Skin

I

I was always comfortable in your skin, but not mine.
I loved the custom car you drove………chrome wheels, low to the ground,
dice hanging from the rear view mirror, dual carbs and exhausts.
That Hurst shifter with the chrome handle.
You were able to “double clutch”, “power shift”……. whatever that was.
There was always one girl on your arm, others chasing after you,
and the fox sitting so close to you as you cruised Broadway on a Friday night.
You parked in front of the Academy Green, across from the Park Diner,
your spot, and the people like you……
everyone knew that.
You held that cigarette the right way; James Dean, Sal Mineo.
And in the trunk, a six pack…… Schlitz, Rheingold, Ballantine.
Who would have ever imagined Miller Lite?
Around ten you disappeared with that fox.
We imagined where you were headed and would smile among ourselves.
The envy and jealousy we felt when those images passed through our heads kept us believing until next Friday night.

II

I was always comfortable in your skin, but not mine.
You were the star athlete, class president, heart throb.
There was that smile, that laughter, that exuding confidence.
Your girls were from the ‘A-list”, the ones we would see and fantasize over when they sauntered down the hallway or sat cross-legged in the lunch room. You and they were always at the front tables; seen, envied, watched for clues or hints as to how we might break through.

I did not know where you went on Friday night,
where the “in” party was or where your group hung out.
It wasn’t my circle, and although I may have been having a good
time somewhere else, I always wondered where you were.

You were invited to the annual Junior Cotillion, I was not.
May Day’s King, Queen, and court, the frequent mentions and pictures in the yearbook and those inside references, the “slam book” where you were roasted…….I remember all of those with a certain sadness.
I wanted to be there, but I wasn’t.
Of course, the honor roll and high honor roll, my name did not appear with yours.
I struggled to get into a two year school after graduation, which had not been on your list nor part of your plan.
We had travelled in different circles and were then headed in very different
directions.
I was sure where the greener pasture was, the pot of gold, the things that I had dreamed of…………..
they were not on my route.

You were not a skinny kid, did not have my hair, skin problems, or facial features.
You had muscles, hair that curled and stayed in place, clear skin, and
what were said to be handsome looks, according to all reports.
You, as we would say later, seemed to have it all together.
What worries could you possible have?
Most of us had problems, you couldn’t and didn’t.
None of that existed in your skin,
that is why I left mine whenever possible and secretly moved in with you.
There was peace there,
opportunity,
happiness.

III

You took many forms over the years.
College fraternity guy, activist, intellectual,
that dude in the expensive car, adored teacher, famous artist,
guru, and wise old man.
Yes there were many secret moves during my time.
Skins that I crawled into, leaving an uncomfortable space behind.
All those moves, however brief they were, exhausting and always incomplete,
the shape-shifting and metamorphoses never final;
an impossibility, which I never knew.
Just temporary moves, gas tank emptying and tires losing their tread.
A tiring traveler on a poorly defined, pockmarked, and twisted road.

Many times I guessed where you were in your travels.
It was always the place that I wanted to be.
That desire to be you not me never going away with time
or age.
My skin was stretched almost beyond recognition,
the elasticity pushed beyond its limits.
Just how many times can that move be made before home becomes an approximation of what was.
The mirror provides no answers,
it is as confused as the person looking into it.

But strangely you died, or so it said in the local paper.
You were suppose to live forever, weren’t you?
And the rumors around town………..
that unhappy marriage to your high school sweetheart,
the two kids who were in and out of trouble,
the DWI that was squelched,
and bills not paid.
You had apparently been ill on and off for many years.
I now recall seeing you uptown, prematurely gray, very thin,
and not standing as straight as I had remembered.

How could this all be?
The green pasture, pot of gold, realized dreams……..
weren’t they a sure thing?
Your route had had many unexpected twists and turns as you moved on.
The shock, frustration, and dismay that you must have felt.

IV

In these final years, looking closely, it has struck me that ours was always to be the same route.
Opportunities, pitfalls, tremendous happiness and desperate sadness,
they were there for all of us, just at different times.
On this route there were no exits, just decision points.
Times when we had to choose not knowing which was best.
Fate is a conveyor belt……..
decisions made with or without you.
I am certain that you, like me, made some great choices and some very bad mistakes.
That is the nature of the journey………..
stumbles, small unsure steps, great leaps, and difficult falls.
We both had them, for better and worse.

Your journey may have ended before mine, but by how much no one knows.
I regret that perhaps you did not have more time to dwell in that green pasture.
That the pot of gold was in sight but was just beyond what had always been a long enough reach.
Not this time.
And the dreams that never happened……….
they rarely do.
I hope you realized that before it was too late.

I regret wanting to crawl into your skin;
to be you, not me.
I did not realize then that we were the same.
There were never any differences beyond the outer shell that was you and
the one that was me.
I was wrong to think that there were two roads and I chose the least desirable one,
It was the same road, only the on ramp was different.
I would have wanted your athletic ability, popularity, fast car, girlfriends.
There was that time to be sure.
But that was just the beginning of the your journey and mine.
I would not have wanted what was to follow in your life,
the disappointment and tragedy of your shifting sands, the rebalancing of your scale.

There had been similar challenges,
those decision points.
Perhaps I handled them better as it turned out, who knows.
But I am certain we were on the same road, the same terrain………..
I remember the disappointment and suffering.
You may have been misled by the ease in which you began your journey.
I stumbled badly, fell often, and picked myself up.
A slow learning process but an increasing understanding of the route that we were on.
Maybe that did not happen for you.
Part of me feels badly. Part of me, sadly, just smiles.