I remember when I was the “Gentleman” she met.
Then I spent some time as the “Guy” she was seeing, (or was she).
The only thing I enjoyed more than being a “gentleman” was being a “fiancé”
Then the thought of expectation hit me like a hammer, I’m going to be a “Husband”.
Thoughts flashed through my brain like a slide show gone astray
“husband”, “provider”, “partner”, “ole man”, oh shit, “Father”!
It was not to long into marriage I started just collecting hats.
One for each person I’d become. No one noticed, they just said, “He” loves his hats!
At this point I’m working towards nothing. Retirement looms or shines in the future.
I’m marking the days of my life like tic marks on a refrigerator calendar.
I still have all my hats, but some just hang as a memory to when I was more than I am now. I’ve added the two hats I knew were coming, “Grandfather” and “Retired”.
Did I do this right? Was it all worth it? Where did I disappear to? Why am I relegated to watching other folks sacrifice their lives to a dream never realized.
I need a hobby.
Not like the car and girl I buffed and rode in my late 40’s early 50’s. That cost way too much.
I need a new dream that can come true. I could build things, but building this life was like building my own prison.
They’ve put me out in the garage with the secrets and memories to collect dust while the immaculate sitting room gets maintained like a shrine to something that never quite was.
Maybe I could just walk. I could pretend like it did for decades that I’m going somewhere. Then return to the kitchen through the garage remembering when I was just another memory collecting dust.
No one would notice until the dust on my hats made them sneeze. Then they’d wonder why I gave up my hats for expensive hiking shoes dusted with soil from places they’d never been.
Then the questions would fly like letters on a ‘sesame street’ episode. Finally after 50 years I’m somebody again. Now I’m a “widow”.
I put the tears and memories and hid them behind the secrets and created a meme to sum up my life to date. New beginnings on the winds of times long past.
I’m a “patient” now. Tryin to figure out what I could tell that one lucky relative that still checks on me from time to time that would spare them the regrets of not living a life with meaning outside the labels we live.
I know “deceased” will be the last hat I wear forever. I also know that family, country, or religion carved my life way before I was conceived. Being born a boy, my first outfit, even all those presents under the tree were just props keeping me in character.
My vocation, marriage, and neighborhood were just boundaries keeping me confined and conformed. Now that I’m “deceased” I’ll be free to acknowledge my regrets; and admit my dreams belonged to other folks who needed me to follow this path to death.
chrysalaneous 