Alchemic Verse

I met my temporary neighbor today; outside on the porch, my dog barked and approached someone unseen off stage left. I no-no-no’d her lovingly and turned the corner to find a gentleman supremely startled by the prospect of her enormous bark, despite her typical furious wagging of joy and love, all while he tried not to drop a clutched trash bag.

I apologized, demonstrated how friendly and submissive she is despite appearances and boisterous sounds. Offering our names and handshakes, I understood we might be better off conversing in Spanish and tried from there. I’m definitely out of practice, though it’s hard to explain ‘I understand everything you’ve said, rather retrieving the right words to respond is difficult/slow.’ Nevertheless, his English was very good once my ear tuned to the accent, and Spanglish even better so we went with it.

Thankfully, I didn’t have to respond much as he had much to share. I instead listened carefully to roughly two hours of his life stories, detailed in the finest Cuban Spanglish. He detailed a wild life of hardship and adventure, all over the U.S. and Germany oddly enough, owning his own business, lavish spending to losing it all. The stars he charted from were a constellation of desperation for love and companionship, no less ardent from having given all of himself to so many who abused him and took advantage of him in return.

His anecdotes were non-sequential, and some made his eyes ice over with emotion either language or deference wouldn’t allow him to express. His first love and babymama at 18 was a blonde-haired, blue-eyed beauty he met by chance. She approached him, eager to know him. He told me softly how she bought a Spanish/English dictionary to communicate with him after he arrived there without a word of English at 18, and how one day he was at her place and answered the door nude to her parents instead of her – much incredulous laughter shared. This laughter tempered the powerful pain of recalling when her father tried to pay him to leave her life forever as he had already chosen her spouse for when she finished law school, a dynasty of family and money. Her pregnancy meant a different path.

He hasn’t seen his son since he turned 5. From another past love, he has a 21 year old daughter who is finishing her undergraduate degree with aspirations of medical school and the marks to achieve this dream; he is so profoundly proud of her. Descriptions turned to other exes who continuously destroyed or discarded his belongings, told wild lies to extort him for money, controlled his every movement – he shared anecdotes of being examined whenever he returned home, until he wasn’t allowed to go anywhere on his own, attacked in his sleep by another ex, actually stabbed with a knife in the shoulder by yet another… and still, his refrain wove through ‘I need to find a good woman, a real partner.’ He explains his current arrangement which is sensitive enough I don’t think I should describe it even anonymously.

I asked him – ‘Con todo respeto, y sin juicio, sería demasiado doloroso estar solo?’ [With all respect, and without judgement, would it be too painful to be alone?] He wasn’t sure how to respond at first – admitting after a pause that he never has been, not really, and he avoids being alone. That he craves connection, people, family; that he believes in God, but doesn’t go to church; that he still lays flowers at the graves of several hopes and dreams of his own, buried to instead take care of so many others who did not care for him in return.

I shared that he might consider spending at least tonight, or some part of tonight, doing something just for him. I offered that he has so much to give and the heart to share, that settling for the safety of predictable bleakness may be part of why the people he’s found weren’t able to care for him as he would have merited. I briefly shared my own discoveries on similar matters, with plenty of caveats to indicate no desire to proffer unsolicited advice.

He brought me a cold Corona mid-stories, and later wrapped by inviting me to watch the soccer game which I thanked him but declined. A last cheeky if half-sincere offer came then, to get married and buy a house – HA! I laughed and warned him this might not be the best way to meet his next partner if he wants to find a woman that wouldn’t take advantage, a polite distance/boundary I hope as I don’t wish to imply a level of interest on my part that categorically isn’t there, nor hurt the gent’s understandably raw feelings, in case that half-sincerity I sensed was real.

I thanked him for the beer and friendly conversation, warned of my impending grocery and Amazon deliveries, and offered that if he ever needed anything, I’m around until at least the end of the month. ‘Igualmente; tienes ya un amigo, su primer y verdadero amigo, en <location>.’ [You also; you now have a friend, your first and a true friend, here.] It’s heartening to know the other side of the wall wishes the pup and I well.

Tomorrow has a long task list, Tuesday is back to work – now to take my own advice, and do something just for me tonight.

Part 2

Just kidding, as a second porch moment led to a welcome second Corona, and another long chat about life, if mostly listening, but really a profound conversation, well worth the change in plan. Grocery order was a bit delayed anyhow, so we talked about the varied if universally brackish flavors of rock bottom, delight in the magic of animals, god and the distinction of what god represents in contrast with religious hypocrisy, and my what an intriguing chat. There were details he chose to share on this second run-through that tied his story together, demonstrating just how much my neighbor has been through, between the flashier stories mixed in with the deeply traumatic. Just how many times he chose the high road and was carried by ‘circumstance’ – wit, instinct, destiny… Tie-ins to other storylines of my own, painfully close mirrors of several shared experiences. There was one story in particular, one so familiar to me [I did not yet say so] that brought my new friend… well, to tears.

There’s this, extraordinary white bird – I hope to get a photo tomorrow – that perched repeatedly atop the top bare and gnarled branch of the tree just across from the porch, with a discarded pair of boots in the brush at its base. It watched over both conversations, and was joined by a second at the close of our chat, somewhere around the discussion of how hope can be found and new beginnings forged in listening to instinct/your heart/god and pivoting to dance in time with the new rhythm and tempo.

The groceries arrived, I said my goodbyes, and dinner was gratefully prepared and eagerly eaten. I’m finding a lot of hope in those quiet moments, myself, and now as the sun fully sets, cradled in the lush rhythm and tempo of lakesound and cicada.