In a Parallel Universe it Was Meant to Be

In the story goes over a a miscarriage. Apologies to the reader if this upsets you.

All the feelings, of all the memories began flowing at once from the scent of Brooklyn, my home. I cut across the street as one. To the other side of 21st. As I stepped back onto the sidewalk I felt my energy shift. Looking to my left I realized. I was at the front entrance to The Fiesta Building. Where I grew up. Hearing the wind come up through the tunnel to the back. Speechless as the memories calmed my eye site. Eddy holding the door open. While he, my nonno, and I sang “You’re Nobody Till Somebody Loves You”. I felt love as if I were a child all over again. Sipping my coffee now with a heavy heart. I turned and walked further down the avenue. Then my thoughts went to memories of my fleeted youth. 

     The first time I went to P.S 128. My first friend Joe Renee, my first best friend. Now falling into my feelings and finished with coffee. I lit my first fumo(cigarette). Crossing Benson avenue I backed out of my feelings. Bad memories are like storm clouds. They can toss and manipulate the flow of the current. I felt I needed to be here so I came. The point of this journey was to flow in the ebb and flow. There was no try in the inception of this awakening in going back to Brooklyn. I was in this thought pattern when I heard an unfamiliar voice. Quickly stopping to find it. I noticed I was in front of The Fiesta’s sister building The Falcon. An elderly gentleman was sitting on the bench behind me to my left. Turning to him he smiled.

“Young man deliver me. Have ya uh light?” 

     Turning my attention and redirecting my focus. I smiled as I reached into my pocket for my match book.

“Most definitely have a light, paisan. The light I can give depends on the light you seek.”

     Upon receiving my book. He chuckled at my remark. Motioning his hand to the left of him. Citing that that side of the bench was empty. I was handed back my book as I sat down. Aptly lighting my own fumo. 

“True seekers are a rare breed. They align with no guru. Yet pull from them all in seeking their truth. I’ve never known them to walk on the path of no path though.” 

     Feeling nothing but love as I looked into this man’s eyes. Unaware that I unconsciously spoke through one voice. All I thought was to speak the truth, my truth.

“I’ve meditated my entire life. It used to be an escape. I was also a troubled youth in this very neighborhood. Having fallen drunk through the gate of no gate. I’ve been walking on the path of no path for over twenty years.”

     Drawing the fumo his eyebrows moved in then relaxed. As if he was channeling the powers of the cigarette. 

“Well young man, truly those who seek. Are destined to find. Yet I see a pain in your eyes. Coupled with a lingering lust. You’ve not let go of attachments.”

     The punch from his statement jolted my third eye. Instantly vanquishing memories of days past. As if they were in fear of light. My stare lingered for a moment before I gathered myself for an honest retort. 

“It’s obvious you know what I seek. Still meandering, I've yet to open my crown. It’s daunting that it’s more difficult than awakening the others.”

      For some reason I never thought I would see the place where I began my journey of self discovery. Yet here I am talking of life’s journey. With an elder statesman who's been there and back again. His smile was rich and eyes full of empathy. 

“The letting go of earthly attachments makes it discouraging. This is why most abandon its rousing. Your struggling blossoms from your trying. If you drop the burden. Your attachments will fade. As a true seeker it will just happen. Unfolding as all things do young man.”

     Seeing his critique gave me comfort. We commenced my understanding in silence. It was what I needed to hear at that precise moment. He inquired if I was a fan of Kerouac. Stating his grandson Robert was a super fan of the Super Chronicle series. 

“To learn from my grandson. I read a few pages of volume 3. The one with the vindication of the original antagonist B Money. You have such love and care for your characters. Just as Dulouz did.”

     Chuckling at his observation. Nodding my head yes that his assumption was correct. I quoted Kerouac in admiration. Lighting my last fumo.

“Because in the end, you won’t remember the time you spent working in the office or mowing the lawn. Climb that goddamn mountain.”

     We laughed at the truth of the quote. Agreeing that it’s forgotten along with the significance of Jack himself. We spent what seemed to be hours. Talking of the beats that held council at Columbia University. Unraveling the human condition. Giving life to the time period. While in the confines of the Upper West Side. I told him about my memoir “Journey to The End of The Road”. Exposes more of Kerouac’s influence in my writing.

“My agent says I read like Joyce. Given my narrative's natural pace.” 

     Flicking the smoke I queried if Robert was a writer. Offering up some advice if he in fact was. To which the gentleman incited Robert was. That he himself was eager to parlay the message.

“I’ve no shame in admitting that I modified Kerouac’s character development process. I base them off people that have been or are in my life. My tweak is I downplay a minor characteristic in the respective persona. Then animate the most dominant characteristic of that character’s personality as well. Also given he’s a fan. I believe in some way his style is like mine. Tell him to gravitate toward life experience. It’s the primary fundamental in writing prose. Lastly write out everything, what I mean is: your heart’s broken, you’re getting bullied, every thought and emotion. Write it out in a narrative. Damn near every aspect of the human condition can spawn writer’s block. Believe me when I say I’ve done the research on the former statement.”

     Standing up after my rant of advice. I offered my hand in thanks. Stating I needed to continue my journey. To which the gentleman agreed. 

“It’s just after one. The universe brought you here. I genuinely can say I’m merely a rock on your path. I most definitely am not your primary destination. Have a pleasant rest of your day, young man.”

     I thanked him once more for his wisdom. As I began down the avenue again. Now pondering the great impactful conversation. Continuing the voyage to what I assumed was Cropsey Ave Park. As I approached the entrance I noticed the old jail house was torn down. The stone benches with chess boards were also gone. Staring blankly as it destroyed my illusions, breaking my heart. The old jail house is important to the history of Bensonhurst. Seeing a cement pathway in place where I learned about my family's history, and where I learned to play chess. My heart sank into my stomach. There was a commemorative plaque at the center of the entrance. I was disgusted so I spat on it. My humble opinion of the Cropsey Ave Park renovation. I equate it to a poor boob job. They look good but the scare is relevant. The park overall looked beautiful and was quite clean. Yet the bathrooms were still on uneven pavement. Still looking like a dilapidated barn.

     Furthering the journey until I got to the Cropsey Avenue Plaza. Standing not at the foot of the parking lot but at the beginning of a new park. Bewildered by the new land development. There was no flow or clear pathway. Like a conversation flowing in tangent on tangent. With no actual context initially. I entered it bitter because the new layout disrupted my inner peace. It utterly maligned me.

     Breathing deeply, vocalizing amor fati to calm myself. While walking to the spot where a rock formation used to be. It was chained off before I was born. The rock formation is how Bay Ridge got its name. I walked up to the chain fence and looked out to the water. Embracing the sound of the waves breaking on the rocks of the bay. Closing my eyes I took in the smell of the ocean. Becoming subdued by the song of calypso. The spirit of the sea. After coming back to the present moment I turned to leave. Then I was floored as if I was run over by a running back. Bouncing off the wall of Modell’s crashing to the pavement. I heard a subtle, but familiar voice. Kneeling as I got back to my feet.

“Oh my God, sir are you okay? Pandora randomly shut off, I’m so sorry I wasn’t paying attention while I was running. Please don’t be unconscious.”

“I’ve heard please don’t be dead, but never don’t be unconscious.”

     I said finally standing up right. I turned to look at the perpetrator. I took a step back in astonishment, it was Stella. It was a jounce of emotions and thoughts. She was just as speechless. I didn’t realize my own smile. For my blood turned cold as my heart sank into the depths of my stomach. As quickly as I unpacked my impingement. After three years and speaking of her last night. When I moved I never would’ve thought I’d ever see her again. Yet here in front of me she stood.

“When did you escape Ohio?”

     She declared it was for a change of scenery. Apparently she wanted closure from our end as well. To which I reminded her that she left me. 

“You wanted the relationship to end. It broke me to let you go. It’s more like you can’t live with your decision. But you made your bed babe. As unfortunate as it may be. It's where you must lay your head.” 

     The look she gave me was a classic case of if looks could kill. We stood there a moment idle. Unwilling to embrace warmly in each other's company. There we stood not knowing what to do next. Breathing deeply I opened my heart asking if she wanted lunch. Upon agreeing she mentioned she wanted to change out of her running clothes.

“My place isn’t far from here. It’s about a block and a half away.”

     I listened as she told me about the decision to move away from her hometown. Though I sensed there was another reason. Stella’s townhouse was quaint for a “single woman”. I walked in behind her and surveyed the living room. She was always good at interior design. It’s after all her chosen profession. The vibe was pleasant in a feng shui. She went straight to her bedroom as soon as we got in. I asked for the bathroom. 

“There's a half bath in the kitchen. The doors to the left of the fridge.” 

     She yelled from the top of the stairs. I was standing in front of the toilet handling my business. When I noticed a picture of her and I in her parents backyard. It was probably taken by Xavier. I finished my business and walked into the living room. Wondering if there were any more of me or us. Stella came back down unnoticed. She tapped me on the shoulder and suggested we have a cup of coffee here. I thought it was a bad idea but vocalized it was fine. Inquiring why there was a picture of us in the bathroom. 

“I don’t remember taking it. It was so long ago.”

     As she poured two cups of coffee she explained the picture's significance. 

“That picture is important to me. It’s the day I found out I was pregnant. It makes sense you don’t remember though. I felt I should put it up since I’ve been dreaming about her and what was to be our famiglia.”

     I took a good swig of coffee as if it were bourbon. While I proceeded to look right through her. She pretended to ignore my stare. Which was exasperatingly cute. All at once I remembered why I fell for her the first time. We sat at the kitchen table silently for several minutes. Attempting to ignore her dreaming of our unborn child. I got up to top off my cup of coffee and I quickly turned around. I don’t know what came over me but it made Stella anxious. At least that was the vibe that came off her.

“Look I don’t really know what’s to come out of me being here. When we knew each other I was a gas station clerk selling comics out of my trunk. Some may say I made it but I’m still looking for something. I gave you everything within my power. Which was also your way out. Three years it took me to come back to reality. I got over you legitimately two days ago. Now what?”

     Sipping my cup as I made my way over to the table. In response to my movement Stella stood up. As I began circling the table towards her I finished my rant.

“I guess some part of my heart will forever love you. A part of me will be empty after this moment. We’ll never see each other again.”

     She backed away from me. I grabbed her arm and she turned into me as if to wrestle her arm free. Abandoning it she caved into my embrace. I whispered that we couldn’t be a couple again. 

“What we had was tarnished and ruined by our sadness.”

     Stella nodded in agreement stating again. She dreams of our unborn child. My tears began to fall on her neck. She began to rub my back and head as we sobbed. Holding her tightly in my arms. She whispered into my right ear to conconsole me.

“You’ll always have a place in my heart, too.” 

     Standing in her kitchen embracing each other finally the way we should have. I brought to light what was not said. 

“With your health problems it's amazing you carried as long as you did.”

    Her tears began to fall as mine were. I guess I had forgotten or simply lost in the moment. Stella had my sense of humor. Half wittingly she injected laughter in our consoling one another. Placing a hand on my face. Staring through my eyes directly into my soul.

“You said you were sterile at birth being a womb twin survivor, the hell dude.”

     Laughter heals everything, it’s the antithesis to sadness and anger. I don’t know if it was making peace from the miscarriage or if it was my vulnerability. In the midst of my belly laugh she threw her tongue down my throat. I had no idea my belly laugh was an invitation. Instincts took over and it was autopilot. My heart was too open to withdraw. My thought was she was going to be the mother of my child. I pulled her into me by her waist. Lifting her by her thighs Stella remembered my ways. She adjusted her dress and put me where she wanted me. We began to embrace one another and I whispered.

“We shouldn’t do this. 

“I know papí(daddy)[spanish].” 

     She replied in an exhale of ecstasy. When we finished the reconciliation of our heartache. Against my better judgment. I sat next to her on the couch. Laying her feet on my lap. She pulled the quilt from the back of the couch onto herself. We began sitting as we used to. 

“So do we meet again, or leave it how it is now?”

     Inquiring minds like answers to questions. I thought as I rubbed her feet under her quilt. She rolled facing the back of the couch. Letting out a huge yawn.

“You know where I am now. We just met again like the first time. Only now our hearts have healed. I want to but I won't force you to.”  

     Still rubbing her feet. I sat there silent. My heart is still too open I thought. It’s not connected to my mind. I inquired if she would start with rebuilding the friendship. She rolled over now facing the coffee table yawning.

“I don’t just dream of our dead child. In them she’s alive and you’re there too. If being your friend is what it takes to get you back into my life.” 

     Now rubbing her calves I noticed she fell asleep without finishing her thought. I got up without disturbing her. I aptly kissed her on the forehead. As she rolled over facing the back of the couch. I could tell her sigh of relief was from her heart. Turning away from her I noticed a pack of Marlboro Lights on the coffee table. Thinking she always smoked more than me. I snatched two out of the full pack. Returning the pack to its original place next to a notebook. “Stella doesn’t write, she’s an interior designer.”

     I thought as I thumb through the notebook. A few pages in I realized she was writing out her dreams. My heart was too open to actually read one. So I wrote my number on the top of the following blank page. I made my way to the door. I turned to look at her again. Under my breath in the quietest of whispers. Articulating the place she has within my heart. Exiting soundlessly shutting the door.