Before Common Days Become Legend

Dearest Rachel –

There are times when I’ve been told that things will eventually work out in life; and to be fair, I’ve little to complain about, when compared to the general human condition. As discussed so many times before with you, I’ve got what I would consider to be “enough” in terms of the material aspects of life: money, time and energy. Things are just noisy enough around the house that I don’t go mad from the silence, and outside of the house, I’m able to keep myself busy, both with necessary tasks for my own life and that of people relying on me. I’m not an island unto myself, and it’s a blessing to recognize that.

All that being said, though, there is one thing lacking – although ironically enough, in my immediate friend group (much of which I inherited from you), we all lack it, but I seem to be the only one who misses it – and it’s the reason I keep on writing to you. For all that it was a wonderful experience that I wish would have lasted my entire life, I can’t seem to find anyone to recreate that same type of relationship we once had.

And it’s kind of frustrating to hear that there’s supposedly some divine plan out there that includes the person I would refer to as ‘Megumi.’ I’ve been told that I just have to be patient, and at some point, she would show up, or God would reveal her to me… in any event, the point has been made that I can’t force or rush this sort of thing. And I get that; love has to be cultivated organically; it can’t be manufactured or simulated (although sometimes I wonder about that latter possibility).

I’m sure I sound like I’m getting increasingly impatient about her not showing up, and I’ve occasionally wondered why. Then, the other day, I was listening to an old song from an album that predates our meeting, and I think I know what’s causing it:

You’ve probably guessed it already, as it’s the title of this particular letter: I wonder “how long have I got / before common days become legend?” None of us knows the answer to that question until the moment is upon us; at which point, it’s too late to do anything about it.

Your departure brought that into stark relief, honey; since I was already older than you, and you’ve passed on (setting aside the fact that it was a freak accident; who’s to say that the same won’t happen to me some day?), it’s always hung over my head that I’m living on borrowed time every day. Sure, those days may seem commonplace (to borrow from a completely different old song), but I’m aware that they’re always running out. How soon before I run out of these days, whether common or not? I don’t want to leave without having arrived, as Leslie says elsewhere.

Of course, you could easily point out that, together, we did arrive; it just didn’t last for long before you had to leave. We never know that we’re living in “the good old days” until those good old days are gone, I suppose.

And once they are, they fade into legend, at least for some of us. You’ve seen my occasional attempts at remembering those days, and sometimes, they must come across as rose-tinted. Meanwhile, during one recent family gathering or another, I brought up the fact that, despite being of the understanding at the time of Daniel’s diagnosis that his condition wasn’t genetic, you and I both believed that each of us carried many of the traits that culminated in it; at which point, my sister broke in to say that it has been determined that autism is, in fact, hereditary after all. Moreover, our suspicions were valid; she claimed that while I may have been on the high-functioning borderline (and she used ‘may’ in the fact that neither of us was ever diagnosed; even the psychiatric evaluation I was forced to get during third grade revealed nothing problematic), you had distinct characteristics of autism yourself. When I pointed out that you were considerably more able and willing to function socially, she countered that your reach was to those on the fringes; in ‘polite’ society, you spoke your mind in a way that demonstrated a lack of proper restraint. She gave examples that I actually recognized, such as licking your plate to get every crumb off of it when it was particularly delicious.

The funny part is, when I remember those moments, I thought of them as being endearing; you liked a dish so much as to want to get every last molecule. It seems to have annoyed Jenn, but I (when the matter is brought up, as I’d forgotten the incident, even though it happened numerous times) turned it into legend in my mind. Such it is when the days of our lives are no more; once the supply is cut off, the ones that was can still find in memory are treasured and preserved, and the process can render them unrecognizable between perspectives.

Still, that leaves me with the understanding that I don’t have many of them left, so I’m slowly starting to lose patience with the search for ‘Megumi.’ If she is to show up, she had better do so soon, while we both still have the capability to enjoy each other’s presence. I’d hate to only find her when I can’t feasibly do all the things that I would otherwise have wanted to – either with her or you (although that’s not been an option for lo these past five years).

It would be one thing if I had somehow been told that no, there is no one else out there for me. Likewise, if the impulses within me had decided at the moment of impact that, if it couldn’t be you, then it wouldn’t be anyone, things would be different. I wouldn’t bother wasting my time on a fruitless search for one who will never come. But as has been said since the days of Adam in Eden, this situation is “not good” – God Himself would agree – and so I keep looking, growing more concerned about the search even as I’m reassured that she’s out there. I just hope I haven’t been given false hope.

And with that having been said, honey, I might as well ask you to keep an eye on me in the meantime, and wish me luck. I’m going to need it.