Metaphor, Part 1

And it came to pass that my contemporaries were all gone but I was not alone. I was quite surprised to be the last of our group, but I suppose the choice had not been my own. Very rarely are we given the choice in such things even though we convince ourselves that we have freewill.

My best friend Jonesy and his best friend Miller were swallowed by the sea, and as I stood standing on the rocks thousands of feet above the Greek sea, I imagined I could see them out there, an eternity spent on the waves. I wished to be with them, to be with any of them.

I was the last and I had hoped to be alone, but I didn’t even get to choose that. Mark, a disagreeable fellow if there was one, was in our makeshift gathering; as was Marcie. She was a kindly woman who had served years as the better side of my memories.

Mark, though, seemed to mock me with his gruffness and talk of solitude being the key to wisdom. What did he know about solitude? He didn’t know anything and never had. I don’t know how I put up with his irrationality and negative emotions for so many years. Again, no choice.

My plan had been to find the ideal place on those high rocks overlooking the sea in which to spend my eternal lust, but Mark had stolen my ideal location, defecating on it and thus making it worthless to me. I left him to himself to contemplate his own filth – giving him what he had always desired. Good riddance. I headed out to a point overlooking the crashing waves that had moments seemed so far away and I thought again of Jones and Miller. Why was I not given the option of the sea?

I will always smile when I think of Jones. Miller, on the other hand, always elicited feelings of envy; he was always there as Jones’ best friend while I was always relegated to number 2, or even number three if there was a woman around.

When I was younger, my jealousies had done much to destroy my relationship with Jones, as well as Marcie. Despite my destructive behavior, Marcie was still with me on the cliff, silent and waiting. My rashness with Jones, though, had forever tainted our comradery. With age comes wisdom and forgiveness and, of course, regret. Jones was out to sea with his best friend and here I was with the insufferable Mark and the kindly Marcie. I was struck about how unfair that all seemed, but realized it was thoughts such as those the led to my situation.

We, indeed, don’t always get our choices. Only people Like Jones gets that luxury. For some reason my feelings toward Mark were ones of spite while toward Jones I always felt warmth and forgiveness.

I remember a time. I was on a back road and found myself confusing an interchange. I made the best decision I could and headed down the blacktop. Soon, I came upon a large group of children walking toward me in the middle of the road. I thought I had mistakenly driven on to a path instead of the road and swerved over before coming to the kids and running them over. There was no other road and I ended up stuck in the ditch while the children laughed at me as they strolled by.

I was happy I had not hurt anyone, but emotionally bereft that not only had I not been appreciated for the sacrifice I made, but was openly mocked for it. Metaphorical or not, we must live with our decisions. It seemed, though, that all of mine were wrong.

I contemplated that as I looked for Jones and Miller in the sea. Marcie silently grabbed my hand, insisting that we leave Mark and find our own way without him. In that moment I was concerned for Mark.

She led the way as we climbed upward along a goat trail. Perhaps we weren’t supposed to be there and she knew of a better place. We climbed higher and higher. As we climbed the sea disappeared and we found ourselves on the side of a mountain. To our left was a steep incline going up, to our right it went down into a deep canyon.

I asked to stop and rest, but Marcie and her endless curiosity kept her from sitting. If only she had sat down.

“Look,” she said, pointing out a giant rock that had been embedded with other rock of artificial reds, blues, greens and golds. “Such beauty.”

There was no beauty that I could see and as she spoke those last words, she slipped and fell into the chasm. I could hear her fall, her limbs snapping and her mortal being wiped clean. She did not scream, those imbued with kindness rarely complain.

“So long friend,” I called after her. “You should have been my favorite through all these years.”

“I am your soul,” I thought I heard her say.

I so here I am, climbing. The last of our group.

It wasn’t long after she was gone that I began to feel lonely. I realize now why Mark was such a miserable fellow and why Jones was not. The memories of all my victories and regrets, loves and losses, hopes and defeats came to me. All that I was, all that I wished to be and all that shamed me came into my mind and became one.

It all had no meaning. No one was left to give it meaning except me. What if I chose to let them go?