Dearest Rachel –
I’ve said enough about Memorial Day festivities for one year (at least!) already, honey, so I’ll set the day itself aside for now. I will say that getting together at Jeanette and Ramón’s place is still a little surreal. It’s like attending a family reunion where I’m not actually a part of the family – which is to say, I’m not sufficiently accustomed to the quirks and foibles of this family, and thus not particularly comfortable there, no matter how welcoming they are (yes, it’s another case of “it’s not you, it’s me” when it comes to this discomfort of mine).
Did you ever feel like that, early on, when my extended family would assemble at this home or that in the week or so before Christmas, honey? I wonder.
In any case, those sorts of gathering would always be missing one or another member, and this was no exception. Leaving aside the fact that the members of Ramón’s family didn’t start arriving until four hours after the gathering was set to begin (and about the time that we, as our group, had had our fill and were about to head out), there was one of our own number who couldn’t make it, either. Which is understandable, as a holiday weekend will have people making plans to go places and do things that take them out of their usual orbits.
Still, it’s weird how we used to be able to get together on a regular basis, once upon a time, and now, even an act of Congress would be easier than for the six of us to be in a single place simultaneously – and this with the three of us boys spotted ahead of time at any time, since we’re almost always in the same place, thanks to our living arrangement. Were you just that good at herding us cats, or did you have some sort of magnetic personality that drew everyone together that much easier? Whatever it was, none of us have it anymore, it would seem.
Then again, it may well be that, as time goes on, and we fall out of touch, each of us have our individual concerns that drown out our mutual connections. The things we like, the things we need; they’re not shared by the friends we’ve tried to stay linked with, and the links get tarnished and worn by those differences. And the longer we spend apart, the longer we spend time on those individual issues, to the further detriment of our old connections. If we’re to be keeping those friendships alive, we need to spend more time together, focusing on the things we have in common.
Granted, that’s just not always doable. For all that I mention how you could keep our group together – even during the pandemic, by having us get together online to play games over Skype and Steam – there were those that we lost touch with, and quickly. Your old roommate, and your maid of honor, went to law school and joined the military as a J.A.G., serving in the Balkans at the time we were starting in on parenthood. It didn’t take long for her to drop off our radar as a consequence, and while she still sends Christmas cards to us from Alaska, where she works in the D.A.’s office, I don’t know how much we have in common with her these days. The last time she was in town (and you were here back then, which gives you a rough idea how long ago that was), I can’t recall the conversation being all that lively between the two of you (let alone my end of it).
Meanwhile, for those of us still here, sometimes those things that take us apart from each other are absolutely necessary. Tending to her mom keeps Ellen occupied (and that’s when she’s not at work), and while the two of them made it last night (it was her sister’s place, after all), the situation demands more of her attention that the rest of us do. We can be left to our devices (quite literally, although that’s its own problem, which I’m as guilty of as anyone), and while her mom isn’t demanding by nature, the fact that she’s as frail as she is necessitates that she be her focus in any given situation.
In summary, rather than being a collection of soap bubbles that collect together into a large, foamy, cleansing mass, we wind up – on these rare occasions where we can get together – more like a kids’ ball pit, where our individual spheres interact and bounce off each other, but don’t really coalesce or blend together. It’s fun in it’s own way, to be sure, but somehow there seems to be something lacking about it. And again, the fact that one of us isn’t there probably doesn’t help – it’s like looking at it all and realizing that, for all the colors of plastic balls in the pit, there aren’t any green ones or something like that. It shouldn’t make a difference, but somehow it does.
On the other hand, who plays in a ball pit anymore these days?
***
Driving home with the boys, I had the music on a low enough level as to not notice it if one didn’t want to (because I tend to assume that – like with so much about all of the other things we each individually partake in and enjoy – it won’t necessarily appeal to them) but loud enough that its absence and changes from one song to the next would be evident, even if one wasn’t paying attention. At some point, a song came on that got Daniel’s attention in particular; after all, the previous few had been seventies and eighties new wave standards – why was the algorithm picking up something that sounded like the Vienna Boys’ Choir?
But while I don’t think you and I listened to it together, I knew what it was…
And as we kept driving home, I realized that there are a lot of things that I want that I can’t have. I want the group to get back together more often. I want to find ‘Megumi,’ if she exists. I want to get out and travel – and soon. I want… you back; and if that’s not possible, I want to be able to reconstruct you somehow, even if I have to use AI to do it.
The thing is, I’m not sure I’m trying hard enough at any of these things to get what I need – whatever that may be. Or maybe I’m not trying hard enough to recognize what I need when I get it. Either way, I’m pretty sure the problem is that I’m not trying hard enough; although I’m not sure what I should be trying to do, exactly.
And until I figure it out, I suppose I need to ask you to keep an eye on me, and wish me luck, because I’m sure going to need it – among, presumably, other things.
Letters to Rachel 