What's Love Got to Do With It

What’s Love Got to Do With It?

“You made it. I had my doubts. What with everything going on I wasn’t sure you’d be able to get here. Any trouble?”

“No. I am fortunate. Working for the airlines gives me a certain amount of flexibility others don’t have. I do not apologize for that. Everyone has advantages others can’t utilize. It is the way the world works.”

Jean believes in a world that exists because it has too. We are born by circumstance into a life, inherit the tools provided, and when old enough to determine our own destinies, we either deny or accept what others tell us who they believe we are. She is difficult to be around because of her optimism, or I should say, lack of it. I don’t know that she permeates life with the darkness before the dawn, as much as the dusk before darkness.

Her ability to see the stark reality of everything and everyone has the effect of driving most of her acquaintances as far from her reach as possible. It is a natural reaction, as we have the ability to find darkness without being reminded constantly, we are about to be emerged in it.

When I asked her what she planned on doing for New Years this year, she said, “Anything but the usual.” She was tired of playing by the rules especially when the rules were about to expire.

I need explain. We have just received news that the world, as we know it, is to be impacted by a meteor on New Years Day, and therefore the likelihood that this will be our last New Years; we should prepare. How does one prepare for the last of anything. Going out and buying fifty rolls of toilet paper seems a might reactionary, although it has proven to be a mechanism of first response.

Jean and I have talked about the reasoning for such responses, and we cannot agree on the reasoning associated with it. It’s not just the hoarding, but the idea that something is going to alleviate the apprehension of being no more. I admit it is a difficult thing to comprehend, but then what else is there to do? No use in pretending all will be well if we stock up on batteries. Will we have enough coffee to get us through the impending carnage or will we need to bring along books about withdrawal?

Jean doesn’t believe in an afterlife, and she has succeeded in explaining her reasoning to me, but I still don’t understand. It’s not that we have to believe in heaven or hell or any of that melodrama, but we should consider the spiritual necessity for an end zone of sorts. A place where part of the game is over. It gives the impression of winning without the actual score being posted, as it has yet to be determined. We need to finish the game for it to have relevance, as far as winning or losing is concerned.  And that is if you care about such things as winning and loosing. After all, just because one game ends, it doesn’t necessarily mean another can’t begin.

It is this contention of there being either nothing, or in another form of nothing, that our enigma lies. If there is nothing as Jean suggests, then that is the end of it, at least as far as we are concerned. I would assume we all will have to find our own conclusion when the time comes. I however believe that if there is simply a different form of life, a life we can’t even imagine, wouldn’t that be better than nothing.

Jean says that is what is wrong with the world. We have become a bunch of muddle-headed worshipers of the intoxicated ideology of something different, being better than nothing at all. So she says, “Dying in the desert, is better when believing in an Oasis?” My response was that if it lessened the suffering, what does it matter. “Delusion,” her answer. “That is the problem with the world,” she says. “We delude ourselves into thinking things can’t get worse. And even when they do, we pretend they aren’t as bad as they could have been.”

Her logic, although understandable, is difficult to follow because she refuses to believe in hope. Without hope we can expect no change as we have eliminated the possibility by labeling it an impossibility.

I invited all my friends to come to the New Years celebration in The Square, to watch the New Year arrive. Most replied, “What’s the point?” I saw their need to believe what science tells us, is a certainty, but I can’t help but consider there is always the chance that something will happen to change the outcome. I believe that if we give up on hope, then even the possibility is gone. Jean says I’m one of those people who believe in optimism because we refuse to believe in reality. I hope she is right.

We have decided to attend the Ball Drop, and participate in the countdown, no matter what the following day would bring. She is convinced that even though the world will end, we will not be alone, and to her, that reality is worth more than hope. I wish I could feel as accepting of an inevitability, that I can’t accept.

I found two lawn chairs in the storage unit in the basement that might work if we are gentle. Jean is making sandwiches with every conceivable ingredient that has been associated with hair loss, obesity, tooth decay, and dementia. She says, “What have we got to lose?” I see her point, but somehow in my beliefs, I have found them to be a bit deeper than just, if I consume something, it might kill me. I’ve been more concerned with the impact the production of food has on the environment, and its adjuncts to life. Jean says I’m taking this optimism thing too far. We’ll see.

I was surprised as we approached the square that there was not the usual throng of people. There were actually only a half dozen other people. I noticed they had better lawn chairs than we did, but our picnic basket was not only more traditional, having belonged to my mother, but made of actual organic reeds from the Nile river basin. Jean asked if it was the same kind of basket Moses was found in. She has little reverence for anything, I’m afraid.

I have decided my goal in the remaining hours, should predictions come true, would attempt to help Jean see that hope and reality, don’t necessarily have to be at odds with one another. So, in the middle of our second cup of tequila, and a horseradish and pickle sandwich with extra butter, I proposed.

She remained, what I can only call noncommittal. After her lengthy explanation about not loving me, and did it really matter, I saw her point.  I was all there was, and commitment was no longer relevant. Jean’s explanation left me feeling less inspirational than I had hoped but I vowed to not let that interfere with the remainder of our time on earth, should Armageddon come to pass. 

I didn’t love Jean either but have never understood why that should have anything to do with marriage, as it was a recent historical addition to the mating game. I did however love her in a different way, and I attempted to explain the different types of love I believed in. She told me she wasn’t interested, as life was obviously short, and she preferred to spend her time repenting for all her perceived sins; in that way she would win no matter what.

I understood her logic but told her, I refused to give up on hope and love, no matter what she thought. 

She pretended to be angry, reality has a way of bringing the hope out of people though, even as a last-minute reprieve.

She said, “Yes.”  We watched as we prepared to toast the New Year amidst the chants of 10,9,8, and the ball beginning its decent, when it stopped half way down the pole. 

I thought immediately that hope had prevailed. She looking at the ball, then looking into my eyes, exclaimed, “Do we need to get an annulment, or wait to see if my reality is more real than your reality.”

As I contemplated her question, the ball began to move. She took my hand as the chair collapsed.  We found ourselves on the ground in a puddle of tequila, and in each other’s arms; me reciting the Lords’ Prayer, her wanting to know where I put the Dejon mustard. Ain’t love grand!