“To be alive is to have scars.”–John Steinbeck
Recently, I visited a friend in Los Angeles, and in a drunken haze (and remorseful weakness) I decided to buy a pack of cigarettes. It was an odd and not well-thought-out move as I hadn’t wrapped my lips around a cancer stick for almost five years. You see, the threads of anxiety started that evening when I had, by happenstance, walked by a movie theater that my ex-girlfriend and I used to go to quite often. And as I passed by, it gave me a lurch in my stomach and dislodged a small pebble that had been stuck in my unconscious.
What makes the scene even more fortuitous is that very morning I found a forgotten baseball card of a side glancing, smirking Dave “Kong” Kingman tucked away in a notebook that I hadn’t laid eyes on since I’d first received it in our shared mailbox many, many years earlier. We had lived our own manufactured, domestic dream on a cactus-strewn, sun-bleached, quiet street and were running late– rushing to the very same theater where the entombed memory would be unburdened many years later.
I used to play a game in this darkened movie house where I would press my mouth to her ear during a lull in the film and whisper I love you and hold the ouuuuu sound. She would laugh and push me away before subtly holding her face close so I could kiss her cheek. I’ve always had my own tensions, but they seemed to melt away when she was around during that summer of 2012. Of course, I’m going to remember these little things because I’m nostalgic by nature and they could perhaps be the most tender moments of my chaotic and ludicrous life. Perhaps when you recall similar moments you realize that the little things were the big things, and as you age you will lose them in small increments like paper cuts.
The breakup was terrible, heartbreaking, unmerciful and all the other devastating words. As a writer, (or at least someone who moonlights as one) shouldn’t I be able to confront difficult topics without having my psyche shattered? This was an indelible moment that I had hidden for years until that quiet night when it met me on that corner while the illuminated marquee stained my crippled in disbelief body. (In a suburb made famous by the Rose Bowl and a Jan and Dean song: the little old lady from Pasadenaaaaaaaa!) I, unfortunately did what unhealthy men seem to do: I pushed it deep down and forgot about it until the unwanted revisions (this time stoked by a visual thing) rose to the surface in a myriad of emotions–mostly sadness, shame and regrets.
Will that baseball card still exist in 50 years? I haven’t a clue…I will be long dead, but I do know that the future owner will never know about the history behind it, or the two lovers sharing popcorn and playing footsie on that sticky theater floor while the card sat with us as the projector whirred overhead. The inanimate object of paper ephemera with the mustachioed man and his scrawl would be forever unvoiced about where it had been in that darkened room with two people sharing a silence. A single, thin and insignificant piece of cardboard being held in the purse of a girl who once loved a boy and who once loved her back, fetched from the connected mailbox.
Coco Crisp's Afro 
A good read from a gifted writer, sorry about your old heart, happens to all of us..
Truer words have never been spoken. Thanks for stopping by, Bill.
Beautifully written, Gary. You have accumulated a lot of wisdom the hard way and expressed it well with this line: “Perhaps when you recall similar moments you realize that the little things were the big things, and as you age you will lose them in small increments like paper cuts.” Oh, man, that is soooo true.
Thanks, Mark. That means a lot coming from you. Steve sent me some cards a long time ago (as you also so graciously have) and the Kingman was one of them. It’s kind of a funny card.
The little things often now are the biggest things for me, Gary. Life is a rollercoaster to be sure, but I guess in order to feel just how great the good times are you have to have some less-than-ideal times also. I will always be a nostalgic fellow…for better…and for worse. Great post.
I appreciate you, Bruce. I couldn’t have said it any better.
Gary – a beautiful but dark dive into the relationship between triggers and memories.
Sometimes it’s a word, a song, a face, a movie, a place or even a baseball card.
I look back at my age and so much has changed. Other people live in my grandparent’s house in Milwaukee. The house I grew up in – in Houston has been totally rebuilt to where I could not recognize it. The grocery store where I worked and had a big crush on a girl – torn down and replaced with a big box store. The big campus where I got my first engineering job a couple miles from Minute Maid Park – gone and replaced by condos.
Many of these memories leave me sad or small. Others a bit empty.
Good writing evokes emotions and deep thoughts from its readers and you have done that Gary.
Thanks, Dan. I appreciate that very much, and I’m glad it could evoke some memories for you. I’m sorry they were sad, but at least you have them and can keep them in your heart.
A lot of the places where I used to hang out as a kid and a teenager are now gone as well. Restaurants, record stores, coffee shops, music venues…all gone. And i guess the A’s are going to be gone as well. The Buddha was on to something when he said, “nothing is forever except change.”
Great read…it’s the little things that matter the most in life. Hardly anything in our life is insequential.
Agreed, Max. I was listening to Dio’s “Rainbow In the Dark” today on my morning walk and got super stoked! Those are the real moments. 🙂
Thats all it takes.
That’s powerful stuff man, was great to read. Memories are a hell of a thing, it’s funny how everything lines up sometimes.
Tell me about it…and this was one of those weird ass times where you feel like the universe is watching you. Thanks for reading, Burch. I appreciate you stopping by and commenting.
Love intimacy and loss is maybe the hardest thing to endure. You’ve captured that feeling here with a tremendous flare. Great writing Gary. Thanks for sharing the experience.
Thanks, Steve….and thanks for the card!
I’m glad the card helped arouse the memory, as painful as it may be. It’s amazing how powerful baseball cards are.
Love it Gary! I think that is what is great about baseball cards-they naturally transport us back to a different time and place in our lives. And it isn’t just about the stats on the back of the card. That it’s Kingman makes me laugh-and glad that you enjoyed his “comeback run” in Oakland. I’m sure he wouldn’t understand the particulars… my first encounter was as a 6-year-old at Wrigley when he came to Chicago with the Giants. The specifics aren’t important. I like to imagine him sitting in the theater with you and your girlfriend-sort of a riff on a Seinfeld experience.
sorry that the relationship ended the way it did for you, but I appreciate your sharing it with us-makes for great reading (as always).
A Mitchell Page card, that I can understand.
Cheers
Bob
Haha…Kingman didn’t have the best reputation, that is true. I specifically remember the story of him giving a reporter for the Sacramento Bee a dead rat in a box.
Thank you so much for stopping by and commenting my friend.
Nice card. It’s odd how all our old memories are connected. Hope the cigarettes were a one-time purchase. You’ll want to be around in 50 years to see what happens to that card.
Haha. I have a sneaking suspicion it’ll still be around and in someone’s collection. It’s already 38 years old…will the owner have an inkling about the “junk wax era?” Hmmmmm.
Thanks for stopping by, Hugh. Your comments are always welcomed and enjoyed here.
thanks for sharing this. though somber, the willingness to go deep and raw and try to navigate through it – with honesty as a beacon – is a tough challenge. yet, it’s one of the most fascinating and pleasant of exercises to engage with. in other words, there’s a reward for the reader in this exercise you’ve set before yourself. thanks, again, for going through it and sharing.
Interesting. I never thought of it that way. Thanks for reading, Mr. Robins. You are appreciated here and your kind words give me something new to contemplate.
That one was felt from the heart. Nice piece. Kong is the answer to another interesting trivia question and that is,
“Who is the only player to play for 4 different teams in 4 different divisions in a single season?”
The year was 1977 and he played for the Mets, Padres, Yankees and Angels. Of course this was when there were only 4 division, not the 6 we have today…
Interesting…I never knew that. Thanks for your comment. I hope all is well in Brooklyn, 🙂
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You’re an incredible writer
Oof. I totally get this piece, Gary.
Sometimes I think it’s better to have been there than not.
Your reminiscence is a thematic cousin to this:
We finished our beers in contemplative silence, each lost in our own maze of thoughts. When the last drops were gone, Mark gathered the empty bottles and tucked them back into the Publix bag. “I’ll ditch these in Mrs. Finklestein’s trash on my way out,” he declared.
I raised an eyebrow. “Just make sure she’s not out there playing cat wrangler on her porch.”
“Nah, she does her feline roundup at 7 sharp every evening,” he replied with a certainty that came from years of neighborhood observation. “We’re in the clear.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “You’ve got her routine down to a science, huh?”
He shrugged, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “You pick up on things after a while, like the eccentricities of cat ladies—or,” he paused, a serious note creeping into his voice, “…the signs of a best friend with something on his mind.”
I didn’t have to ask what he meant; the look in his eyes said it all.
“You went looking for her, didn’t you?” It wasn’t a question, but a statement.
“No, I wasn’t looking for Marty,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady after my first beer. “I thought she had already left with her folks. But she was looking for me.” It took me a few minutes to tell Mark everything, from the unexpected encounter by the South Campus library to Marty introducing me to her parents outside Building Eight. I almost left out the part where she kissed me goodbye—twice—then walked away to join her family, maybe for good.
When I finished, Mark’s eyes were locked on mine, searching. “Did you…?” he started to ask.
The room spun a little, and the lamp seemed too bright all of a sudden. I felt hot tears welling up, spilling over. “No, I didn’t say it, Mark. I wanted to, but… I just couldn’t.” The sobs came then, uncontrollable and raw.
Mark, not usually one for hugs, put his arms around me without a word. No “I told you so,” no jokes—just a friend letting me cry. “Jim,” he said softly, “it’s okay. Even if you didn’t say it… she knows, man. She knows.” And he just stood there, patting my back, until I cried myself out
How sweet. Pure love is a heck of a thing…and so is pure friendship.
Thanks!
One of the great truths I’ve discovered as a first-time novelist is that fiction works best when the story deals with real human emotions and situations. Even though the characters and situations in my story are fictional, I dug into my footlocker of memories from my adolescence and found enough real-life incidents from my high school years to adapt for the novel.
Thanks, Gary, for your kind comment!
All hail “King Kong”:
Seemingly still the only player to play in every division in baseball during a single season since the beginning of ‘Divisional Play’ in 1969. (this in 1977)
And I was there, when The Kong ended his first-ever three at bats in “The Kong Dome” by putting one in the cheap seats. (he had 8 RBI’s before the game was half over)
~SeaGuy