope 

If you believe, you know everything happens for a reason.  You might not understand the reasons, but you accept that this is because it must be.  In the ruins of our past, great civilizations fell for just that reason.  It is the lesson book, it is the humility that is greatness, it is the truth of universal decree.  All things must end, so keeping that in mind, let us earn what is to come.  Let us earn that greatness that we so readily claim.  That is Hope, for when the time comes, we ready before the light.

And they dance the cosmic dance...

---

In his room is a green street sign. It’s reflective nature shimmers light and spells out its name. Liberty points towards a flame he just lit. It smells of orchids and lilies. It casts shadows upon the ceiling and makes odd flickering dark shapes. Liberty dances with these shapes. The silent ceiling fan does not move, but a small breeze comes from the plug in electric fan near the window. Turning on the ceiling fan turns on the lights. The two go hand in hand. The flame is too soothing. The darkness of night is best lit by fire. These shapes dance to techno beats. His ears are drowned with transcending music that takes him away. His mind focuses and expands on the past, the future, and the present. It seems all uncertain and shifting.

The song goes:
It feels cold inside
Time stood still the day you walked away
Life will never be the same

Time and space, and he realize he has become who he vowed never to be. He figures we’re all floating through space across time. We’re in constant flux, but held down by our own past, which cannot be forsaken. Reflected back at him are two green lights. They’re from his laptop, which is off. Still it charges ready to power up and work. It is on standby. Shifting with the darkness, dancing with the flame. They’re the eyes of a tiger, now a wolf, or a bear. They pierce the darkness. There lurks an animal out there in the darkness looking back at him. It is too dark to tell, but it stares unblinking. Like two stars in the night sky, they’re emerald gems and sapphire rubies. They twinkle and fade, bright and dim, but not in and out. The music drowns out his thoughts and again he’s floating through space and across time. Lost in his own thoughts, drowning in his desires and fears, he drifts to sleep thinking of hope and despair. Someday he’ll know the answer. Someday he’ll know if he erred or, hope upon hope, he’ll be forgiven.