I was so upset. Terd had left us? How could he do that? He always seemed like a rock to all of us. His maturity and judgment seemed unquestionable … most of the time. Among the Brothers, as some of us raced toward senility, Terd could be counted upon to steady the boat with his firm grip on reality .. most of the time. And now ... what a strange feeling it was for me to begin to doubt my own grip ... I needed his help and he had left me.
And my Guardian Angel is a real estate sales woman? What did everything she said to me in the woods a year ago mean? Did I really hear her correctly? What DID she say to me? I couldn’t remember. Where was the line between reality and fact? Would I find out some day that even God was a figment of my imagination? A year ago I wondered if he had come to earth again as the old fellow in the village who fixed shoes and always had a piece of homey advice to offer. But he fell over his counter and on to the floor in June, dead at age 88. I went to the wake and sat alone among the empty chairs. It was creepy, not a single soul came. At ten minutes before nine, Jack came in and said they would soon close.
"Is God dead?" I asked.
"Living in Jamaica," he answered good naturedly, as he turned off a lamp.
When I arrived in the attic, the hammer was still on the floor at the foot of the ladder. I picked it up and beat the crap out of my trousseau, probably ruining my good robe. I was so mad I just wanted to destroy something. I don’t know why I chose to beat up my own property. Good manners, I suppose, or ingrained psychology.
I took the hammer up the ladder and clawed out the nails. That awful creaking sound made quite a bit of noise, but I didn’t care. I pulled myself up through the trap door hole and out on to the roof. Why was my life falling apart? And like this! With people lying and cheating and hurting each other all around me. With my home of thirty years being sold by a woman who is … who is … human? I don’t know. It was so frustrating. Was everyone lying to me?
I’m not getting any younger. Just as I reach a point in life when I need stability and I don’t want to worry about growing old without help, the entire f*cking planet goes crazy and I’m out in the cold. I know this sounds awfully selfish. Well OK, it IS selfish. But I think after a life of service I deserve some consideration from somebody up there … and I don’t mean in Ireland … who’s supposed to be in charge. Right? So, God, how about getting yourself back in charge?
“Jesse!” came an angry voice. Below me Agnes looked up from the front drive and screamed at me, “Get back from there!”
I barely realized I had crawled up to the peak of the roof and was leaning way out from the edge over nothing but thin air between myself and the ground. For one moment I thought, “F*CK IT!” I’ll make my own destiny. Jesse the lightning rod keels over even before the storm hits. I leaned slightly forward, but then pulled myself up and sat back from the peak. Agnes was down there shouting and I was sitting in a light rain and crying. Where had the blue sky and puffy white clouds from less than an hour ago gone? Even my god damned time machine was lying to me!
I remember once in Africa a heroin addict told me of the terrible frustration of lying sick in bed, afraid to get up, knowing if he did he would be off to his dealer for more. He dared not get up, but he was sick from lying down. He didn't want to, but he knew he would leave his bed in order to feed his addiction. It was so frustrating he wished he were dead. I felt that way on the roof. Afraid to die, but wishing to, because I was petrified with fear to go forward into old age while all of those things that could support me began to fall away.
Long Time Gone - Unlikely setup, but I like this song. See second url for CS&N song under 1969 footage of Woodstock prep as Yasgur's Farm. (Same title, but a different song.)
Sorry, this Woodstock video wouldn't embed.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_PFCgAhZEO8
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