Falling Star

Falling Star

     “Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket."                                                         -  PerryComo                                    

  “Dad, thanks for coming. I know Joey appreciates you being here.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world. I’ll never understand soccer, but I love watching Joey do anything. And there may not be many more games left for me.”

“Don’t talk like that, Dad.”

“What is, is, son. What is, is.”

How do you get up every morning, get dressed, watch the morning news, and maybe eat a little something when you know an unbeatable foe is laying waste to the insides of your body? What’s the point? It’s hard to get it off your mind. Watching your seven-year-old grandson kick a soccer ball around can bring a one-hour oasis of distraction.

Funny how people are surprised when death comes knocking. It pretty much is the one thing we know, with absolute certainty, that awaits us. It’s only a matter of time. Surprise.

Frank got the diagnosis six months ago. He went into the hospital with a pain in his leg. He came out with a death sentence. What’s left for you, Frank, besides waiting for the day? He had for years joked with his brother about the desire for a quick, easy exit from this world. His brother banked on dying in his sleep. Frank’s plan was to get hit by a meteor…from behind. Quick, painless, and a blaze of glory. No such luck, Frank. Take a seat at the opposite end of the checkout spectrum.

Sixty-eight years on this earth. A fine son, a wonderful daughter, and five healthy grandchildren, all living within a ten-minute drive, provided reasonable compensation for thirty years of an empty, soul-sucking marriage.

His friends were all married. He was getting older. Wanting to be in love. Wanting to have a family. The delusion. Talk yourself into it. Settle. Do it. Not working out so well. Divorce? No, you have to give it some time. Kids. Now you stay for the kids. No hatred, no heated arguments, no infidelity, just a vast wasteland of nothingness. The children grow up. Divorce now? What’s the point? Then it was just a matter of trying to outlive the other.

Frank outlasted Linda by four years. He was torn by guilt for the way he felt. A stroke gave her that quick, easy exit, and of course, in a way, he mourned her loss. But in another way, that not-the-best-the-human-spirit-has-to-offer way, he couldn’t resist a feeling of relief. At first, he wrestled with the shame of deriving solace from the demise of another, but in the end, he concluded that since he didn’t do her in, he’d be okay with it. Every day since her passing had been like a breath of fresh air. And then that damn pain in his leg.

It was a double whammy for Frank- the path chosen and the path not taken. He was young, and looking back on it all, he would add stupid to the mix. He did it to himself. Self-inflicted wounds hurt more than regular wounds. He had beaten himself up so often that it was a wonder he was still standing.

Maggie. What became of you, Maggie? Do you think of me as often as I think of you?

Frank was out drinking with his buddies that night. That’s what college kids do. The Pub was showing its age, worn linoleum floor, wooden benches scarred with the initials of countless former patrons, rumpled felt on the pool tables in the back room, and a permanent haze of smoke hovering overhead. Today’s college student wouldn’t step foot in the place. 

Maggie. A rose delicately placed at the far end of the bar in a dingy, dirty, drinking establishment. A spotlight was shining on a diamond in a heap of unsightly coal. Frank had to meet her.

Frank was a funny guy back then. He quickly discarded the tired practice of offering to buy her a drink.

“Ted, give a beef jerky to the girl in the blue sweater at the end of the bar. Tell her it’s on me.”

Maggie also had a sense of humor. Frank would forever remember her reaction to the offering- a puzzled look, a smile, outright laughter, a friendly look in his direction, and finally, ravenously chowing down the tasty treat, ripping, tearing, and chomping like a caged tiger that hadn’t eaten for weeks. Frank knew he was on to something.

It was immediate. Frank liked Maggie. They took long, leisurely walks along the lake, studied at the library, went to the football games, and even attended a couple of church services together. They watched old movies, both devotees of the sentimental, sappy stuff- Miracle on 34^th Street, The Bells of Saint Mary’s, The Bishop’s Wife, and, of course, Casablanca which they saw a remarkable seven times. Frank’s favorite times were sitting with Maggie on a hillside at a city park under a darkened sky, when they talked…and talked… and talked.

“Maggie! A shooting star!”

“That’s one of my favorite things.”

“Mine too. They are so cool, but they only last for a second or two. I wish they’d last longer.”

“That’s why you put them in your pocket. That way the moments last forever.”

That was it. Was it the way she looked in the light of the moon, her serious reflection on a higher being, or the peace he felt just to be with her? Maybe, just maybe, Frank loved the girl he met in the most unlikely of places.

But…love? He didn’t know if he could even define it. Caring a lot? Wanting to be in the presence of the other? “Like” x 7? Then what? Marriage? Kids? A house with a big mortgage? Too soon for all of that. Frank took a lucrative job in a faraway place. Time and distance are formidable foes, and they drifted apart.

 Frank knew the quagmire he ended up in, but he never knew what happened to Maggie. But she was always on his mind, the smile, the laugh, the warm, loving touch, the tear in her eye when Rick and Ilsa parted at the airport, sitting on that hillside, even the image of the pretty girl at the end of the bar devouring a chunk of beef jerky.

Now, too late, he knew. Love- ‘You’ll know it when you feel it’. Frank felt it. He loved Maggie. And something else that Frank knew was perhaps even more troubling. He knew in his heart that she loved him. He could have been happy all those years.

 Frank often wondered if her life was as sad and lonely as his had been. Did she remember their time together the same way he did? Did she find love with another? Part of Frank wished she found her happiness, but then that weaker side hoped she missed him as much as he missed her.

“Good game, Joey. You were awesome out there.”

“Thanks, Grandpa.”

“Are you sure you won’t come for dinner tonight, Dad.?”

“No, thanks. I’m a little tired. I’m just going to watch a little TV and get to bed early.”

Why do things happen the way they do? As Frank walked to his car, he saw a group of people leaving another game from an adjacent field.

 Fate and coincidence often weave their way into our lives. ‘Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world, she walks into mine.’ The first time was a gin joint, this time a soccer field parking lot. Different setting, same impact. The years could not distort the image. It was her, Maggie, his dear sweet Maggie.

Frank froze. It was all there in front of him in an instant- the beef jerky, her smile, the long walks, holding her in his arms.

She was with a white-haired gentleman, a young couple, and a small boy in a soccer uniform. The picture told the story. Grandma.

 Frank almost forgot to breathe. He couldn’t think. She was passing by. He would stay silent. But how could he not say something to the person who had consumed so much of his life? The decision wasn’t his. Maggie saw Frank, and she slowly approached.

“Frank? Is…is it you?”

He couldn't speak, but she knew.

“Hello, Frank.”

“Hello, Maggie.”

Hearing her name spoken from his lips startled him.

Silence as they both tried to digest the moment. Frank didn’t want Maggie to see him like this. He had lost weight, he was tired, old, and worn down from his treatments. He thought he should have just taken off when he first saw her.

“I’m here …for my grandson’s soccer game, Maggie.”

“Same for me, Frank.”

Frank saw the white-haired gentleman looking in their direction. Frank hated the guy. He had all those years with Maggie, his Maggie.

“How have you been, Frank?”

“Good… and you Maggie, how have you been?”

“I’m fine, Frank. It’s nice to see you.”

Her eyes were pulling him in. The air was sucked out of him as all those years he missed were tearing at his heart.

“You… you look good, Maggie.”

“Thanks, Frank. I…”

“Maggie! They want to get going.”

Frank hated the guy even more. He wanted the moment to last. He wanted to know what her life had been like… and he wanted to take a long walk with her, maybe catch an old movie, sit on a hillside… and see a falling star.

But maybe he didn’t want to know how the years had been for Maggie. It would hurt to learn if she didn’t harbor those same feelings, visit those same memories, and that she had quickly moved on.

The answer came like a stake driven through his heart as Frank saw a little tear forming in the corner of her eye. After all these years, they could still read each other's faces.

“We should have put it in our pocket, Frank. We should have put it in our pocket.”

Maggie turned and slowly walked away, disappearing in the distance, just like all those years.