by Gene Cowan
The fall began suddenly in Oakton, with rain and cold mornings that shocked most of the folks, including me. One day, the central air was on and the next I had to get the old heat pump working.
Most of the people in Oakton also shared another problem: how to dress. Like me, they had misplaced all their winter clothes, and were walking about wearing two or three knit polo shirts in layers. I knew that I had some sweaters somewhere, I remember getting some for Christmas. But they were not to be found.
It was also a depressing autumn for me; my best friend went off to Georgia to join the Army. People tried to reassure me, saying a variety of things, such as: Maybe it's the best thing for him to do, or He won't make it through basic, don't worry, or If he wants to jump out of airplanes, let him. He'll find out soon enough… They never explained what it was that he'd find out. But strangers, like the check-out clerk at the grocery store and the waitress at Pizza Hut, always said the same thing: That sounds exciting!
Perhaps it did to them, but not to me. It just sounded to me like my only friend was going to be gone for four years. It might as well be forever. I tried at first to be excited for him, but then I kept hearing little tid bits about things that would be happening, like how he'd be in Europe for months at a time. My plan of writing a letter every day went down the drain. I felt really bad about it, and then really upset and then really lonely. It all stems from a mistake I made, and I urge you to not make the same error. If you're like me, and have never had any friends, the best thing to do when you find one is not to worry to much about that friendship. If there is one, it will take care of itself. Stick with that person, but also branch out from there. You may find it is better to have many superficial friends and acquaintances instead of only one very good close friend. Which is not to say that if I had it to do over again, I would have been less of a friend of Tom's. He's my most important and closest friend. He's the person I can have pseudo-serious conversations about that girl across the street with. He's my brother, more or less. But it would have also been nice to have some people to hang out with while he's gone. Of course, the ultimate would be a combination of both a close friend and a network of drinking buddies.
Oh, just one more bit of advice concerning friends: Don't analyze friendships. There's something about friends that keeps them friends even when they get on each other's nerves, and I believe that if anyone ever discovers just what this element is, we'll all just totally screw it up.
I set a goal this autumn, one which I think will be difficult to accomplish without Tom around. I have to find a steady girlfriend by winter. Of course, there were other goals involved in this one. The most important of which is something that I'm giving myself four years to fulfill. To be blunt, I've got to lose my viginity before Tom gets out of the Army. This subject is one that I don't discuss often, but when you reach my age, you've got to find a release for all that energy which has built up inside since that fateful time of adolesence. I told him that if it happened, I'd send him a signal: a simple postcard of the Washington monument, perhaps with the date and time on the back.
Tom thought it was amusing, I guess. He thought that I would accompany him on a double date and cheer whenever he made a move like he was some sort of great God of Lovers everywhere, which, to my mind, he might as well have been. He had done what I only dream of doing every night, and then he refused to give me any details on that event. He's setting me up so that I won't be too disappointed, I think. I mean, he insists that it will be fun as long as I can stand the pain, things like that. I don't believe some of that stuff, but I have no leg to stand on when I disagree. He just gives me a look that says "How do you know?"
What I do know is that it's a burden I want to be rid of. I feel sort of strange being 21. Granted, Tom's experience was obviously a traumatic (and painful) experience, but it sort of makes him a man of the world, experienced in life. I'm only just starting, and I'm older than him. Now, I'll have to figure it all out without his help.
The old Volkswagen had a bit of trouble this fall. Actually, at the time, it seemed like a lot more than a little.
I was driving peacefully in a big subdivision out in Reston, looking for a house that someone I was briefly acquainted with lived (I figured I should start digging up people to be my superficial friends and drinking buddies to keep my mind off Tom). I swung around and made a U-turn, when suddenly my dashboard began smoking. Billows of smoke, not just wisps. And the smell was evil, probably toxic. Luckily, I had the top down or I would have suffocated in an instant.
The wiring inside the dashboard had melted, and everytime I tried to start the car, sparks flew from the little assembly that opens the vents for the heater. Hours later, after trying to fix the problem in the darkness of the 8 o'clock autumn night, I found the culprit wire and yanked it out. Triumphantly, and with the radio on the floor along with half the dashboard, I made my way slowly home, awaiting a more damaging fire to consume the rest of my car. And I only have $5000 left to pay on it.
The trouble with writing is that you feel very strongly (or at least I do) that you should try to write in some sort of chronological order. However, because I am writing this on my own experiences, I keep remembering things after I've already written about things that happened at that point in time. It's too awkward to go back and stick it in where it should logically go, and I'd have to probably edit stuff that was after it to keep some sort of progression so that you don't just shut the book and go out and rake the leaves.
I'm sure that you wouldn't rather rake the leaves instead of sitting quietly, drinking a soda pop from the corner store (or, for complete enjoyment of this volume, the scotch whiskey of your choice from the corner package store). So, please bear with me as I jump back in time to about October 10th. For those of you who would like to keep a detailed time line, this is exactly 10 days before Tom set foot into boot camp in Georgia. This small vignette begins at 7:00am, which is precisely the time Tom was due to report. I'm sorry, I don't mean to keep harping on this Army thing, but, you know how it is. Anyway…
I had been waiting for about 6 months for this vacation. An entire week at the beach. Of course, I was supposed to go in September, but Tom's “career” choice put it on hold for a time. Now, it was scheduled for his last week in civilian life. As soon as we returned, it would be hello, goodbye, see you in four years. I was determined to make the most of this last week. I packed all the alcohol I could find. I stocked up on Camels (unfiltered, even though the tobacco gets stuck in my teeth). I brought my word processor in the hopes that we could get some really good, thought-provoking writing done… his last chance to find the time to write for some time.
We left Oakton about eight in the morning, and arrived at the Outer Banks of North Carolina about four in the afternoon. This was my fault, I insisted that we drive through Richmond instead of around it, as my mother had suggested, and we ended up passing the Outer Banks and backtracking.
The major goal of this trip was, of course, girls. We couldn't leave with our self-respect intact unless we managed to get a couple girls back to the condo for a drink or two and maybe a little bit more. We went to the library and researched the Lost Colony of Roanoke Island. We went to a local café. We shopped at the drug store for beer, cigarettes and prophyactics. We argued about cleaning up the condo in case we should want to bring some girls back.
Tuesday morning rolled around, and it was still just the two of us, figuratively alone in the cold condominium which was being buffetted by gale force winds blowing off the tossing sea a few yards to the east of the parking lot.
I was really ready to jump into that hot tub, and Tom seemed to be ready to sit around and relax. We only have 5 days of vacation left, I told him, There's no time to relax.
I jumped into the hot tub and he relaxed. When I got back, he was staked out watching across the courtyard for a couple of girls who had come out to knock the sand out of their shoes. They had made eye contact with him, which, he said, was tantamount to a proposal of marriage.
Soon, the girls made their way to the hot tub, and Tom and I peered out at them from behind the front door, wondering what would be the right thing to do in this situation. We mulled it over for a couple hours, Tom remaining cool and myself jumping in and out of the doorway, trying to inconspicuously gauge the wind and weather while getting a glimpse of them sunbathing.
We decided that playing cards on the deck would be a good idea, giving us a way to spy on them without appearing too anxious. We did this for a while, then I decided that a good way to get a closer look would be if I accidentally dropped some cards off the deck. I did so, and cheerily climbed down to the pool level to retrieve them. We became so embarrassed that we went back inside, where Tom noticed that the four of diamonds and the ace of hearts were missing. We never found them. They are probably buried in the sand of North Carolina, mute testimony to the folly of flirtation.
Vacation ended as it began- with dreams of girls that would never be. Why, I wondered? These girls are either unattached or going around with some guys somewhere. What do they have that we don't? If they do have something, where do we get some? We'll pay any price.
The Outer Banks didn't even notice our departure. We didn't care. We had fallen in love with the beach, the girls, the accents of the girls, and the atmosphere. We promised (threatened?) we'd be back.
October 19th was the day he left. It was a big day for Oakton, and the entire town turned out at the Fairfax Circle shopping center. It would have made a much more impressive spectacle had Oakton had a train station, but Thomas was leaving with other recruits from the recruiting office above Pier 1 Imports. Tom wondered why the whole town was turning out to wish him farewell, because he only knew two people in Oakton. Then he realised what day it was, and when Monday evening rolls around in Oakton, people will do anything to relieve the boredom that sets in about 7pm, especially when they find out that Newhart is a repeat.
It all started when the girl across the street noticed Tom loading a gym bag with the items he was supposed to take to Basic training. He was doing this in the bedroom, with the shades open, and she was crouched with binoculars looking in, as she did almost every night when Tom forgot to close the shades. I was Tom's roommate, and I had noticed this behavior just a few days prior, but forgot to mention it to Tom. If I had, he probably would have done something about it, like a striptease and a banner asking for her phone number. Being as embarrased as I am to show any portion of my body in public, I always dressed in the bathroom.
Anyway, she noticed something was up that night, and called her friends, who called their friends, and so on. Soon, there were a few hundred people surrounding the house. Tom and I opened the front door, and were greeted with a sudden hush. The reverent crowd parted to allow Tom access to my car, and he tossed his gym bag into the back.
We made our way to Fairfax Circle, leaving the crowd behind. Or so we thought. Five minutes later, in the shopping center parking lot, was another crowd of people, holding banners proclaiming that they would miss Thomas terribly, and while he's overseas please don't get shot full of holes fighting the Communists. People in Oakton were still unaware that the Korean war was over. They only knew that they had a hero going off the do his duty for his country. They were already planning the welcome home ceremonies, either for a live hero or for a state burial under the basketball courts of Nottoway park.
I said goodbye to Tom, feeling a knot in my throat as the moment I knew would come and didn't want to, came. "Gimme Paw," he said, and we shook hands for what I felt, rather ridiculously, could very well have been the last time ever. Then, he was gone, swept away into the crowd toward a waiting beat-up green bus which would whisk him towards what he hoped was great adventure and challenge. The bus pulled slowly onto route 50 and lumbered away into the distance. The crowd dispersed, leaving me to contemplate my suddenly very lonely-feeling existence. I climbed into my car, and only then did I realize that Tom had left his gym bag. It took me until I got home to realize that someone had stolen my radio, as well.
When I arrived home, I lugged Tom's gym bag upstairs and went into the bathroom, where I was sick.
Life for a loser-loner like me is one thing, but life for a loser-loner after he has had a good friend is another thing entirely. You find yourself wondering what you could possibly have done to cause your friend to get as far away from you as possible. You find yourself wondering if you can find another friend or will you simply sit around alone again for the rest of your life? You get migraines and think about what you're going to do now on the weekends and even between weekends.
Thanksgiving came, as it always does whether we like it or not, and of course I spent it alone with the cat. The cat wasn't too excited about it, either. I woke up on that fateful day, stirred on by a premonition that Tom was going to call. You know that you've found a good friend when you discover that you think the same thoughts at the same time, and it happened again that day.
His voice was pretty raw, screaming “Yes, Sir!” a lot, no doubt. I couldn't say the things that I was thinking, about how much I missed him and I wished that he was back; somehow I didn't think it would sound right. Instead, it was small talk about the weather and comic strips and what was happening here, which was of course, nothing, at least not in my little corner of the universe.
Which, I think, must be just the little tract of existence that God couldn't sell to the developers. “No, really. I'll throw it in, free, since you're such good customers.” “Oh, no thank you, Almighty Being. We've got just what we need, we really couldn't use another square inch.” So, this little scrap of space was just forgotten and suddenly I was born into it. Like it was set aside just for me.
In Tom's corner, he actually sounded like he liked it. He sounded as enthusiastic as he did before he left. I think he lost his mind. And, I suppose, I'm jealous. He always seems to go head first into things that he decides he's going to do, and he likes it. I tend to go for the safer situations, and tolerate them. But I still can't manage to emulate his talent for having a good time wherever he happens to be.
It's strange, and I can't figure it out. When you list all the major points of my life, I think that the good things should outweigh the bad, but it doesn't seem like it. I live in a nice house at a very reasonable rent, I have a very good friend for the first time in my life (albeit on a four-year commitment to the Army) and a nice car. True, it rarely runs correctly, but it's there, and it's mine.
Of course, I'm thousands of dollars in debt, I don't have a girlfriend, I have all sorts of psychoses and I can't hold my liquor very well. But, that can also be a plus. I don't have to spend a lot of money to get drunk, which I seem to do a lot of lately.
It used to be good for me to drunk every once in a while, but that was when Tom was around. Now, I get drunk by myself, and I don't like it very much. I tell myself that I'll stop, but when Friday night rolls on and on with nothing to do or see, I break down and have a beer, thinking that I'm obligated to do something with myself other than sitting around and watching TV. It worries me a lot.
Autumn went on uneventfully during the rest of October and through November, until the fateful day that storm came. We suddenly had 15 inches of snow in Oakton, on Veteran's Day. It knocked down Mr. Kelly's famous front-yard sign, and he's still neglected to fix it. Maybe he's given up on changing the world, one driver at a time.
I suppose that's where autumn suddenly ended and winter pushed it's way in, unasked. And with winter there always seems to come a seasonal depression that makes everything seem gray and dingy. You find yourself turning on every light in the house, trying to illuminate those little corners and crevices that haven't seen the light of day since a long ago late afternoon in August. Then, depending on your personal philosophy of life, it could become even worse. Of course, my philosophy is one of complete and utter pessimism. August just means another birthday for me, more humidity and sweat and yellow jackets and heat and even if it were twenty degrees below zero outside I don't want August weather anyway. Then again, it would be nice to be able to go outside and lie in the sun for a hour or two, and try not to look so pale. And then, of course, after a little bit of reminiscing about things, I inevitably find that I am rambling. And it's times like this that I try to think of something, anything to write instead, and usually end up going to the kitchen to find something to eat and have a beer.
It's December, but the meteorologists say that winter won't start for a few weeks. I say they should step outside and think it over again.
Of course, it was during all that snow that I had to get a new starter for the car. This only set me back $300, and until it was fixed, I had to walk to and from the train station to get to work in the city. It was mildly annoying. And put me into debt yet again.
I embarked on a wild campaign of spending and repairing to get the car into shape. I bought two new tires. I bought a genuine Volkswagen headlamp switch that didn't fit my genuine Volkswagen. And the man at the parts window insisted that it just had to fit. It was the right part. Evidently, I have the wrong car. I made it fit. I didn't pay $20 to have a light switch give me trouble. So far, it works. It's the proverbial round peg for the square hole.
Autumn ended in Oakton as each season before it had ended- without much fanfare. It was dark and grey, and rather chilly when the winter solstice came. The shortest day of the year. The days can only get longer now, it can only get warmer and greener.