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The Real GOOD Loser, A Story That Could…
Chapter 9: dIverge
“Houston…we have a problem.”
— from the film American Pie
*
“Have you ever heard that the pursuit of love is stronger than the possession of love?”
Miss Lily and I are sitting in her office waiting for our afternoon assembly to begin. Unsure of why my guidance counselor friend is saying this to me now, I answer her question. “Never,” I say.
Pressure was put on schools to offer In-Person-Learning, and so week six of this school year has us back in the building finally; it’s the first time since March of last year. Today—Wednesday—was a scheduled Professional Development Day for teachers, and so we have no students in the building with us currently.
Teachers received an email about this from the Teacher’s Union President after some parents took to social media to complain: “We have no choice,” that email read, “The PD Day was part of our contract.” I continue to let adults argue amongst themselves and just do what I’m told.
“It’s similar to the grass is greener concept,” Lily says to me from behind her desk. “Where we believe a new situation will be better than what we currently have. People do the same thing with love…it’s twisted, but it is what is. Listen—” Lily interrupts herself and sits up in her chair. “I know you still care for her J, but it sure sounds like Sirena trapped you back then.”
When I’m comfortable with someone I tend to be an open book. Sirena being my second ex-wife came as a surprise to Miss Lily last year, but now she knows: I’m a twice divorced father of three boys from two different moms. That’s not an easy thing to tell people, so I don’t if I don’t have to.
I wish nothing more than to be completely honest with people today. That’s a weird thing to wish for but it’s true. I’ve gotten better at editing what I tell people, but I’m no expert at it by any means. Something that is now evident as I’ve just finished telling Lily things I immediately regret; details pertaining to how my relationship with Sirena first began.
I’m not in a great mood today. Sirena—my second ex-wife I must sadly call her now—has received an offer on the house we built after the fire. We’ve been divorced almost three years now and it was only a month ago she told me she was selling: “I just can’t afford such a big house on my own anymore,” she said talking to me across the island counter in what was once our kitchen.
The fact she’s selling isn’t why I’m feeling off today I don’t think. I’m the one who actually suggested she sell more than a year ago when money got tight and when it became clear she was in no rush to get back together. “We have no good memories in this house,” I told her when she insisted on keeping it.
Sirena’s not dating anyone either; that landscaper she was seeing when I was in the halfway house has been out of the picture for a long while now, I think I’m just feeling off today because her selling is another chapter closing in my life. I think every person that gets divorced must go through this. This being my second time around…I hope I never get used to it.
“You’re only hearing my side of the story Lily.”
Realizing I had painted some poisonous images about Sirena on Lily by what she’s just said about her trapping me I try to backtrack. Turning into a bitter person is a slow dance and I’ve been on that dance floor too often lately—I shouldn’t have said what I did.
“Well,” Lily replies, “we have time. Tell me her side then J.”
I watch Lily place one hand on top of the other on the surface of her desk; an inaudible way of telling me she’s all ears. She does this a lot— Doctoring our conversation, I mentally call it.
“Sirena moved into a house a street over from me in sixth grade,” I tell her. “As kids we were like best friends…and she might have been a little in love with me her entire childhood.”
“Don’t massage it J,” Lily says in a doctorly fashion. “Did she love you or not?”
“Yeah, she did,” I answer honestly. “As kids we were only friends though. She’s convinced that’s because she was ugly growing up but really it’s because I was a lot smarter as a kid than I was as an adult.”
Lily tilts her head and scrunches up her face. “Sirena is beautiful,” she says. “How ugly could she really have been?”
“It was her awkward phase,” I answer. “She was never ugly, but you’d understand why she calls it her ugly phase if you saw pictures.”
“Please,” Lily scoffs. “there’s no way.”
I’ve shown Lily pictures of Sirena and so I know what she’s thinking and try to think of way to describe Sirena as a kid. “She looked like Vada in that movie My Girl kind of,” I tell her.
“Never seen it,” Lily replies.
It takes me only a second to pull up a picture of the girl I’m referring to on my phone. Leaning over the desk, I show Lily this girl from that movie and describe Sirena as kid.
“She’d always ride her bike past my house wearing this pink helmet with frizzy hair bursting out the sides. She had braces and dry rashy skin back then. And big teeth and lips she hadn’t grown into yet. And she’d always wear these cutoff jean shorts…even when it was freezing.
—An image of Sirena is brought to life in my imagination—
“We spent hours talking on the phone back then. Her bedroom was in the top left of a red house I could see from my driveway. That’s how she knew when to ride her bike bye my house. That was when we had house phones and us kids knew how to talk to each other better…when we all knew how to talk to each other better.”
Saying this to Lily I feel something in my chest that shouldn’t be there. More than anything I miss Sirena’s friendship I think—she really used to listen to me back then.
Not wanting to think about what that feeling in my chest might mean, I’m grateful to hear Lily say something. “Jose,” she says pulling away from me and my phone, “that sounds sort of adorable to me.”
I made it sound to Lily like Sirena was some super-powerful enchantress that had swooped in and ruined my life earlier. While I do sometimes feel that way, I shouldn’t have let Lily know that. Lily doesn’t know how hard it is to love someone like me, and she doesn’t know everything that happened either.
Reminded of this I continue my defense of Sirena.
“When we were kids she wanted to be more than friends. How we got together wasn’t a strategy she masterminded, and she definitely didn’t trap me. Really she helped me break out of a reality I was unhappy with back then.”
Feeling as if I’m again saying too much, I stop talking. In silence I watch Lily do her councilor thing; deciding in her mind how bad of a person I really am. In my first marriage I felt like a passenger along for the ride; that all changed with Sirena…for a short time at least.
“Jose,” Lily says preparing to give me her verdict, “you’re an extremely sincere person. You can’t fake that. I know I’m younger than you and we haven’t known each other long, but I’ve studied people and there’s something about you I don’t often see. People lie and we all exaggerate. Telling the truth the way you do is rare. You’re an outlier Mr. J—a real-life Jon Snow.”
Lily stops and gives me her lippy smile; her face lighting up at the mention of this character from that show Game of Thrones. Lily and her boyfriend started watching this show recently and she’s told me a few times already how “dreamy” she finds him. I’ve finished the show myself however and don’t take what she’s just said as the compliment she intends it to be.
I see this character as naïve and easily manipulated. Being compared to him now makes me fear his fate in the real world. I’m reminded of the scene when that little boy Jon Snow had saved sticks that last knife in his chest—How can people be so unforgiving and vengeful?
I started watching Game of Thrones for the second time when Lily and her boyfriend started it. Today I told Lily how I close my eyes during the gross parts and mute my screen when I can’t stomach someone maybe getting their privates cut off; last night I used a baseball hat to cover my eyes and blur that scene just enough.
While I like the show I simply can’t watch a lot of it. I’m finding that with a lot of stuff lately. In class last Friday Nel reviewed the show The Boys that had me talking about this.
The first time I watched Game of Thrones I found myself relating most with Tyrion Lannister, but now I’m seeing myself more in Daenerys. That’s what good shows do; make you feel a bit like each character. The annoyance and disgust that show makes you feel about someone and the subtle backstories that explain their behavior has been interesting to watch this second time around…
Why was Joffrey so awful? … Was it because he was a child who had never witnessed good behavior? … How many Joffrey’s are we raising in the real world today?
Lily and I just talked about this as I’m considering discussing it in class. There is symbolism in that show everywhere. Like when strong pony-haired Drogo pours gold on the blonde head of a character who the writers made you despise.
Watching that gold being poured on that character’s head, one wonders: What does gold really get you?
“Really J,” —I watch Lily open her lips to interrupt my thoughts— “you’re special. Something tells me you need to hear that. Someone’s out there looking for you.”
I turn to stone wondering why Lily thinks I need to hear this. The compliment hits like an invisible paper cut; not justifiably painful just stupidly annoying. It’s something my mother would say.
My life is beyond messy, and I’ve accepted that a new relationship isn’t the answer. Lily knows I haven’t completely given up on Sirena either, so really I can’t make sense of why she thinks I need to hear this right now—I must look pretty pathetic to her.
I’m not looking to move on but wouldn’t even know how if I was. I have zero game when it comes to making a relationship happen and the only person that has ever really pursued me was Sirena. Seeing how that’s going currently…perhaps I should consider myself lucky.
Miss Lily and I eventually leave her office and head to the afternoon assembly; where staff are gathering to listen to a rallying talk about having students back in the building for In-Person-Learning.
“How’s the article coming by the way?” Lily says walking beside me down the hall.
Lily found a creative writing contest and insisted I enter something in it. I haven’t had a cheerleader like her in a long time. The short story I enter in that contest will double as my article for my students this week. I’ve titled it dIverge.
“I’m almost done,” I reply, “I’m just trying to decide on the best words to use at the end.”
I got the idea for this short story when Lauryn was doing her report on that show 13 Reasons Why last week. Writing this has been sort of an emotional rollercoaster for me; I’ve even cried a few times. I’m hoping that means its good; both for this contest and for these students of mine.
Sitting in the cafeteria for this assembly, I find myself scrolling through Facebook waiting for it to begin.
I stop to read a friend from college tell me how much money she saved using coupons this year. I remember when this friend traveled the world on aid missions in college. She left her job in public service recently according to a recent post she made, to start a new exciting career selling real estate—The things we do for money.
My twins probably won’t go to college. They’ll end up working with their hands and won’t have me pushing them to go; and I know their mom won’t either. How colleges continue to have crazy enrollment numbers is baffling to me. Just another element of this reality that seems unsustainable. If I had the money to send my twins to college for just the experience I would though.
“I don’t care what anyone says,” another friend’s post reads, “good people get tired of being good to ungrateful people.”
Next Facebook offers me a picture of Post Malone. The quote attributed to him reads: “A wizard is never late, nor is he early. He arrives precisely when he is supposed to.”
Miss Lily taps me on my thigh. “Put it away,” she says, referring to my phone.
The chairs for this assembly are all placed six feet apart and everyone is wearing a mask. Looking around I realize doing anything other than listening will be difficult. I used to love being just the right amount of inappropriate at meetings like this. Knowing me, I’m sure I’ll find a way keep myself distracted somehow.
For the first fifteen minutes we listen to steps the district is making to keep kids and staff safe. My mind struggles to stay present as the meeting is handed off to someone here to talk about administering MAP Testing next week.
MAP Testing is just another standardized test created to track student progress—a complete waste of time and money in my opinion. In big bold letters on a screen behind the presenter I read: “Teaching with a sense of urgency is required!”
I’ve seen big proclamations like this everywhere. Our world is full of them. I think of them much like I do encouraging words we hang on walls for others to see—just words most of the time.
Seeing these words now has me thinking of other jobs I’ve had where us employees are asked some serious and important questions about the future: What do you want to improve? … What action steps will you take to improve? … How can WE help make YOU successful?
Us employees are then asked to make our mission statements. I think of it as busy work for adults; meant to keep us excited for the day we finally find that pot of gold on the other side of that magical rainbow…so that we can finally go and buy ourselves more things and suff.
Silently frustrated with this reality, I let my mind leave the meeting as none of what is being discussed is relevant to my class anyway. Paying little attention to the voice in front of me talking about “The importance of data driven analyses” I mentally debate what words I’ll use to end my story this week…
*
Article Title: dIverge
Dated: Friday, October 16th, 2020
“There is an art to losing yourself.”
—from the film Divergent
Some people choose to see the ugliness in this world—the disarray—I choose to see the beauty. To believe there is an order to our days; a purpose. I like to remember what my father taught me: that at one point or another we were all new to this world; the newcomers are just looking for the same thing we are—a place to be free.
That’s how I used to think. Until I woke up from that delusion. Now all I see is the mess. We seem to be made to suffer. It’s our lot in life…. Oh, what desolate place this is.
The date today is Tuesday, February 22nd, 2050…. The day I die.
As I sleepwalk these quiet streets in darkness, the ‘What If’s’ come and go like the streetlights passing by. What if I caught a break? — What if I didn’t give up? — What if they would have listened to me?
This has become my life now and I am so very tired of it. My poor me portfolio, playing on repeat in my mind. Today will be the day I leave this world, but it is truly no different than any other. I am a man who has finally learned the truth——That there are two kinds of pain in this life: the kind that hurts and the kind that alters.
My feet are heavy, and they hurt with every step. On my way to that All-Powerful Oz, I can’t help but wonder if this was my destiny all along. I feel like the rusty-tinman, scared-scarecrow, and cowardly-lion all at the same time.
There is no place in this world for me…poor me.
I tried getting better. I really did. For my kids, my family, my friends. For those that might need me some day. But I failed everyone by proving myself incapable of defeating those demons that tormented me.
I remember it all now. The dark clouds that blocked all light from entering my world and that all-consuming sadness that they said was just in my head.
They wanted “happy me” again—What else was I supposed I do? … I was just doing what they wanted…Wasn’t I?
Alcohol was never my drug of choice, or my downfall, so I had a drink that night. Maybe I did it because I was sad. Or angry. Or bored. Or maybe I was happy and overly confident… Maybe I can’t remember everything.
That helped me escape and be that happy me for a while. It didn’t last of course, and eventually people got sick of that me as well. My boys were kept from me “until I got better” and my parents had to walk away as watching me destroy myself was destroying them too.
Everyone did what they had to do. I never blamed them. And I definitely don’t blame them now—I hope they know that.
It’s my boys I let down the most though. Being proud of what little I could give them just wasn’t enough. I wanted to give them the world…but in the end I gave them nothing.
I wasn’t supposed to leave the hospital, but really there was no reason to stay. I am now beyond repair. Broken. Just another loser in this game called life.
My liver is failing, and I don’t have much time left. My body shakes because it needs its medicine. During the day I could scrape together a few dollars for a cheap bottle and a bag of chips—my diet for so long now—but it’s late and that’s not what I want now anyway.
Approaching the entrance to the subway tunnel, I reflect on the first time I begged for money.
It was at an intersection much like this one. At first I felt ashamed; remembering how I looked at beggars in my previous life, but I quickly realized no one here knew me. Even if they had known me, no one would recognize the person the pain turned me into.
Life on the streets became normal. Never easy, but normal. Over the years I was laughed at and ridiculed more times that I care to remember. My mind recalls that man who stopped in front of me and had that heart-to-heart with his son…
“See this man right here son,” that man said looking down at me. “He could go get a job and work but instead sits here wanting us to feel sorry for him. We do him no favors by giving him our money. Most of them are faking and have more money than we do. Don’t be a sucker, son.”
I remember the boys’ eyes. The sympathy in them quickly turning to a look of disgust at the counseling of his father. I said nothing that day… How many times had I been told to get a job?
If I could hold a job, I’d want one. It would have made supporting this miserable existence easier. That’s just not possible for someone like me though. Alcohol made my life unmanageable. I never understood that word before. It was just a word I heard people say. I understand it now.
Dear Alcohol—I hate you.
That money people gave kept me alive. I wasn’t living the life they wanted, but that’s why I was there, and they weren’t. There was nothing I could do about it…Or was there?
That man didn’t know who I was before I became a no one from nowhere belonging to nothing. When I thought I’d make this world a better place for that son if his. How delusional I once was. A wannabee Pirate King, set on stealing the world’s attention with his words—What a joke.
I descend the stairs of the subway and see my friends in their usual places. Soon the last train will be making its final stop for the night, and we need to find a place to hide down here before they close the gates or be left out on the streets for what remains of the night.
Sometimes they kick us out but not tonight it seems. Thank you for that, a grateful voice in my head whispers.
I smell the moldy air and moist concrete as I glance at the digital clock on the wall: 1:19 AM. Below the clock is a phrase that has been graffitied on this wall for as long as I can remember: “This cycle is complete. MAY THE MANY DIVERGE. For the end is about to begin!”
Reading the words, I can’t help but think what an anti-climactic end I’ve arrived at.
Dropping my head, I walk with faked purpose and arrive at my planned destination. In the shadows I quietly lower myself onto the tracks. If I get to that one spot no will know. It’s the least I can do.
How many others have made this journey before me? … How many others will come after?
Looking into the darkness ahead I find myself thinking about my boys again. About the smiles I left behind and the laughs we might have shared had I just been better. I had dreams of making you so proud. But I failed you. You that mattered to me the most and anyone that I thought might need me—I failed you.
Getting to that spot I was shown years ago I look at the track and can’t help but think how fitting this is. Most of my life I’ve been hiding, and now I’ll die hiding. I lie on my stomach and rest my head on the metal.
I’ve let them win. Those people and those voices in my head that made me hate myself— Is this payment enough for you?
I feel the train on my cheek. Not wanting to listen to my thoughts any longer, I speak into the stale air around me. “If there is anyone listening, I’m sorry…. If you want to grant me one wish, let it be that they forget me.”
A tear for all the hearts that will stay frozen long after I’m gone falls from my face. I see the bright light approaching and close my eyes and feel my heart pound.
I am scared but also relieved for the pain to be over. Maybe a different life wouldn’t have been any better? Maybe this world was going to destroy me no matter what?
I failed you…I failed you…I failed you————
WEEKLY QUESTION FOR REFLECTION:
In recovery we are told to “play the tape out” when faced with a decision that might have an undesirable outcome. Allow me to use this sad story of my undesirable outcome to ask you this: Will things in this world be better or worse in the year 2050? Explain your reasoning in your journals.
The Teacher’s Playlist:
Let Go by Beau Young Prince
“Who do you call when you need some help?”
*
(End of Chapter 9)
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Recovery High School 