Looking in the Mirror

I hesitate to share with you the bitter frailties I have succumbed to. The fire hose of isolation that has extinguished me. These things that have robbed me of much sleep and much trust, and have forced me to be alone. Honesty makes me vulnerable, you see. Anybody is susceptible. But I am not one of those men so filled up with testosterone that I must hide behind my machismo. And besides, man cannot become fully man until he has completely divulged himself.

I speak on behalf of no one but myself, so this is but a solitary, relative opinion. It is neither right nor wrong. It is just I. Plain and simple. But believe me when I tell you that deep inside the heart of every crippled man…is a woman.

A very close friend of mine once described loneliness as the most violent act perpetrated on all of humanity. Though I consider myself a poet of sorts, that thought had never crossed my mind. As a victim of the act myself, I always imagined being in the corner of an empty house drinking orange juice. Or crying myself to sleep. Or watching consecutive Hollywood movies to numb my pain. Not being stabbed to death under a stark white street light and left for dead – the neighborhood dogs eating my remains. But, I guess that really is a more accurate picture of what loneliness does to a person. Isn’t it?

So, I said all that to say this…Ginger. I’ve been thinking a lot about her the past few days. Ah, Ginger. Light of my life. Fire of my loins. My sin. My soul. Ginger. (And before anyone accuses me of base plagiarism…thank you Mr. Nabokov. His words just feel so sweetly apropos.) The part I remember about Ginger the most is the vacancy she left behind. And then, of course, there was the mall*

*As a way of explaining myself: it was still the eighties. Indoor shopping malls were still a relatively recent novelty. Besides, I was young and impressionable. The image of malls as capitalist cancer and consumer whoredom was not yet clear to me.

We had come for Ghostbusters at the Cineplex Odium – located at the Southeast end of the newly christened Gatebriar Mall, in lovely, suburban Gatebriar. It was 1984. Bill Murray and Rick Moranis were ridding high at the box office. It was my fourth viewing, so I was a little more interested in Ginger’s bare summer shoulders. She wanted to watch the movie, which we did, and then do a little shopping, which we also did. I was just so happy to be with her.

The Limited, Deb, B. Dalton Booksellers, K&K Toys and Spencer’s Gifts. We perused their wares and I bought her a pair of sterling silver shark tooth earrings from Spencer’s. She put them on right away and I felt like all man. As man as a man could be - because I had Ginger by my side.

Her shoulders, the ones I mentioned earlier, were guarded only by the thin straps of her fiery-red sun dress. It was just a shade off from her hair, and was covered with big, black polka dots. She was breathtaking. And she clutched my hand like I really mattered. Through all the cycles of sweat. I was so proud. Not a hint of loneliness anywhere.

Every guy in that mall stared at her with deep, deep longing, but they didn’t dare speak. How could they? Her beauty was painful. But she was with me. And we were at the mall. And there was nothing or nobody that could touch that.

I don’t really know why I dwell on that time specifically. Maybe because of the rarity. One of the few times we actually went out. We usually just stayed at her house. Her mom was always working. We’d study. Or read. But mostly we’d kiss. For hours. Stopping only because our lips hurt or our tongues were cramped. Then we’d kiss some more. Why do we grow out of that stage? Or is it just me? Seems like it was completely satisfying at 16.

Anyway, that’s all we ever really did. Kiss. One day her mom came home early and Ginger looked a beautiful mess. She rolled off me, and the bed, and went into the bathroom to change her clothes; but she left the door ajar. That’s when I saw her. All of her. The first time I had seen a completely real, completely naked girl. I saw her full, voluptuous figure in the vanity mirror. And then her eyes. A knowing smile. Coy. She liked me seeing her. She wanted me to see her. I can’t tell you what that did to my insides. Ultimately, it ruined me. And that was as far as things went between Ginger and I.

If I was really honest, I didn’t believe such beauty could abide me for long, and I was right. She dumped me for Matt Zachary – star quarterback for the Gatebriar Soldiers. Rumor has it, she did a little more with him than just let him see her naked, but it didn’t really matter. The paralysis had already set in from the time of goodbye. And ever since, that’s what I’ve had to live with: the violence of her absence. Every single day. Filtering. Insinuating. Forcing itself into every relationship since.

They say the first step to healing is admittance of the problem, but I don’t really believe them. But, what the hell…Ginger, you took my heart. The least you could do now is let me live with the hole.