Chapter 25

I blinked and three weeks were gone. I had kept my head above water, barely, while squeezing out the time to finish the paper. And now, once again, I found myself waiting for Jeremy.

It was late, at his office, the end of long day, at the end of a punishing week. I was exhausted, having spent the last three nights finishing other papers – papers which I had pushed back to finish his paper and send it to him at the beginning of the week. At least this time the turn around was spectacularly quick.

His door was closed, but I could hear him speaking – speaking rather loudly. And rather angrily. The words were muffled, but it was obvious that now wasn’t a good time. But our meeting was suppose to begin, well actually, should have already begun. So I sat, waiting, trying not to listen while doing the exact opposite. I was a peeping-tom, witnessing something obviously private and personal.

Five minutes later, I heard the crack of a phone being placed down abruptly. Startled, I got my bag and prepared to leave. This was definitely not a good time. As I stood up, the door flew open, and Jeremy stood there, flustered, flushed. And I stared back, paralyzed.

“Oh…oh…you’re here. Is it time already?”

“Yeah…yes, Mr. Becker. But I can, well…I can come back.”

“No…no…please…come in and take a seat. Just give me a moment and I’ll be back”

He left his door open, motioning me inside. And, as I moved through the doorway, he moved out, down the hall, leaving me alone.

I put my bag down, but it felt awkward to sit in his office, by myself. So I stayed standing, taking inventory of the items scattered around. Shelves filled with books, papers in neat stacks, a couple of large file drawers. And there were several photos, scattered in frames, at various places. Except for one frame, lying on the floor, face-down, near my bag. I knelt to pick it up, turned it over instinctively, and found broken glass covering two smiling faces in profile, foreheads touching, hands resting on each others’ cheeks in comfortable intimacy. One question was now answered.

A gruff cough broke the silence, and there was Jeremy standing in the door frame. He looked composed now, though his eyes were focused on the frame in my hand, rather than me. He remained still, just staring at the photo, and as I looked on, I saw something broken, painful, and sad.

I reached out, let him take the frame. In one motion, it was out of my hands and into his desk drawer. And, in seconds, he was sitting at his desk, while I remained standing, transfixed by awkwardness. I sat down and let him take the lead. I wasn’t sure what was appropriate now.

“Um…Sorry…sorry. It’s been a bit of a trying period personally. I apologize that you had to see some of it.”

I just nodded. The air vibrated with his compressed emotions, and it made me jumpy, tense. I waited a moment, and when he said nothing, I ventured in.

“We, well, I can come back. If you need some time alone, Mr. Becker…”

I winced as his eyes shot back at me. Oops.

“…Jeremy. Really. Take some time, and I’ll meet you later.”

He sighed, heavily, then closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. He took a couple of elaborate breathes. And then he returned his eyes to me. Some of the anger had disappeared. Something more difficult was pouring in. And though he was looking at me, he wasn’t. He was lost to some other world.

There are times when doing nothing is best. When silence provides the necessary support to help a person move on, move forward. I learned, from the months I silently grieved for my father, that this was one great truth that many never understood. When all I wanted was someone to sit, listen, in silence. So I moved my chair closer to him. And I waited.

Bits and pieces unfolded – jumbled, cracked memories, colored by his feeling of loss, deception and betrayal. Pain from a relationship that couldn’t survive distance, couldn’t survive the personal demons that had, from the beginning, haunted them. In the end, a disaster, a wreck that left raw wounds, violent feelings. And for Jeremy, something worse – a sense of failure.

It was seeing a future disintegrate, dissolve from unstoppable forces out of your control. And, despite your best efforts, your attempts to maintain the vision, the hope, nothing, just the painful death of a dream. The world just doesn’t seem the same. You aren’t the same. The loss, unexpected and unfathomable, is now the reality you face each and every day, the cross you must bear. And, somehow, along the way, you convince yourself that, had you done something differently, made more of an effort, had been there, had made a change, you might have saved the dream.

And, in the hour of Jeremy’s monologue, I found something. Found a part of myself, in his feelings of failure. I had failed to support my family, in crisis. I hadn’t been there, when I could have been. I faced those questions, unanswerable yet ever-present. I knew something of him now.

He had exhausted himself. We now sat there, together, thinking, each of our own regrets. And in that moment, I remembered my dad. Regrets. Live with no regrets.

“Jeremy…I, well, don’t have much relationship experience. Well, let’s say no relationship experience. But I figure this much, if you can look back and see moments to cherish, moments that have let you feel what it’s like to cared for, depended on…loved… then it was worth it. Worth it to know what you want, what you deserve...”

It was late, and I needed to go. I gathered my bag as I spoke, but never let my eyes stray from his. He looked back, his features softening.

“That way, you can move on, without regrets.”

He stood up now, followed me as I moved towards his door. He place a hand on my shoulder, and I paused, looked back. He held out his hand, and I took it mine, shaking it firmly.

“Um…I’m sorry. I’ve kept you. But…well…thank you.”

I smiled at him. He was smiling back, pain draining away.

“No, please don’t. Let’s just say I can understand the need for a listening ear....”

With that, I left him to some necessary time alone.