Innocence

Note: I put together some stuff and came up with this 'short story'.

I wasn't accustomed to the phone in my room ringing before noon. Only Nora and Jed had this number and they knew the chances of catching me in good enough spirits to hold even a thirty second conversation at 6:00 AM were close to zero. “Do the fuckin’ math”, Jed used to say, when the situation did not warrant even the lamest arithmetic.

“Am I speaking to Mr. Jones Bracewell?”
“Damn right you are. Who the fuck is this?”

That's shit they never print in encyclopedias. Why do people sound hoarse immediately after waking up? Why do men get enormous boners if they haven't peed all night?

“Sir, this is Andrew Grimmet with the Austin Police Department. Will it be possible for you to come down to the station and answer a few questions?”
“What? Why?”

“I think it would be best for us to talk in person sir. Officer Sullivan will be at your door in fifteen minutes to escort you here.”

“We are extremely sorry to disturb you at this hour sir. Please sit down.”
“What is this about?”
“Do you know Mr. Jed Harris?”

“I do. He is one of my good friends.”

“I’m sorry to inform you that he killed himself early this morning.”

“That’s not possible. I met him just yesterday evening and he was in fine spirits.” My tone was almost matter-of-fact. It hadn’t sunk in yet. Not because of the suddenness or enormity of the revelation but because I was still hung-over and half asleep.
“I’m afraid it is true sir,”

Grimmet’s voice was soothing. He had mistaken my tone for one of denial.
“Wait........how....?”
“He poisoned himself.

I felt a twinge of guilt, the guilt of allowing a profound moment to pass into irrelevance. It was quickly overpowered by a deep sense of loss. I realized I was having trouble speaking.

“How did you know to contact me?”

“He left an envelope marked with your name and address with instructions that it should be opened only by you.”
Grimmet had a smug we-are-one-step-ahead-of-you look on his face. I took a moment from my grief and forced myself to feel an intense loathing for him.

“Just one question before I hand you his letter, Mr. Bracewell. Was Mr. Harris a religious man?”

I didn’t grasp the significance of his question then. “Not really, he never attended church, if that’s what you mean.”

He nodded and handed me the envelope.

Jed had used a Capital One credit card approval letter, crossed out his information and printed my name, address and phone number next to it. On top Jed, had scrawled, ‘He giveth and he taketh away’ next to the ‘You are pre-approved’ bubble. I could picture him, smiling as he wrote it. It was our private joke: Jed hated the biblical phrase and once remarked that the only time it made sense was during sex. Now, I understood why Grimmet had asked me if Jed was religious. Stuck on the envelope was a post-it note with the words, “If Jones doesn’t see this first, I’m dead!!” I felt the tears begin to stream down my cheeks. In his final missive, Jed had inadvertently left behind a taste of himself: full of contradictions, yet, seeking to reconcile them to attain an ideal hidden from us all.

I opened the envelope with shaking hands. For the second time that day I did not know what to expect. My eyes were blurred and I had trouble reading what he had written. I had once observed that his handwriting looked presentable enough, but trying to actually read it was a nightmare. He did not form his letters consistently, alternating between the cursive and the plain at whim.

“Jones, I know I have disappointed you. I cannot justify what I have done and offer no excuse. I only hope that after reading this note, you will be able to write me off as a senseless idiot and move on with your life with minimum fuss and bereavement. I know you eventually will. We all move on, but when we lose respect for the dead the healing happens faster.”

“She was the only one I have ever loved.”

“I first saw her at one of those mind-numbing neighborhood gatherings to which children get dragged to by their parents. In my case though, even my parents hated these parties, but they had to go, in order to fulfill their social obligations. I would rather be doing something else but I tagged along as it would give them one less thing to worry about. A few other kids I knew usually showed up as well, so it wasn't really that bad for me. Neither my parents nor I looked forward to these occasions, but it was more or less a matter of convenience that we went together.”

“I inferred that she was older than me because she was speaking animatedly with a bunch of guys who were a couple of years senior to me in school. I stole one look at her and fell in love. Not the deep, introspective love I have fallen in on a few occasions since. Love that is inevitably scarred by practicalities and trivialities. Love that is sordid because of the hope and expectancies that it brings with it. Love that is crushed by harsh words and unrequited feelings. What I felt then, was a state of pure happiness. It was a wonderful feeling, yet devoid of all hope. Not even an inch of my mind aspired to even try and get to know her. I was content being what I was, where I was: another dorky 14 year old, 100 feet away from her. I remember the black pendant she was wearing around her neck. It seemed to sparkle with an unnatural glow, capturing the radiance of her skin and collapsing it into a point of incredible brilliance. I felt like a trekker drinking in the sight of the snow-capped Himalayas for the first time. He knows such beauty is beyond him and is content to merely let it enthrall him.”

“I saw her again a few days later, under purely fortuitous circumstances, at my own home. She and her friend were collecting some donations for charity and my mom had invited them in for a glass of lemonade. I remember it was my birthday and was introduced to them as the 'birthday boy'. They ooohed and wished me in that half-condescending, half-affectionate tone that kids use with those slightly younger to them. I found out then that she was 2 years older to me. I was in 8th grade then and she was in the 10th. Her name was Sarah.”

“We found out that we played tennis at the same local courts and got to know each other quite well. We enjoyed each other's company. Though I was conscious never to divulge what I really felt for her, at no point did I ever delude myself into believing that our relationship was strictly platonic. I feel deeper and more helplessly in love every time I saw her. But, I chose to disguise my feelings as deep but harmless affection. I was scared that acting otherwise would destroy everything. The closest I came to breaking my resolve was the day we had gone out on a picnic. Five of us biked over to a nearby stream and the girls had packed lunch. We were horsing around in the water and she almost slipped and cut herself on a piece of rock. I held her up to steady her and she remarked that I looked like a knight proposing to his maiden. I knew she intended it playfully and forced an amused, casual laugh. It was one of the hardest things I have done.”

“A few months later, it was over as suddenly as it had started. She said she was moving away as her father had taken up a job with another company. We tried to spend as much time together as we could, yet, we hardly saw each other. We were just friends and couldn't take the emotional risk of making time for each other. Nevertheless, the lack of contact just made our parting more mystical.

I saw her the day before she was about to leave. It was gloomy and overcast and it had been drizzling since the afternoon. We met, for old-times sake at the tennis courts and biked back together to her house. We hardly spoke. When I said goodbye, I didn't even hold her hand. She hesitated for a second and walked away towards the door. She stopped and glanced back at me and our eyes met for one last time. In the dim patio light I could see them clouded in sorrow. Sorrow at the loss of just another good friend, I never knew. She went inside, closing the door behind her and I was left standing on the road aching for what might have been.”

“We exchanged a few letters after that. I sent her a card for her birthday 8 years ago: she is a Sagittarian. I never heard from her after that……”

“…..until three months ago.”

“If I hadn’t been to the Posse East on 12^th Sept 2005, I would probably be alive now. That was the day I saw her again. I recognized her the moment my eyes fell on her. She hadn’t changed much; she was still as beautiful as my memory of her, except age had given her a surreal glow. She still had the body of a ballet dancer, but now she dressed like a woman, seeking the adulation of the men around her. I went up to her and introduced myself as ‘the dorky kid from Austin’. Her eyes lit up in recognition and surprise. She was here for a job interview and had no idea I was still lived here. The ease of our re-acquaintance made a mockery of the intervening years. We were lost to everything but ourselves. When we left, no questions were asked and no words were spoken. She accompanied me home and spent the night with me.”

“She got the job with the company and moved here and we started seeing each other regularly. I never mentioned her to you because I was still with Emily and I knew you would get judgmental.”

“At first, I couldn’t get enough of her. In my mind she was still the Sarah I saw at the party, the Sarah that I fell in love with that night. Then things started to go horribly wrong. As we saw more of each other, I started to see things in her that pained me. I found her to be petty and shallow. We fought on more occasions than we made love and I saw that she had grown into the exact antithesis of what I had pictured her to be.”

“It hurt me more than I could bear. All this while I have subconsciously venerated the only true love I felt, attributing to it purity and innocence it did not have. I yearned for it in all the women I have been with. Now I finally see it for what it was; a horny 14-year old’s lust. Now I realize that all along I have been clamoring for an ideal that does not exist. I expect too much from people and for this reason, I will never find happiness. Sadly, I have lived my life embracing the very artificiality that I claimed to abhor.”

“There is very little that my close friends don’t know about me. The feeling that the people I care about can see right through me gives me a sense of satisfaction. Sadly, in revealing myself so blatantly, in seeking sanction and comfort in others, I have lost the spine to prop myself up. I feel like a creeper that gracelessly flops to the earth, suddenly deprived of the bamboo pole it curls itself around. I could have spoken to you about my turmoil, but somehow it all seemed pointless. I needed to be resolute and face the demons that plagued me, but I could not summon the strength it took.”

“I still think about her. When the rain falls lightly and the light of the evening fades away into the grey horizon, my mind unwittingly drifts back to the day we last met. Sometimes, I need to force myself back to the present and turn my mind's eye away from the memory of that exquisite face. Sometimes the image fitters away, like snowflakes in a cold winter breeze. The past seems so distant now. I want to reach back and live in it forever. But time has marched on and the innocence is lost.”

“When you read this, I’ll be dead. I hope you understand why I killed myself. I had to stem the rot. I hope you understand Jones, it was never my choice.”

I gave the note back to Grimmet. He was looking at me quizzically; his eyes formed a silent ‘why’. I looked to him, shrugged my shoulders and said “Well, he was not really a very good friend. We bumped into each other at the Posse East sometimes. Is there anything else you want from me?”

I found myself out on the streets in thirty minutes. The sun shone brightly, but there was a chill in the air. I hailed a passing cab.

“Where to, sir?”

“The Capital One bank on 6^th and Lavaca, as fast as you can. I have a meeting at 8:00.”