It’s been a few years now. I’ve been working on forgetting the lasts. I still remember however, in all earnestness, the firsts.
I remember the first time we met. She had a tall, Mocha Frapuccino. It was the first time we talked face to face. I also remember her first kiss. It was on our way to separate sides of the train tracks. I got off work to meet her and make her feel better, just because she needed me. I was pleasantly surprised she leaned close, like the first time she put her arm around mine. The memory still makes me smile. I too remember meeting her daughter for the first time. We shared awkward laughs amidst chicken and spaghetti. I remember all the firsts pretty well. I remember our first movie, Wall-E. I remember how I told her awkwardly just moments before that I liked her, and how she, moments later said it back without saying it to me. I remember our first kiss the most. We kissed in the middle of the street as I dropped her off. I also remember the first time we had gelato. She asked me to go to Italy together with her. We promised to go together. Those were the days. They were all in the past; memories dear to my heart.
Now, much time passing after, I’m here by her gravestone, visiting every Wednesdays and Saturdays, just like back when we started dating, where I chose these dates since she was off these days too. Things changed, as they always do, with impeccable permanence.
I’m now 42, grayed and older. I’m married as well, to a lovely wife named Jenny, with whom I fathered four beautiful children. She is very tender, and showy, and truthful; she loves with all her heart and without holding back. Our children take after Jenny in that respect. They never fear to show their love. There’s John, with red hair that matches his fiery spirit. Then there’s Sophie, a year younger at 12, who is I think the smartest woman in the world. Clark is awesome at nine; he says he will cure cancer. Last is the sweet Natasha, who whenever she sees me, gives me the biggest kiss as if she hadn’t seen me in forever. I’m living a good life. I still work for an airline company, same as then, the one where I started, and have moved up the ladder quite a bit. I teach part time at a different school downtown and I guess I am pretty popular with the students. I like it there; the change in the scenery makes me feel I’m twenty three all over again. I also coach a peewee basketball team every Sunday morning, which both my boys Johnny and Clark play for. We all live in a beautiful 2-storey home in the suburbs where we have two puppies named Santiago and Muniel.
I had some dreams done too. I got to see the world too. I’ve gone to Fiji, the Mediterranean, and Eastern Europe, of course Western Europe too. I’ve been to the Americas, Hawaii and Tahiti, and old and greater Asia. I’ve migrated to Canada but returned here. Been to Italy but was left there. I have also been to Cannes and Sundance, but as an audience and not an entrant. I never got to make the most awesome movie ever, but I cheered on for my friends Val, Marv and Roach for doing it for me. I’ve managed to keep my friendships with everyone from friends to primary school to those I met in the ends of the country when I worked on my one and only documentary. Life has been good to me, very good. However, I’ve been everywhere and nowhere at the same time. I’m lucky in more ways than one, but the future without her is kind of weird. Back then, I swear to God, I imagined succeeding and failing all these dreams with her beside me. Things happen for a reason though, and I’m still content with the way things turned out. The word happiness was left with her. I’m still happy, but it’s a different happiness. Like love I guess, happiness has different forms, the most splendid of which are still memories of Her. My wife knows this, and I love her for always understanding and letting me go visit. My kids on the other hand are oblivious; they just like chasing each other in the vast greenery of the cemetery, tripping over the headstones after hours of running. Her daughter, now lovelier than her mother, is happy and wed too. She’s still young though, and stays in Italy as an architect. She got to live the dream of her mom for Her. She stays in touch, and sends a box of biscuits every Christmas, which, by the way, the children love. She’s expecting a baby girl soon too. She says she’ll name it after her mother, and it was her husband Fierro’s idea. I said it was awesome, and we’d visit next year when I get my yearly dose of free tickets. She calls once in a while to check, so that’s how I manage to still keep in touch. Whenever I visit her, I tell her mother of the stories of her daughter. She must be smiling mischievously and proudly up there. As for me, I still visit every Wednesdays and Saturdays as much as possible. It was our days; we were mercurial and unpredictable as Wednesdays and as gracious and protective as Saturdays. I still come with yellow lilies, despite her never liking flowers, just like the way I did to brighten up her gray days. Pissing her off was one of the things I missed the most. I’m not ashamed to admit I still miss her dearly.
On the afternoon drives back we always passed a basketball court after having dirty ice cream by the south gate. The kids there played with an old, worn ball, the threads visible even from this far. One team sported shirts, the other sported skin. They played old school, the way I liked it; barefooted. They didn’t care whether it rained or it shined. They were there all year round. One day, after seeing the usual pickup game, I remembered a question an old teammate asked. Is Basketball like Life, or is Life like Basketball? As a retired player turned coach, I have always pondered this question since the first time I heard it. It was a junior game way back in high school, and we just lost our first and only elimination game in the school’s intramural games. Our coach said losses are part of basketball, of life. Our point guard, Mark asked which it was it between the two. That was first time I saw the truth in the matter, that life and basketball are not really all that different.
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“Is Basketball like Life, or is Life like Basketball?”
Life and Basketball share the same fundamental truths. There are winners and there are losers. And with the losing and winning, there will be the inevitable meeting or failing of expectations. Luck can go your way, or either way. There are things you will never be able control, such as time, other people, and sometimes yourself. Once decisions are made, they are irreversible. Once calls are made, they cannot be taken back. You have to work on the relationships you have with the people around you; you build on chemistry and work to bring the best out in people. You can try hard, but sometimes it just won’t work out. People come and go too; rookies, imports, retirees.
Like a basketball, you bounce around in life too. You’re up, you’re down, you’re in control one time, and you’re out of bounds the next. But regardless, you always find yourself back in the game. Pressure abounds all the time; it may strain you, but you must never let it break you. The final truth is you are always part of the game, whether you are on the court as a player, on the bench as a coach, or in the stands as a spectator. You must always remember there are no off nights in life and basketball; you may struggle through but you must get through it. And it the end, it’s not about the box score, it’s about the effort put in. If you’re not going to go all the way, don’t even bother trying, as I used to say all the time to my teammates and to my players. There is no place for fear on the court and in life; there is only solace for those who gut it out. There are comebacks, there are retirements, there are injuries, and there are casualties. Which you will be will entirely be up to you. You can be a super star, or half a star. You can be a coach, or you can be a mentor. You can simply be content watching from afar or work on your game to actually play in it. Like in life and basketball, you can be all you want to be. The difference between the two is, in basketball, there is always the accolades and glory for the winner; enshrinement and immortality. For the loser, there’s the mopping and the watching of the winner win it all.
In life, there is no such thing. There are no guarantees that the winner wins it all and losers get nothing. In life, there are triumphs in defeats and sacrifices for victories. Basketball is governed by the rules. In life, there are no rules. Where the similarities end, the differences begin. Life is far more far-reaching and unpredictable than basketball. Life is more exciting than slam dunks and fast breaks, as well as fancier than alleyoops, behind the back and no-look passes. Life too, is far greater unpredictable than a buzzer beater or even a series upset. Life is what it is. Life is awesome, despite the things it may force us to go through.
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That is what I remember to this day. If there is anything that’s sure in this life, it’s death and taxes. Death however, also means that for every departure, there is the arrival of new life, new starts, new beginnings, and new paths to trailblaze. Whenever we hit the road home every Wednesday and Saturday afternoon, at just about twilight, that point in between the day and the night, I remember I’m still stuck there, in between two places; slipping throught the cracks. I’ve always realized being in this surreal prison of sorts showed me things enlightend or befuddled people definitely couldn’t; seeing things in perspective made me see things all the better as a matter of fact. I realized I will be forever at an impasse with the happy life I am living and the happy life I could’ve had…
The lesson I’ve been trying to learn so far was in front of me all along. We must only bury the body, and not the memory. I also learned we must never, ever, regret anything that ever made us smile. I’ve learned, most importantly, that just because we can’t start over from the beginning, it doesn’t mean we have to have the same ending. I learned, thank God, to live life, one day at a time; to not let the worrying of tomorrow to ruin today. I learned early in life, at a young twenty three, that most importantly, nothing is far greater than to love. We must love with all we are and all we have; whenever and wherever we might be, as well as whoever we will be with.
And that is the moral of this story. Love the fuck out of anything, even if it costs you everything. It’ll never be easy, but it’ll always be worth it.
I needed to meet Her to find the Next Her. I guess where some stories end, another simply begins…
