PORTRAYAL 37… For Matthew
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A faint knocking caught my attention.
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And though both of us knew that nothing in this life is permanent except change, we still couldn’t help seeing it as a nebulous form of chaos. Mostly because we had no clue what to expect when change came knocking. And that was the kicker…. That even though both of us knew, from our own experiences, that a certain measure of intelligence and resilience were necessary in times of change, and that no one can ever truly understand their strengths and weaknesses without changing, we still struggled during the process. As I was mulling these things, I was plunged suddenly in sadness….
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The knocking sounded closer now, and my friend was coughing. A wash of memories flooded through me.
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Despite our many quirks, we’d always been able to adapt to whatever changes came along, sometimes even with a certain degree of panache, especially after realizing that the process wasn’t going to destroy us. For most of our teens, we’d walked the razors edge together, and in most things, we’d contended the same, and the evidences of our unity were always similar. Our friendship was all that mattered. Thankfully, the mightiness of youth kept us focused, driven, enthusiastic, rebellious, and on occasion, given to bouts of youthful impulsiveness.
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Like the time we drove downtown San Diego, to a seedy pawnshop, and bought 25 caliber Beretta pistols because we wanted to be like Sean Connery in James Bond. Or the time we snuck away at night to a farm up north, where, with camouflaged faces, in dark hoods and pants, we stole hops seedlings from an unwitting farmer. Our plan, when we’d returned, was to graft marijuana and hops seedlings together to make a hybrid plant that we could grow out in the open. Marijuana that grew like hops vines. If it worked, we were going to open up a brand new market and make bundles. Or so we thought. For months we tried to marry those two plants together, but to no avail. We could never get them to even like each other. Our best efforts bore no fruit, no buds, no smokable vines, nada que valga la pena; it was a major bummer. As it turned out though, after that, we never fired up another ''doobie'' again. And given our natures… though we were truly disappointed, we blew off the failure rather quickly. The next adventures for us would take us both in different directions. I’d been drafted into the Army Corps of Engineers. I’d be taking my guitar with me, and eventually heading for Europe for two years. Matt was slated to play his Hammond B3 with one of the popular San Diego rock bands. And so it was, that when we both turned 19, our paths separated.
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The years passed.
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I remember us laughing a lot. Especially when we’d reminisce about the two long-haired gifted teenage musicians, who schemed and surfed regularly, and who had no problem packing up and pressing out into the unknown, as long as there were funds. Best of friends we were…. friends who never backed down from any challenge, and who had somehow emerged no worse for wear from whatever we’d knowingly or unwittingly ventured into. For a while now, we’d found ourselves pining for all that energy we’d been blessed with as teenagers. The kind of zeal that had slowly vanished over the years. It was perfectly clear to us, now older and laughably wiser, how subtle the process of loss can be, especially when you awaken one day to the stark revelation that most of what you once took for granted is gone now, or has become something else entirely.
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The knocking was closer…. Now, his wheezing and coughing intensified.
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I stared helplessly as Matt''s trembling hand reached out towards a tarnished old doorknob. Reluctantly the fingers closed around it, and as his wrist arched down, and the strike released, the doorway swung open with a low mournful squeak. Tears welled up in my eyes. Standing on the other side was a kindly-faced man clothed in white. His countenance was radiant.
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“Welcome to the next season…” he declared. “You should know…. Truth arrived here many centuries ago, and what He accomplished on Earth offers eternal permanence to those who believe in Him. We are indeed blessed to have been given this opportunity to partake of Paradise. It’s so good to see you. Matthew… you are spoken of highly, and all the good you have accomplished has been known to us for many decades. If there’s anything you need, I will know. Welcome home….”
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After that, the man coalesced into the light, and vanished.
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The next moment, something like a carousel appeared above, and a fiery radiance started filtering down as spectral slivers cascaded through an ever-changing atmosphere. People were emerging now from within the light, and all their voices were combined harmoniously in a splendor of infrangible concordance. As the living sound permeated the atmosphere, two smiling individuals walked nearer to my friend.
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“Mom…. Dad….” Matthew cried out with great joy.
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What I was seeing was profoundly beautiful, and well beyond mortal understanding. Sobbing tearfully now, I watched as welcoming angelic messengers appeared roundabout. Looking back at me, Matthew waved energetically, and then he grinned with that same goofy expression he’d always used when he was really happy. In that moment, I knew, beyond a shadow, that there was nothing anymore for him here on this side of the veil. All he needed now was in the Light, and with all those who had gone on before. Waving back, I watched as he was surrounded by the others. All were laughing gleefully, as they walked into the Light and vanished.
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A week later, I took my friends ashes and drove north to the towering cliffs overlooking Torrey Pines State Beach. Two places Matt loved were the Natural Reserve Park, and the long stretch of sandy beach between La Jolla and Del Mar. With a heavy heart, I removed the lid of the urn and slowly shook out his remains over the edge. For several moments the powdery gray ashes drifted around in the air in ghostly shapes, and then slowly they vanished. On the beach below, a group of friends had all stopped to watch my ritual. When I’d finished, they waved, and patted their hearts, and then all of them continued on their way.
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© richard lloyd cederberg
1/2024
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The PORTRAYAL SERIES: Personal insights (good and bad) concerning immediate family and old friends (alive or dead). The series will also address some of the actors, artists, musicians, and writers I worked with in college, or professionally, all of whom were influential (in one way or another) in shaping the man I’ve become.
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Ron
For someone who holds most super-natural ideas as debatable, you've penned a fair story of those closing days, hours and moments before ending in a respectful and personal concept a reader can accept. The overall structure of the story was inviting... down to the final action of spreading the ashes. Fine writing, Richard. I look forward to future additions. Kudos.
Poignant phrases, these -- "...no one can ever truly understand their strengths and weaknesses without changing, we still struggled during the process. As I was mulling these things, I was plunged suddenly in sadness…."
"For a while now, we’d found ourselves pining for all that energy we’d been blessed with as teenagers. The kind of zeal that had slowly vanished over the years. It was perfectly clear to us, now older and laughably wiser, how subtle the process of loss can be, especially when you awaken one day to the stark revelation that most of what you once took for granted is gone now, or has become something else entirely."