What Becomes of the Brokenhearted, Part 1

 

It was the first time I'd been back to the skating rink since she and I parted ways. It'd been one of our special places, but from here on a location I promised to forever avoid. However an all-Whitworth skate night, coupled with a bit of friendly peer pressure convinced me it wouldn't be so horrible to go along, at least for a couple of hours; to come out of my shell, get out of my comfort zone. So I allowed myself to venture back to a place of good times past.

 

Walking inside, I was immediately bombarded by the sound of happy, noisy young people on skates and "Rock and Roll All Night" by Kiss blaring over the PA system, everything seemed the same as when I'd come as one half of a couple. All that was missing was her. Though I was with a group, a wave of loneliness washed over me and while queuing up in a long line to get skates, I prayed I wouldn’t hear any of the songs she and I skated to, or ones that reminded me of her. I wasn’t sure I could take it.

After lacing up my skates, I turned to face the action on the rink. A person with blond hair darted by who was quickly lost in the crowd of other skaters. But I kept staring until whoever it was emerged again from the pack and skated back in my direction. And when I recognized the smiling face that seemed happy not to be seeing mine, I felt an abrupt stab of dread in the pit in my stomach. It was her.

 

Naturally, I didn't want it to be her. But then again, I did. Kind of. We broke up in November and the only communication since had been one long letter I wrote to her followed by a longer one she wrote back to me. Apparently we parted with a lot of things still left unsaid, but at the end of her communique, she suggested the possibility of getting back together. Someday. And like a car running on fumes, that's all that had kept me going- waiting for someday.

But her letter came in January. It was now May 6. We didn't attend the same school, spent most of our time in different parts of town and hadn't seen or spoken to each other face to face in 6 months. However during that time of space and separation I often imagined what I'd say if we ever did see each other again. And of course I just knew it’d be straight from the heart, sweep-her-off-her-feet stuff. I practically had it all memorized. But with the moment perhaps now at hand, I suddenly couldn't remember even how to talk.

 

So I turned away and decided to just wing it. Pretend I didn't see her. Wait until she saw me. Just get out there and skate with my friends and let the chips fall where they may.  And heck, if we did accidentally sort of bump into each other, she might actually be pleased at the idea. It certainly was within the realm of possibility. Right? But I never made it onto the rink.

 

Facing the migrating swarm of skaters before wading out to join them, I heard a familiar silly scream. Even in all that noise, I knew it was the same playful scream she often used around me, whenever she wanted to register surprise or mischievous shock. But this time it wasn't me sneaking up from behind and saying, "Boo!" It was somebody else. And when he came around next to her, she took his hand and they glided away, side by side.

 

Uh-oh. My worst fears were coming true right before my eyes. But like seeing an accident on the side of the road, I couldn't look away either. I kept staring as they kept circling. And judging from the body language it was clear he wasn’t a distant relative, and this wasn’t a first date. They were easy and informal with each other. Close is a better word. Everything they did conveyed the same cozy one-on-one friendship she and I used to share. In fact, the flirtatious mannerisms suggested they were probably little more than just friends. 

 

The dagger in the heart, though, was watching them do a slow twirl in the center of the rink. Holding each other's hands while gradually spinning they pulled together tighter, until ending in a snug embrace, followed by a tender kiss. It was the same sweet little dance she and I had done the first time we skated together out there, too.

 

So that's what we looked like. 

 

When it'd been us, I think I may have been embarrassed; but caught up in the thrill of the moment back then decided I didn't care. And for anyone observing from a distance we probably looked kind of cute. But it was sickening now. To me it looked like a death spiral: mine. I was going down and watching my life flash before my eyes and swirling down the drain. When they broke smooch she smiled and looked at him exactly as she used to look at me. I wanted it to just be a bad dream but I was wide awake and knew I'd just witnessed my apparent replacement receiving the same sweet embrace of loving friendship she'd once given to me. And I wanted to die.

 

It felt like all the air in the building had been sucked out and if I didn't get out was going to suffocate. I wanted to barf and quickly unlaced one skate, then the other, and dropped them both on the floor. I didn’t even return them, just left them where they fell. Then my heart raced like a marathoner as I fled to get away. Forcing my way through swarms of humanity to get to the door and away from them, I heard the PA announcing the first couples skate. God, get me out of here! Now! When I finally got to the door and burst outside, I almost knocked over a guy coming in with his date. "Hey watch it, a-hole." Ignoring him I sprinted to my car, fired it up and burned rubber getting out of the parking lot and back to the highway, leaving her and him and Pattison's North Skate Center behind me. 

 

But if I thought it was bad after our initial break up, this was a million times worse. It felt like my heart had been broken for a second time. At least before, even as we were slipping apart she still liked me. And according to her final letter said she even still loved me and hinted at a possible reconciliation. I knew now, though, that was never going to happen. I was history, just a minor player from her past. She'd moved on, something I never thought would happen. And though I’d seen it with my own eyes, I was completely unprepared for the finality of what it all meant. It meant there’d never be her and I again; only them. For us it meant there’d never be any reconciliation. And for me it meant it was over. No going back, over. Forever, over.

I drove quickly away from the rink, south and back towards town with no future or destination, only a past that was back in the rear view mirror. I kept replaying the last scene over and over in my head. Her kissing him. The same lips that used to kiss mine were kissing someone else. And seeing it was torture; like having a steak knife plunged into my abdomen and turned a quarter inch to the left...then the right…..over and over....I'd lost her.

My howls of agony drowned out the radio. Damn, damn, damn! Noooooo!!!! My eyes stung with wet tears and I continued driving aimlessly. I drove and cried and pounded the steering wheel and cursed and cried and drove some more. I drove in big circles from one end of Spokane to the other, driving myself crazy. Why? Oh, dear God, why? I'd lost her.

 

I began to recall, back when our friendship had developed and then deepened; the absolute ecstasy and wonder of falling in love for the first time. There’s nothing like it and no words to describe it. Conversely, as the friendship died, I got to experience the cold, empty, bottomless ache of a first time broken heart. There’s nothing like that, too; and no words to describe it either.

And now, she'd broken my heart again though she didn't even know it. But it was excruciatingly clear to me that the chasm between us was never going to be bridged. So I kept driving and crying and praying.  Please God, please make this pain go away. But He didn't hear me. I'd still lost her and it still really hurt; the kind of hopeless hurt that seemed to have no beginning or end. So I just kept driving.

More next time...

 

A Mom's Love

 

Many conflicting emotions run through your mind when news of the death of someone who’s been part of your life reaches you.

 

Disbelief... numbness...a kick in the teeth...heartbroken...confused...in shock.....relief...

 

It’s hard to know exactly how to feel. Or supposed to feel. Depending on the circumstances and intimacy of the relationship, processing the loss becomes a mosaic of mostly sad, uncertain and shifting emotions. And so it goes. I haven't seen Glenna for nearly 30 years, but when I heard about her sudden passing on Tuesday the news hit me like getting whacked over the head with a 2x4.

 

I haven't seen Glenna for nearly 30 years, but when I heard about her sudden passing this past Tuesday the news hit me like getting whacked over the head with a 2x4. During the often turbulent time between post-college, and before my head was on straight, Glenna was like a second mother to me. It was a difficult time; feeling distant from my own mother, detached from family in general, and trying to move into young adulthood basically alone. Some, dare I say most, manage to do make this transition really pretty easily; I wasn’t. But instead of leaving me to fail, God sent someone to come along and walk me through the struggle: Glenna and her family.

 

The Huston’s and I lived close by in the same northwest Spokane. My place was at the corner of West Columbia and North Cedar; theirs was a block over on North Walnut Street, right across from Ridgecrest School. Actually, it was their oldest boy, Kenny, who found me first. He delivered the afternoon paper, which I didn’t take. But he kept hounding me to buy a subscription until I did. The kid was a go-getter, when it came to his paper route, anyway. But also a typical rug rat, mouthy but likable. And not very politically correct, either.

 

When Kenny finally broke me down and I agreed to take the paper from him, the first time he came to collect we had an interesting exchange. He stood inside my doorway as I wrote out my check, and without fear or hesitation, asked if I was married, had any kids or was gay. In that order. ”But it doesn’t matter if you are, gay that is. My mom was just curious.“  That was my unofficial introduction to Glenna. When I asked her about this weird conversation after we'd become friends, she smiled, with a touch of embarrassment, and fessed up. "Sorry. I thought you might be a pervert or something" Really? "Sorry. I'd just been thinking out loud. I didn’t really care. Okay, maybe I thought you might be a weirdo. But I didn’t tell him to ask you that. He just did it on his own.”

 

However, Glenna's concerns weren't necessarily an unreasonable assumption. I was a young male with no sign of a mate, newly moved in, kept odd hours and my drapes closed. Most of the time, anyway. Of course, I was also working three jobs then, and when not on duty someplace was more than likely trying to sleep. But as a mother of three, I understood why Glenna’s protective instincts might have initially kicked in. Still, when Kenny first asked, I wondered if maybe I'd moved into the wrong neighborhood. But once it’s been clearly established that I was a totally harmless, gainfully employed and semi-respectable goofball, Glenna and I shared a good laugh over her mistaken first impression.
 

“You may be a lot of things, but you're not weird and you're certainly not boring.” High praise, indeed, considering I always believed I'd been spawned by the dullest two people on the planet. Though they weren't Mike and Carol Brady, Glenna and her mischievous husband Skeeter, (given name, Allen) were the kind of parents every kid wished their own were like- laid back, firm when necessary, affable, didn't take themselves too seriously and fun. Skeeter and Glenna were definitely fun. And along with their three free-spirited children and Nanna, the big black dog in the driveway, the Huston's were the quintessential all-American, all-groovy family.

 

Though I wasn’t raised cool and there wasn’t much of it stamped into my own DNA, nevertheless the Huston’s, Glenna in particular, made me feel cool- I guess in this case, accepted might be a better term- because she made me feel like one of her own, part of their family. She kind of ‘adopted’ me and, in my book, that really was cool. And while I don't want to appear disrespectful or ungrateful (though I know it's going to sound that way anyway, God forgive me), but after spending so much of my youth trying to pretend I wasn't part of my own family, it felt good to finally feel like I belonged to the Huston's.

Skeeter and I coached Kenny's Little League team (along with another family friend, Mike Kirwin), and enjoyed it so much, the three of us coached together for three consecutive years. It was hard not to like Skeeter, a guy who went through life with an impish twinkle in his eye and smart-ass remark on his lips. But if he liked you, it was all in fun and he didn’t mean it; if he didn’t like you, he just meant it and didn’t care. I loved watching him carve up somebody he didn’t particularly care for who never seemed to catch on. The manner in which Skeeter suffered fools was quite an art form.

 

Never a buzzkill and always a million laughs to hang with, I enjoyed every minute in his company. I also knew Skeeter Huston as a man who took his job, family and role of father seriously. Even to me. Whenever I had something to get off my chest man-to-man, he was always there and ready to listen. In fact, he was the one who encouraged me to get off my butt and take the job at KNCO in Grass Valley, when it was the last place on Earth I wanted to go. Changed my whole life, though- and for the better. And though he'd never say it because it was too mushy, Skeeter treated me as an extra son. I've never forgotten that.

 

Then there was Glenna, Skeeter's curly, red-headed housewife, and Team Mom during the Little League years. She not only doted on Skeeter and her three little Huston’s, but after letting me into their lives kind of doted on me, too. And I loved it. We became friends about the time I began working overnights at KGA. And in the early months (before discovering the amazing properties of amphetamines) I was having a lot of trouble staying awake. Glenna, though an ardent non- KGA listener (she was a rocker that hated country music) would often tune in, though, just to see how I was doing. And on nights she heard exhaustion in my voice, she'd sympathetically keep me engaged in conversation so I'd remain alert. We’d sometimes talk half the night. Good thing; there were a few times she saved me from nodding off between songs.

Then knowing I had no social life because of my job(s), she thought it'd be a great idea if I joined a mixed bowling league. And to keep me from backing out she joined with me. It was a winter league and every Monday night at 8 between October and April, we'd head over to Lilac Lanes together and bowl three lines before I went off to work, missing only the random nights when KGA shuffled my shift from overnights to evenings. We bowled on a team with three other people- none very good and one (after the second week) a chick Glenna wanted me to date. Ever the Mom, it seems that was the primary reason she got me involved- to meet somebodies of the opposite sex. To bring me out of my shell. To see me happy. But the girl, Chelsea, and I had nothing in common outside of bowling and, though we went out once, there really was nothing there, there. 

 

But when I had trouble with my own Mom-- who even at long distance could somehow manage to ruin my day-- Glenna was always there to pick me up and help me bounce back. But one time Mom came to Spokane for a visit. It was the first time she's been to my place and I wanted so badly to make a good impression. So much so, that Glenna came over and assisted in the clean-up. And when we were done, my little house was as spic and span as the day I moved in. However, I’d spent so much time making the house and yard look good, I'd neglected making time for the really important stuff. Like getting my hair trimmed. And that's all Mom noticed during the 24 hours she was in Spokane.

It was so disappointing. I wanted to put my fist through the wall. And after dropping her off at the airport, I sat in the Huston's kitchen pouring out my tale of Mom-woes as Glenna poured coffee. When I was done rambling, she sat across the table and looked me in the eye and put the issue to rest. "Ya know, a hundred years from now, who'll give a damn?" She said it with a straight face before breaking into that wonderful smile and continuing her thought.

"Look, your Mom doesn't mean to be on your case, she can't help it. She's a Mom. Doesn't matter if you're 5, 25 or 65, you'll always be her kid and she'll always want what's best for you. I think her approach is wrong, but I'm not her- or your Mother- so I can say whatever I want. And I say, screw it, okay? Live. Be happy. You're fine, your hair is fine, you have friends that adore you and we love you. Now shut up, drink your coffee and get out of here." And then she laughed. And so did I, then went home feeling like somebody cared about me, really cared.

 

But that was just Glenna. She and Skeeter gave freely of their time and resources, and love, without asking anything in return. They were sweet salt-of-the-earth souls who'd give you the shirt off their back and then ask if you wanted a pair of shoes, too. When I needed help with a project, or was short on groceries, or was sick, or even if I needed a little money, Skeeter and Glenna were always there. Or if I was feeling left out, like during the holidays, they included me in their holiday. They made me feel like I belonged, and the years in that Spokane neighborhood and living around the corner from the Huston's became some of the best years of my life.

 

Skeeter and Glenna were an awesome couple and made a great team. He admired her as much as she looked up to him, and it was obvious. They made their marriage and their relationship look easy, even though, as I know from even my own experience that it probably always wasn't. But they worked well together and I really respected them. Not just that, I grew to love them. They were good and decent folks who out of the goodness of their hearts, took a loser like me and made me feel like a winner. And they didn't have to. And now they're gone. Skeeter in 2006, Glenna this past Tuesday.

As I left work with tidings of her death still on my mind, my heart felt heavy and detached and weighted down by despair. Disbelief... numbness...a kick in the teeth...heartbroken...confused...in shock.....relief...I felt all those things, even relief, if only because Glenna went quick and is once more united with her beloved Skeeter. Driving through the dreary evening, a gloomy rain was falling and following me home which, knowing how I felt somehow seemed appropriate. But I’ll never forget Skeeter and Glenna Huston, especially Glenna. It seems odd to me now, too, how I sometimes felt so much closer to somebody else's Mother than my own. But Glenna wasn't just a mother; she was a Mom. And at that juncture in my life I needed a Mom's love in a way that my own Mom simply couldn't provide. God knew that, I think, and I think that's why, for a season He gave me Glenna.

And God gave Glenna to Kenny, Jason and Jeremy, too. And for four years I got to observe first-hand what a loving maternal relationship should look like. And what I sometimes believed I'd missed out on. Of course, during my days of latent rebellion, it was easy to think that. The grass always looks greener from the other side, and today I do miss my Mom and knew she loved me and cared for me the best she knew how. And Glenna only knew me as a young adult, so trying to compare her to my own Mother is unfair.

 

But I do know how she felt about her own boys and this is what I wrote to Kenny in the wake of Tuesday's news  "...Ya know, you got to have what many people never achieve: a life-long wonderful loving relationship with your Mother..Thru this difficult time of grieving, never lose sight of that, cherish her memory and know she's looking down on you guys right now and smiling, proud of the legacy she left behind in her three great sons….blessings, my friend.."

I hope Kenny and his brothers take that to heart, although I know these next few weeks and months will be difficult, especially with that first Mother's Day without her coming up next month. Life is never going to be the same again for them, and that's sad. But they're strong kids, good kids and well-grounded.  Glenna and Skeeter gave them the right balance of enough rope, discipline and emotional nourishment to thrive and do well in life. And they have. And though the world is a little darker now that Glenna's light has gone out, the sun will shine on her boys again. Sooner than later. Of that, I have no doubt. They'll be fine. 

As for me, it’s amazing how hard this news hit me. Glenna didn't do Facebook or Twitter, but Kenny would pass on greetings for me, and though we hadn't talked for a long time I always promised to call or write her a letter. Soon. But I never did. And I feel bad- especially now- because I wanted to tell her the things I’m writing about today: how much she meant to me.

 

When I was young and screwed up and trying to make my way in the world, Glenna was there with a smile, a hug, a joke, a meal or phone call to shake off the set-backs and keep my spirits up, day or night. Her encouragement made me feel important and valued and, yes, even loved. And if there are angels among us, Glenna was definitely one of them. But I hope I haven’t let her down, or failed her for not getting around to telling her any of that. Yet somehow, without me saying a word, I think she probably already knew. Mom's are just like that. I think she knew and I think she'd forgive me.

 

So God bless you, Glenna Huston, and thank you-- for everything. Go with my love and rest in peace, my dear. You did good.