Passages

CLANG! The gate to the driveway closes, bringing me back to reality, and the fact that today is my thirty first birthday. The room is cold, even with the morning sun hovering over Los Angeles. I stand at the window watching as the sleek, gold tone Jaguar comes up the driveway. The grandfather clock in the hall strikes nine o’clock. I turn reluctantly, to go greet my visitor. I pass the large mahogany grandfather clock, whose ornate designs and patterns use to fascinate me. Now, they just repulse me. They have become the emblems of my waiting. Ticking off the minutes that pass by me, and booming out each painful hour of my existence. I pass the clock quickly, barely glancing in its direction. I head down the stairs, listening as my footsteps echo throughout the empty house. I hear the crunch of gravel as the Jaguar comes to a stop. Reaching the front door, I open it, slowly, carefully, as if one tug might pull it from the hinges. I stand in the doorway looking at the car, shading my eyes from the glare of the sun off the windshield. I retreat inside the house just a bit, so that I will be able to see her.
Her shapely legs appear underneath the car door. She emerges slowly, gracefully, as if she is floating out of the seat. She shuts the door of the car and turns towards the house facing me, her head held high. Her stylish silver gray suit and white silk blouse fit her perfectly. She probably had it made by one of her favorite designers. Her shoulder length dark blonde hair glimmers in the sunlight. Her looks do not match her fifty plus years. She still passes for being in her thirties. She stands straight and tall moving forward as if she is a force of nature. A force of nature that is heading straight for me.
I take a deep breath and brace myself for the onslaught that is coming in the form of my dearest friend, Joanne. I know exactly why she has come today and I’m afraid of what will take place. I smile as best as I can. Then I yell out:
“Hello!”
“Hello, how are you?”
The question is full of caring.
“Fine, and you?”
“Wonderful. But I could use a drink.”
“Your usual, I presume.”
“Nothing else would do.”
The conversation seems natural, but feels forced. I move aside as she passes through the door. She heads straight for the den, a comfortable room, which houses my bar. I follow behind her. I haven’t been in here for a year. I remember when I first decorated this room. It had been empty, painted dark brown, with nothing but an antique roll top desk in the center. Now the walls are covered in a cream on white wallpaper with a swirled design that gives the room more space and a little life. In the center of the room I had placed a very colorful Oriental rug, which covers the hardwood floor, and gives focus to the room. I added a huge dark brown leather couch and antique coffee and end tables, along with antique lamps, to match the desk. A couple of years later I added the bookshelves along one wall, and the bar. It was all a surprise for him, one that he enjoyed thoroughly. We used to spend a lot of time here. The room is immaculately clean. Maria the maid must have been here recently. She’s the only other person besides Joanne whom I’ve allowed to pass through the gates, since the accident.
I cross the room to the bar and make Joanne her drink. A scotch and soda, neat. The crystal glass, the set a gift from her, shimmers in the sunlight coming through the window. As she raises the drink to her mouth, I gaze at the glass. The little rainbows that form inside the cuts on the glass always entrance me, giving the crystal a life of its own. She downs the drink.
“Feel Better?”
“Yes Bobbie, a little. Let me have another.”
“Coming right up.”
I refill her glass. This time she takes only a small sip. I come out from behind the bar. We move over to the couch. Almost unconsciously I slip a coaster near her on the coffee table. She places her drink on it.
“Bobbie are you ready?”
“NO!”
“Bobbie, you have to…”
“NO, no I don’t have to. I’m not ready to. I don’t ever want to be ready, not for this.”
I know she won’t drop the subject until she gets what she came for. It’s as if she doesn’t realize how hard this is for me. I want her to leave. No, I need her to leave, to let me return to my solitude and my memories. She won’t though. Once she decides something needs to be done, she attacks it like a pit bull. I’m not equipped to fight her, not today. She’s about to launch into why I need to go to the cemetery. I only need one reason to avoid it.
“Bobbie it’s time you say goodbye.”
“How can I say goodbye, when I only want to be with him.”
“Because he died a year ago.”
“Who said a year is enough time. I’ll do this when I’m ready.”
“You’ll never be ready until you say goodbye.”
“I don’t want to say goodbye. We were supposed to be together forever.”
“You can’t live with a memory.”
“I can’t live without it. The memory is all I have.”
The memory of our time together, how we met, we lived, and we loved.

My friends Justin and Kyle are taking me out to the club to celebrate my twentieth birthday. On the way over Justin starts talking about a surprise for me. We walk into the dark nightclub, greeting friends along the way. As we move toward the back of the club I notice that my friends are starting to laugh and giggle. Some of them start to mention my surprise. I suddenly have a feeling that I should be nervous about what my friends have done for me. Justin leading the way seems to be directing me towards a large crowd of people.
As we get nearer the crowd parts. Justin continues to lead me forward, Kyle is behind me. I couldn’t get away even if I wanted to. Suddenly Justin turns around, grabs my arms, and thrusts me forward. I wasn’t expecting this, so I am easily moved. I hit face first into a hard, muscular chest. I take a step back and look up, into the most beautiful brown eyes. Thick black lashes that look painted surround the eyes. They mesmerize me as they stare back into my own blue ones.
I stammer, “H,Hello.”
His rich, deep voice comes through the music to wash over me, “Hey, bud.”
I recover quickly, “So are you my present?”
“I might be, it depends.”
“Depends on what?”
“How good you dance.”
“I suck at dancing, but I’m really good at other things.”
His laughter fills my soul. I’ve never felt this way about anyone. It’s like I’ve been connected to him my whole life.
“My name’s Drew.”
“Bobbie.”
“It’ll be a pleasure helping you celebrate your birthday.”
“Yeah, but who gets to have the pleasure?”

A warm, exciting feeling washes over me as I think about our first meeting. Drew and I spent everyday for a month together. We got to know each other, very well. It wasn’t more than two weeks when he took me to meet Joanne, his surrogate mom and a formidable woman. She greeted me as if she was a queen sitting on a throne and she was very intimidating, especially to me, a naïve young man just out of his teens. Joanne was elegant, well groomed and obviously used to controlling every situation. Drew stood by my side as she grilled me about my intentions towards him. Drew told her to stop the act, and welcome me to the family; I would be the man he would spend the rest of his life with.
The clock is striking ten. I should stop it, the clock my constant companion for the last year letting me know every hour on the hour how long it’s been since Drew died. The chimes of the clock echoing loudly through the quiet, empty house.
“It’s time to leave, Bobbie.”
“Joanne, I love you and lord knows I loved Drew, but I am not going to the cemetery with you.”
“You are going, whether or not you want to!”
Joanne stands up and crosses the room. She walks behind the bar and fixes herself another drink. She pounds the glasses and bottles on the counter in anger, breaking from her normally composed demeanor. I stay seated on the couch watching her. I am amazed that the glass doesn’t shatter at the force she is using.
“As long as you’re there, would you make me one?”
“Oh, absolutely, and while I’m doing that, you can explain why you won’t go.”
“What do I need to go for Joanne? To what, look at the mound of dirt that used to be my lover. Or maybe it’ll be like the hospital, where I was just a few minutes too late, as I ran past that bitch of a receptionist.”
I jump up from the couch and start yelling, “Tell me Jo, what am I gonna do? Stand there and talk to the air, instead of the man I used hold in my arms, laugh and make love with. Or maybe I should pray to the god that allowed his to lose control of his car and go flying off a cliff. Is that what you want?”
“No, I want you to let go, to start living again. You’ve kept yourself cooped up in this house for a year. You don’t talk to anyone, or allow anyone in. All your friends are wondering what happened to you? I don’t know what to tell them. For heavens’ sake he’s dead, not you!”
My voice becomes quiet as I say, “Thank you for reminding me.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say that.”
Joanne is visibly shaken from her statement. I just stand here staring at her. I am empty of emotion. The anger that I felt went away as soon as she said it. She starts to cry. The tears are visibly streaming down her face. She leans on the bar for support. He shoulders start shaking and she starts to sob. I haven’t ever seen her lose control this way. It’s fascinating, to me almost as if she were a piece of the crystal that was perfect, but now lay shattered on the floor. I still feel nothing, not even sympathy or pity. The last time I felt this way was the night that Drew died.

I am finishing dressing. I spent an hour ironing and starching the light blue shirt to perfection. If my slacks had any more of a crease in the leg, they would cut me. The matching navy blue jacket is still on the hanger, which is dangling from the top of the closet door. I undo the knot in my tie again; I just can’t seem to get it even. The phone rings. My heart jumps a bit, I am running late and hope it’s Drew telling me he is too. It is just my Mom calling to wish me a happy birthday. She can’t believe her youngest child is turning thirty. I hang up and retie the tie very slowly to make sure it comes out perfect. If Drew is on time, I only have a few minutes before he’ll come flying in the door, throw down his stuff and whisk me off to a romantic birthday/anniversary dinner at our favorite restaurant. I am shaking with the excitement. I have trouble believing that we’ve been together for ten years. We haven’t been apart for more than a few hours at a time since we met. Finally! I got it perfect, now the jacket, then down stairs to wait for him.
I am pacing the living room. Drew should’ve been here an hour ago. The phone rings again. My heart leaps to my throat, something happened. I rush to pick up the receiver. Holding my breath, I hear the voice. I let out a gasp of relief. It’s Joanne calling to wish us a happy anniversary and tease me about getting old. We stay on the phone for a while, just chatting. I tell her once more about our plans for the evening. How we are going to Michael’s for a romantic candlelight dinner. Then we’re going to drive to the beach for a moonlight stroll. How if he’s lucky, he might get lucky before the stroll is over. How I personally believe his middle name is lucky. How we are going to spend a long weekend in bed. Joanne tells me to behave myself and not wear her boy out. We are laughing and joking. Then I hear a beeping on the line, good old call waiting.
“Jo, hold on a second.”
“Alright, but don’t make it too long of a second.”
I click the phone over.
“Hello.”
“Is this Mister Lee?”
“Yes, who’s this?”
“This is Officer Daniels, LAPD, you were listed as the emergency contact on a card in a Mr. Drew Delray’s wallet.”
“What happened?”
I grip the phone tighter. My knuckles are turning white and my hand starts to shake.
“His car slid off the road on Mullholland Drive. He’s been taken to Memorial Hospital in Sherman Oaks.”
“I’m on my way.”
I hung up the phone. Frantically I run around the house looking for my car keys. Tears are flowing down my face. I finally find them in my own pocket, having forgotten that I put them there earlier. The phone is ringing; I ignore it as I run for the garage. I jump into my car and start it practically in one motion. I hit the street and start speeding for Memorial Hospital. Tears are still streaming from my eyes, but I don’t feel anything except the need to get to the hospital. I reach Laurel Canyon Blvd. And take a right. I am flying up the steep mountainside road, taking the breakneck curves way too fast. I reach the traffic light where Laurel Canyon crosses MullHolland. It’s red and my leg starts shaking as I sit stuck at the light. When the light changes traffic starts moving, but very slowly. As I cross the intersection, I see police cars, fire trucks, and a large crane a short distance up Mullholland. Traffic stops again, for no apparent reason. I am stuck here. I turn looking at what’s happening where the police are. I watch as a policeman walks to the edge of the street and looks down into what I know to be a two thousand-foot drop cliff. The cliff isn’t a straight drop all the way down, just eh first three hundred feet or so, then it starts to turn into a gradually declining hill. The officer backs away quickly, as if something is about to jump up at him. The crane is lifting something off the face of the cliff. It pulls a large black hunk of crushed metal up over the edge of the mountain. I stare at the mangled heap for a couple of minutes before it registers that it was once a car. The car turns, and swings while hanging there. The license plate becomes visible. Drews’ car! That mess is his car!
A horn blows traffic has started moving again. I gun the engine and frantically race down the other side of the mountain to the hospital.
The emergency room is crowded and it takes awhile before I can talk to the receptionist.
“My name is Bobbie Lee. Officer Daniels called me about Drew Delray.”
My words come out as gasps. My nerves are shot, I am shaking uncontrollably.
“Did you say Delray? Wait a minute, while I find his chart.”
She turns and starts leafing through several folders that are stacked to the side of her desk. She finds a folder and looks at it. She uses her finger as a guide while she reads. Looking up from the folder, she turns to me.
“ He’s inside in 112, the doctors are trying to stabilize him for surgery.”
I turn and head for the door. The receptionist brings me up short.
“I’m sorry sir, but you can’t go in there unless you’re a family member.”
“I’m his wife. I just took steroids.” I barge through the doors and start searching for room 112, deep in the catacomb of the emergency room. I hear the receptionist calling for security over the P.A. system. I see a nurse’s station and inquire after the room. They tell me where it is, and again I submerge myself in the multiple corridors of the hospital emergency room, following the directions. As I reach the right hallway, I see doctors and nurses in bright green scrubs coming out of a room. I run to them, quickly noting the room numbers as I pass. They came out of room 112. I stop the doctor.
“Drew Delray, is he okay?”
“Are you a member of his family?”
“What difference does it make? Yes, I’m his lover of ten years, if you must know. Now is he okay?”
The doctor looks down at the floor. He is trying to decide something. An eternity passes in the time it takes for him to make his decision. He looks me in the eyes.
“It’s against hospital policy to give information to a non-family member, but um, Mr. Delray died fifteen minutes ago. We did everything we could….”
The doctors’ voice fades, I can’t hear or see, and my body is going numb. I am shutting down. All I can think about is Drew.

“Hey babe.”
“Hi. How was work?”
“Good, but now it’s time for play.”
I’m in the kitchen making dinner; he walks up behind me.
“Play huh? What if I’m not in the mood for games?”
“You will be.”
“Gee, am I that easy?”
“Easier.”
Drew grabs me from behind, pulling me up against him. He kisses the back of my neck, then behind my ear. I lean against him, closing any gap between us. He raises his hands to my shoulders and starts rubbing them.
“Did you have a hard day, watching the soaps?”
“Absolutely, Erica is getting divorced again.”
“Really who from this time?”
“Adam.”
“One of these days I’m gonna cut off the cable on you.”
“Right, and I’ll cut you off when you do.”
Drew starts laughing. He knows I would never cut him off from making love. I like it too much.
“So what project did you do today?”
I turn to face him and deepen our hug. In all innocence I respond.
“Me? Work? Never.”
“Come on, I know you did something.”
I melt into his arms reveling in the physical contact of my lover. I grin evilly.
“I may have a little something.”
“Oh yeah. What?”
“I’ll think about telling you if you can catch me.”
“Catch …”
I break free of his arms and dart out of the kitchen. Drew comes running after me with his arms stretched in front of him trying to get a hold of me. I go flying through the living room and across the hall, barely pausing to open the door of the den before going in and slamming it shut.
“Let me in!”
“Nope. Now you’ve got to work for it.”
I can feel the pressure of him pushing on the door trying to force it open.
“I’m going to get in there and when I do you’ll regret it.”
I wait just a split second until I know he is ready to push against the door once again, then I jump away pulling the door open at the same time. Drew comes tumbling into the room. He rights himself and looks around.
“Wow, a bar.”
“You like.”
“It’s alright, if you like this sort of thing.”
I take a playful swing at his arm. Drew starts laughing.
“I love it, when did you do this?”
“All week. As soon as you left the house.”
“Good job. Let’s celebrate with a drink.”
“Sure that’s how you want to celebrate?”
“It’s a start.”
“Bet I have a better idea.”
I practically tackle him. Kissing him deeply and passionately. The rest of the night is a haze of conversation and love making. The feeling so warm, comfortable, familiar. Time passing by us in the blink of an eye. We have been together for ten wonderful, magical years. I’m looking forward to more, but…

I manage to do all the necessary things for the funeral. I can’t cry or speak or eat. I walk around in a trance like state for weeks after the funeral, never leaving the house, or answering the phone or door. Soon enough the phone stops ringing and people stop coming to the door. I went numb and stay numb, until today when I yelled at Joanne.
I yelled at Joanne. I felt angry, just for a minute, but I felt it. I could feel emotions again. When did this happen? Is she right? Is it time for me to feel, to let him go, to live again? Would he want me to? Of course he would. He lived for my being happy, because that’s what made him happy.
Joanne’s sobs penetrated my thoughts. I feel something on my face and reach up to wipe it away. My hand is wet. I’m crying, I’m crying and I didn’t even notice. I try to speak but no words will come. My throat is dry and my voice just a croak. A sob breaks loose from me, rocking my body during its escape. Joanne looks at me, she has calmed down somewhat. My body starts shaking; The emotions are starting to break loose.
I start walking to the bar; my vision is blurred from the tears. My knee hits the corner of the coffee table. The shell containing my emotions cracks, along with my knee. The pain is red hot, and so is my anger. I reach down and throw the coffee table out of my way. The crystal glass slips from the edge and shatters on the floor. CRASH! The antique lamp closest to me flies across the room and splinters into a million tiney pieces.
“Why? Why did he do it?” I shout.
I need to release the anger, as it boils over into my soul igniting the desire to hurt him as badly as he hurt me. I run to the rool top desk, looking for something of Drews’. I can’t find anything, my vision is too blurred, myy thoughts too erratic. WHUMP! The desk goes over on its face, spitting out papers, pens, pencils, letters and cards. Cards that I never opened after the funeral. I can’t think, my mind is clouded in rage. I fall to the floor and start beating on the overturned desk with my fists.
“It hurts, God it hurts! Help me!”
Joanne comes running at me from behind the bar. She tries to take hold of my hands. I grab hers instead, pulling her down to the floor. She pulls free of my grasp and again attempts to get a hold of me. This time she reaches around my body, grabbing me like a bear. I try to fight her off, but her grip is strong and she won’t come loose.
“Bobbie stop it. Stop it!”
She is yelling in my ear, but I won’t let her voice penetrate. I keep fighting; the anger is a burning inferno inside me. Her grip becomes tighter around my chest. I feel like I’m going to explode. A long agonized scream bursts out of me.
“Why’d it happen? Why? I can’t handle this. It’s too much. Too much.”
The inferno inside of me is shrinking, having used up all its fuel. A huge empty feeling is taking its place. The sobs are reacking my body as I reach around Joanne and hold her. I am falling apart. I’ve never felt this kind of loss. I don’t know how to deal with the feelings. They are overwhelming. I’ve held them inside for a year, contained them and shoved them into a little box in the back of my mind. Now they have been released and are running rampant through every corner of my mind.
“Bobbie, it’s okay, it’s okay. Let it out.”
“What am I going to do? I don’t know what to do. How do I survive without him? Do I get a job, try to meet someone else, go to parties, alone. I don’t know how to live without him.”
“That’s exactly what you do. You get a job, go to parties and do everything you did before and after you met Drew. He wasn’t always a part of your life you know.”
“ I know it’s just been so long since I did any of that. I’m afraid.”
“There isn’t anything to be afraid of. You’re well off financially, you can do what you want.”
“Maybe I can, but what’s the point? The person I shared everything with is nothing but a pile of dirt now.”
“Well if you’re lucky you’ll meet someone else. Just remember he’ll have to get through me first.”
I melted into a hysterical laughter remembering how afraid I was of Joanne when I met her. Joanne started laughing uncertainly as well. I felt my body relax like it had become a deflated balloon, having finally released all the tension. My laugh settled into its normal tone and I released my grip on Joanne as she released her death hold on me.
“Thanks Jo, breathing was getting kind of tough.”
“No problem. By the way you look like crap.”
Looking at Joanne’s face, I say, “ Yeah and the mascara lines down your face are pretty attractive as well.”
I reach up and wipe away an errant tear, smearing the already running mascara across her cheek, like Indian war paint. Joanne rubs her other cheek accomplishing the same results. She gets up off the floor and goes to the couch. She reaches down and lifts a gray purse from it. I hadn’t even noticed that she had it with her. She reaches in and pulls out a large supply of tissue. Dropping the purse back down on the couch, she uses several tissues to wipe her face, and blow her nose. She then turns and thrusts the remaining unused ones at me. I take some and blow my nose.
Slowly I rise from the floor. The clock announces the hour. It’s eleven o’clock.
“We’d better get going if we want to beat the lunch traffic.”
“So you’re going to come with me?”
“It’s time.”
A short time later we walk out the front door heading for her car. We climb in. I listen to the engine as the car progresses down the driveway. We stop at the gate, and wait for it to open. It creaks while it swings upward towards us. Joanne maneuvers the car out onto the edge of the driveway. She stops, making sure it is clear to go. The gate creaks to a close. As Joanne pulls the car out onto the street, I again hear CLANG!


Copyright April 3, 1999