THE CHAUFFEUR - Chapter 15

What do I write?

FUCK.

See, this is why I need him here.  This is why I need you here, you fucking fuck fuck.  Out of the two of us I certainly had the ability to be more diplomatic and tactful, but there are times when I just don't want to be.  Or maybe I want to be, but Jeb's insanity gave me a launching pad for which to start the process and without such a kick-start, I am worthless.  Plus, I am in mourning and these... emails... come from all over the world and have steadily filled my inbox until I can ignore them no longer.  Everyone wants answers to very difficult questions and they are all looking at me like I'm some sort of a Jeb prophet... and the damn blinking underscore is mocking me with rhythmic consistency like some sort of silent Chinese... cursor torture.

So, what do I write?

FUCK.

Despite the insane fun and glamorous sophistication that comes with alcoholism, there is also a remotely hidden down side of dependence during times of stress. At a certain point, the wind change becomes a 'time of stress'. In the weeks following Jeb's death I found myself with a new job to occupy my time as freelance was more of a "as needed" money source for the situation at the time.  That time had passed.  I know myself... and I need structure.  The job was nice enough - they are NOT ready for me, however - the real me... the Excel spreadsheet noting the amount of children born, their cost, and the savings this country would glean should Jonathan Swift's "A Modest Proposal" be implemented with non-English speaking households ME. That me was going to stay silent for a while.  My most reluctant apprehension has to do with those in charge and their complete lack of understanding when it comes to human emotion.  "I'm attending a memorial service for my best friend" was met with blank stares and large question marks that inflated over their heads. Still, they were nice, they were sweet, and they were giving me a steady job.

Curving the alcohol was coming at a most trying time, emotionally.  I had been in a mood for a while as Jeb's family was invited down for the bar's memorial service, but like Christmas just a few months prior they found the trip too difficult to make in such short notice.  It was probably a good thing as the memorial service was for the DJ, not the kid who called his mother by her first name starting in 7th grade.  The emotion of straddling between the Jeb and the Scot worlds was finally starting to balance.  The memorial as it stood was all about Scot.  I felt a little lonely as there were only three people that I knew that could discuss Jeb. 

Also in my bag of emotions was the curious case of what to do with the ashes.  I had stomped my feet quite forcefully that the most appropriate action would be for Brian to take them and fly to Scotland to dump them... ANYWHERE... under the 'cover of darkness'.  

I thought the situation, the man,, the 'grumpy' DJ who faded into the shadows, the person who kept everyone at arm's length, the son who kept everyone in the dark, and the very private NO ONE KNOWS WHAT I'M UP TO character that he felt comfortable being deemed it applicable to just have the ashes... disappear without fuss or discussion. The country where he took his DJ name seemed like the perfect place.

"There's this great place overlooking Edinburgh..."

"No, not Edinburgh."

"You said, 'anywhere,'"

"Anywhere but Edinburgh." 

The family, of course, did not see things my way. They thought Scotland was a great idea. Brian conveys the message that we are all going to wait one year and everyone can go as one big happy clan... to Scotland... to distribute ashes... together.  I personally had this golden thread of "kept away in life, keep away at death" mentality, but we are dealing with Jeb and his influence on people was dynamically thin but compoundly strong and resilient. I had learned right away to never doubt the little influences you have on people... it can change their life forever. And, well... we are talking about FAMILY.

Not drinking as much sucked balls. I was spinning more and more and mostly into my own self induced pity party.  I can't help but wonder how much less Jesus would have complained while nailed to the cross if the sponge had been soaked with Jack Daniels instead of vinegar.  If one can't drink while feeling sorry for oneself, what point is there in drinking at all?  It was a clash of process verses sentimentality, necessity verses fluff. 

Then the tide shifted.  With the blog post of my eulogy to Jeb, there came a trickle of inquiries.  Very slow, as if a few marbles were placed onto a suspended paper towel.  Unbeknown to me there actually exists people who still communicate with their high school classmates, even after decades have past.  Rod Serling would be needed to reveal the next part: They actually still communicate... on a regular basis.  Because they LIKE TO.

So my mind was blown, and a few marbles turned into a river of weights and soon the volume of inquiries buried my tiny fragments of brain matter under the curious wonderment and long lost-parachutes which had suddenly deflated with an grand exhalation.  They were looking at me to solve the riddle and bring the story back home.  And here I sit, staring at the screen... blank.

The first person I have in my email is not the first person who found out, I read.  Traci Googled Jeb's name and my website came up. Traci told Jen who's email I am currently staring at. Jen told Hillary, Hillary told Antonio, Antonio told his brothers, and the wildfire spread like a manic disease. But a cute disease. A Franklin Mint disease that comes wrapped in silk paper with a pastel pattern and and a note with just one word attached written in crimson calligraphy: "Love."

As varied as the people asking questions were the questions themselves, and this is what has me dumbfounded. We have the extremely religious angle hoping that Jeb found God before his passing. We had the touchy-feely all encompassing spiritual blanket of warmth and soft gooy chocolate chip cookies.  We had the cut-to-the-chase no nonsense emails.  We also had a variety of inaccurate information that seemed to pepper the river coming into my inbox. And who is this "JEN"?  She seems to be cheery ringleader of the group.  I have to keep my eye on her for fear I may be attacked with streamers and bundt cakes.

It's very difficult for me to concentrate. I shut off the monitor.  I lay on the couch. I look at the window. Nothing.  This is (was) Jeb's couch.

I go to my darkened room. I lay on my futon. I look at the ceiling. Nothing.  The only avoidance more prevalent than alcohol is sleep.

I go outside. I smoke a cigarette. I look at the neighbors doing their thing. Life does go on.  Regardless of this moment, the world spins.  I think back to my grand old philosophy which got me up off my ass to lose weight, reestablish my career, and eventually leave a harmfully dependent relationship - Life, as it turns out, is not about me.

I was such a perfectionist, such a 'clipboard-o-fun' guy.  People had to act/behave/do/say things according to MY way or else they were deemed "NEGATIVE ENERGY" and avoided and sometimes chastised.  I am a planner, and if things didn't go according to my continually flawless plans then I would throw a well-justified fit and sabotage any progress so as to make a grander point.  I trained those around me to sugarcoat, tip-toe, and cater to my infinite wisdom and subsequent demands. Well, yes, everything did go smoothly and without upset (of course... because I'm fucking BRILLIANT), but I was single handedly making my world, and the world of everyone who came into my orbit, all about ME.  As lovely as this is (and it was lovely... let's not lie), one's world gets disrupted by things out of one's control.  Say, for example... the death of your father who was being kept alive far past the point a thinking person would consider 'humane'. Or the memorial service of this father set in a religion you had been excommunicated from - the same religion that whispered and murmured when you visited at the hospital.  The decision to skip the memorial service so that people can focus on the man who had passed away and not on his disfellowshipped son with tattoos and piercings was my only selfish indignation, but there again a decision based off circumstances outside my control.  Or the fact that the ashes of this father were buried in direct opposition to his wishes.

Yeah.  At some point, you have to let go. I had to let go. All the arguing and bitching, complaining and sabotaging doesn't do shit outside the world one creates.  You release an immeasurable amount of energy and lay on the ground streaming in anger barely able to open your eyes... and the World will look at you... and without the slightest disruption in the rolling clouds... MOVES RIGHT ALONG.

I spent so much time creating the perfect world I failed to see the Darwinian necessity of adaptation in order to survive. I was going to physically complain myself to death, and take however many people with me just to prove my point.  Whether things are perfect or not, the earth spins, the wind journeys, and the sun gives life.  Our existence isn't perfect but our ability to adjust is key since we live in a society with fellow human beings, all neighbors, trying to place one foot in front of the other the best way they can, just like we are trying to do.  We are not living in an isolated island... and for such, learning how to interact on a basic level, and our ability to use it properly to learn and grow is what life is all about, it's what makes living exciting and our individual lives ceases to become microscopic and begins to be grand.

The world, as it turns out, is not about me.

I smile at my incredibly insightful pondering. If only the lay people could understand such reasoning. No time to explain... I have writing to do.

I extinguish the cigarette and sit back down at my desk.  I turn the monitor back on.  I will sulk later, before bed, maybe. I will allot some time.  I will even have a drink to compound layers of horror that I am suffering because I AM A UNIQUE AND BEAUTIFUL BUTTERFLY and what I'm going through NO ONE ELSE KNOWS BUT ME.  And that is all good and well.  But right now... is NOT the time for me.  Right now, there are people that are far more lost than I, have far more questions than I, and who have far fewer paths to closure as I.  There were good-hearted people who did not need confusion and distance, they need facts, and strength. 

I am a person who needs closure. Without it, I spin like a helicopter without a functional tail blade spinning.  It is my duty, no... my honor to help where I can. This world, right now, is not about me... it's about THEM.

I smile.  In all my tears I cannot remember smiling this much.  I think for a second.  There is too much, we should meet in person.  And with that, I start typing:

" Jen:

I'm emailing you since you are the socially responsible one and i trust you to convey this over to the others however you deem fit, and because i can really only write this once... and i trust you with it...."