Behind the Curtain

Good people come in all shapes and sizes. Deciding what kind of people to allow access to your life is a very important thing. I think of it as subjecting yourself to a marketing campaign aimed at how to live. As sure as a billboard with a blended frosty on it will make you commit three hundred traffic violations in route to the nearest Wendy's, the input of those around you subliminally guide your own reactions. I certainly wouldn't classify my group of friends as waspy frat boys. That was never my group. In fact, I was never really known for fitting in to common social circles. This was never more apparent than when a friend in college referred to me as the whitest, blackest, gayest, straightest, most alpha person he'd ever met. In real life, I'm a short, straight white guy. But my interests in life didn't fit a personality set that he'd ever seen. I sang opera and musical theater, but I also obsessed over college football and mixed martial arts. When I burned a CD, the playlist might contain a combination of southern gospel and gangster rap. It seems that I had become the personification of my a.d.d.

My pet peeve, when it comes to friends, is people with ulterior motives. I like people who are who they are. Now listen, that doesn't mean "I like people who speak their minds." That's something completely different. When I think of a person who's proud of the fact that they speak their mind, I immediately picture some vapid twenty four year old chick talking WAY too loud in public. "WHO DOES HE THINK HE IS? GIIIIRL, I DON'T PUT UP WITH THAT CRAP." Wow, I just shivered a little at the sound of my own inner-monologue. Anyway, my collection of friends has always been a little on the unique side. They're all very different, but share the common thread of being fundamentally good human beings. The best people I know are all weirdos. In honor of that fact, I give you the story of Marge.

Young, enlisted members of the military don't make a ton of money. My housing allowance at my first unit was $750 a month. Had I been stationed in Doodad County, Arkansas I'm sure I could have afforded a palatial mansion. (Why did I just capitalize a fictional place?) However, I was stationed at Oak Island, NC. Oak Island, and nearby Southport, were sleepy little coastal towns that BOOMED in the summer, due to the influx of New Jersians. Therefore, summer rentals dominated the market, and lowly coasties were hung out to dry. For $750 a month Amanda and I moved in to a 600 square foot shotgun house with only one closet. To say it was small would be an insult to small things worldwide. It was damn near a dollhouse. The ceilings were so low that I had to slide in to bed horizontally to avoid being decapitated by the ceiling fan. We have a raised bed, but it was still ridiculous. Thank God I was never startled in the middle of the night. That would been a tough concussion to explain.

Did I mention it was in the bad part of town? It was. Do you know a really good way to make a Father comfortable about where his new son-in-law picked for his daughter to live? Have a cop show up, while you're moving in, to warn you about the crime in the area. That will do it. But any trepidation Amanda's dad had should have been completely soothed by who we met next.

A half-drunk woman, with weathered and sun-burned skin sauntered over to the porch with a Milwaukee's Best (blue label) in her hand. She had short, cropped hair, a voice like someone mocking a redneck, and the vocabulary of a sailor. She offered to help us unpack our u-haul full of stuff. Amanda's dad quickly rebutted that we were doing fine, and would not require her help. "Don't bother yourself, Marge, we're almost done." To which she replied, "Hell, it's no bother. I ain't got no problems, unless I run out of beer." These were not words of comfort for my very devout Southern Baptist Father-in-law. But what happened next made all of our jaws collectively hit the floor. Marge reached down and, with her one free hand, grabbed a huge Rubbermaid container, that was about five feet long and filled to the brim with books, and slung it up on to her shoulder. It was very smooth. So smooth, in fact, that she didn't even spill her beer. This container probably weighed over 150 lbs., easy, yet she toted it around with one arm like it was filled with cotton balls. As we emptied the u-haul, Amanda's parents bid us farewell and were on there way. As they loaded the car, Marge piped up "Don't you worry a bit, I'll make sure yer kids are safe and sound. If anybody starts any trouble, I'll just get my old shotgun and shoot their ass!" Please Marge. Please stop trying to help.

While Amanda's dad was worried about this situation, my dad saw it as something completely different. He was ecstatic that Marge would be there to stand guard while I was on the boat. He was right. Marge was an amazing person. She had life all figured out. She worked in the cooling tower construction business. Apparently she was very good at her job and made a nice living. However, she only worked during the winter. There was no way she would allow something as trivial as work to get in the way of her real passion, fishing. Marge was unemployed eight months a year so she could fish everyday in her 14 foot flat bottom skiff. Most people would be terrified at the thought of taking a fourteen foot skiff out an inlet and fishing just offshore. Not Marge. She would load up her beer, her dog, and her effeminate boyfriend and fish until sundown.

Also, she was uneducatedly brilliant (yes, I know that's not a real word). She was funny and interesting. A real find. How could I have possibly lived the rest of my life without the knowledge of her existence. She was rough and tough and seemingly invincible. That was until the day she became human. We'd lived next to her for months thinking of her as some sort of novelty. We had not seen all of her. I would've never imagined that Marge could feel pain.

During one of her stints at work, her boyfriend left. He didn't leave a note or a message. He just packed up his stuff and left. In all honesty, he was probably terrified at what she would do to him for leaving her. She knocked on our door with a depressingly puzzled look on her face. She asked us whether we'd seen him or talked to him. We had not. She wasn't simply asking though; she was desperate. The sadness in her eyes had an air of panic to it. This sadness frightened her. She wasn't familiar with vulnerability and weakness. This wasn't in her plan. We sat out there with her for a long time as she talked and cried her way through the obvious stages of grief. "Was it something I did? Did he meet someone else? Maybe if I just called him more, or told him I loved him?" She was angry, hurt, and scared. In fact, she was mostly scared. I was awestruck at how she suddenly seemed so small and fragile. I then began picturing her as a child staring down the first day of school. The pain seemed too big and uncontrollable. In that instant she was nothing more than heartbroken.

To be honest, I was heartbroken for her. She was a good person, who treated us like we were her own kids. This was karmic injustice. But, in true Marge fashion, she picked herself up. The next day, she and the dog piled in to that little skiff and hit the water. No one would've ever believed our story of her fragility. But on that day, we really knew her. She was who she was. She didn't hide her pain or vulnerability. She longed for comfort like everyone else. She was still funny and loud, but we'd seen behind the curtain. We'd seen the great and powerful Marge, and were just as shocked as Dorothy and the Tin Man. That moment taught me a lot about humility and real honesty. Maybe it only exacerbated my preconceived opinions of how to be a real person. Recently, someone referred to me as a real person. That might be the best compliment I've had in a long time. While I don't see myself as completely self-actualized, I am slowly but surely getting more comfortable with the idea of who I am. Hopefully, I'm an amalgamation of the influence of the good people I've met. Hopefully, you are too.