Eight Letters, Three Words, One Meaning.
After a long leave of absence, I am writing again with a few fresh thoughts. Hopefully, it won't be too long before I get to the next installment.
This time around, I'll take a look at a modern classic, Jerry Zucker's Ghost. This 1990 box office smash solidified the careers of Patrick Swayze, Demi Moor and lent credibility to Whoopi Goldberg's acting talents, Bruce Joel Rubin's writing expertise as well as Zucker's deft directing skills. It also sold a lot of tissues and instigated a huge wave of people taking up pottery.
Let's refresh the memory about the simple plot. Sam Wheat (Swayze) and Molly Jensen (Moore) is a happy, loving couple who just moved in together. Things are going well for them. Sam is about to get promoted at the bank and Molly's sculptures are about to get noticed by the New York Times. Then one fateful night as they were walking home, they got mugged and Sam was shot. Still, Molly is in danger and it is up to Sam and Oda Mae Brown (Goldberg), a bogus medium with a hidden hearing talent, to make things right.
I first saw Ghost in a run-down, cheesy theater that belonged in the 1950s. Through the bad projection system, mono-aural sound and sticky floors creeping with roaches, I got away with tears in my eyes and a chest full of emotions. I felt that I had just learned a life lesson. I also had a feeling that I would experience this overwhelming loss of love for real. What I didn't know was how soon it would come.
Life Lesson: The Beginning.
It was the height of summer of 1994. I was ready for whatever life was going to bring me — plus a few summer movies. Previously that spring, I had a breakup that was somewhat amusing. The other party that got dumped felt otherwise. However, I felt sorry that he had to be the one to shake me off my teenage romanticism. Now, I was ready for the real thing.
I met Rob through a BBS, the precursor to the Internet. His online profile looked interesting and I decided to chat him up without even knowing how he look like. Before long, my time was up and in a last minute effort to stay in touch, he typed in his phone number before I got disconnected. Hesitantly, having never rang up a long distance number before, I called him up. Three hours later, and to the ire of my roommates, we hanged up after having talked about most of everything. We also had set a date for our first meeting, which was to take place a week later. On July 1st, I called him again and we notched up a two and a half hours call, an attempt to pace ourselves for the date that was to follow.
At 1 P.M. on Saturday, July 2nd, I walked out of my apartment and into his car. After exchanging pleasantries and briefly eyeing each other up, he started to drive off for our first date — to the movies! At the traffic lights a hundred yards from my apartment and barely 15 seconds into the meeting, I had a déja vu. It was a surreal yet comforting feeling to know that this part of my life I had somehow foreseen: in a car on a bright summer day with a cute looking husky and goateed man named Rob. Rob noticed this and asked me what was wrong. I told him what I felt. He asked me if I wanted to go back, thinking that I was uncomfortable with the situation. I told him to drive on, reassuring him that I was okay. I mean, how could you not go through with a date that was envisioned?
We drove to downtown Cleveland, and me being a budding cinemaphile since last summer, asked Rob to head us back to the East side to a DTS-equipped, THX-certified theater to watch
The Shadow. Rob enjoyed the movie. I only thought it was mildly amusing.
Reluctant to go back to my single life and sensing that he felt the same, I suggested that we go to Edgewater Park. We spent a few hours there, talking about the things that we haven't dwelled upon and taking pictures of each other. It wasn't until the chill of the evening and the rumble of our stomachs forced us to leave and head off to the nearest eatery. By a happy accident, we found a delightful mom&pop Thai restaurant that was small and cozy, somewhere in the West side.
After dinner, we were back again at Edgewater Park, comfortable in the dark of the car, looking out yet looking in. Rob asked me what my expectation was about the whole thing. I told him I had none, that I will let whatever should happen to happen, and if that leads to something meaningful then so be it. He told me that he wasn't looking for love, just for some company. But he agreed to let events clear the path.
There was a sadness in his voice and then for the first time, he opened up. His honesty touched me and I reassured him with gentle strokes of my thumb at the back of his hand. We sat silently in the car, the comfort of each other's company filling the gap in the conversation in a way no words could eloquently express.
Life Lesson: The Middle.
Summer of 1994 was a blur and held a few firsts for me. I went to the first concert in my life
— Melissa Etheridge's Yes I Am Tour — with Rob. I also felt real love for the first time, with Rob.
Like the best things in life, it wasn't planned nor expected. Both of us just seemed to compliment each other through the vast differences in age and cultural differences. Perhaps because we enjoyed learning those aspects about ourselves with each other, it never seemed like a hurdle. Our differences balanced out the equation. Where I was inexperienced, Rob was a well-traveled wayfarer. Where he was hurried and troubled, I was calm and sane. We enjoyed each other's company and were each other's best friend. We would turn in at the end of the day and in the dark, snuggle up to each other. We would talk about the philosophical things now, sharing our perception of the world in complete honesty. When the conversation was over and the topic exhausted, we would rise to make love.
Love therefore came easily. The weight of it was painful. I had come to the realization that I was falling for him by the third date. I seems fast even to me now but that's how life is. I knew it would be a difficult thing to suppress and not expressed. Rob told me that he couldn't give his heart out again after having it broken by the love before me. He couldn't possibly survive another heartbreak. It was for this reason that I tried to keep my feelings hidden.
All that effort went out the window the night we watched Fried Green Tomatoes on a Beta-SP deck Rob had kept in working order. The movie had dredged up all the emotions out of me. We were in bed facing each other. I had looked down at his handsome smiling face and I knew I could not live without him. Tears started to flow down my cheeks to his. He asked me what was wrong. I told him the truth, "Nothing." It was the truth, for the things that were meant to be were in place. He asked me again what was the matter. And again I told him the truth, that I couldn't possibly have the heart tell him for fear that I might hurt him.
My eyes told him what my mouth couldn't speak of. Rob saw through it and he knew. We hugged tightly and made love like old couples do. We snuggled close in the warm glow of the aftermath and fell asleep.
Things were different in the morning but only on my side of the fence. I would enjoy his every move and smile wistfully. My "Nothings" were "I love yous". He knew it too. It was a delicate, unspoken love. On the day that he was to leave town again, we were standing at the terminal, waiting for the call to board his flight. We both agreed very earlier on that there are never really goodbyes, just plenty of see-you-later. But even that was kinda hard to do after the loud proclamation of my silent love. He put off getting on board till the last minute, then made his way. As I watched him heading towards the gate, Rob suddenly turned. His face was reddened and he tears welled up in his eyes. I wanted to run and kiss him right here, but knowing the circumstances, I managed only a small smile.
I went back home and I resigned to the fact that perhaps mine was a love that was unrequited. It was a love fully given and accepted. I knew that his feelings for me were deep and meaningful, but maybe one that could not go beyond affection. I had to accept that fact and deal with it. I did allow myself to think that the look he gave me at the terminal was perhaps his best attempt of not expressing his love.
Days had past before I got a letter from Rob, somewhere on his business trip. What he could not say that weekend, he wrote it instead. I tried not to let my tears smear the letter. My heart flew. I was the luckiest man on Earth.
Our first meeting after this acknowledgment was passionate. We were both teary eyed when we drove away from my apartment towards the 45-minute drive to
Cuyahoga Falls. Once we were safe in the confines of his apartment, he told me he loved me
—
the one and only time he could ever say it out loud. But it was enough.
Summer eventually gave way to Fall. It was the signal of the end of the honeymoon period. Early in September, he had to leave Ohio to start his own business in Irving, Texas. Communication was restricted to long distance phone calls. Visits were difficult with the start of the fall semesters and his hectic schedule. The strain that we felt was the frustration that we can't be together as often as we used to. October was dealt with slowly. Whatever form of contact was precious. The memory of his touch, his taste, his smell and how he felt were in my head everyday. The pictures of last summer kept me company.
In November, he came up for a trip to Cleveland to wrap up things with his former employer. We had a three day weekend. I was under pressure from a study extension that was pending approval. He was financially stretched too. The expenses from his new business were draining his savings away. It was during this time that we had our first and only fight over a hundred bucks. It was a silly argument but we didn't talk to each other for a few hours. Eventually it resolved itself, somewhat.
The last morning of this weekend was painful as most fond farewells are. The idea of being separated again was unbearable. We had just finished showering and he was over the sink, shaving. I held him from behind and told him I loved him. He smiled his wonderful smile. I took a snapshot of the image of us in the mirror. A thought flashed through my mind. This might be the last time we would see each other. This might be the last time we would be happy together.
Just like the déja vu on our first date, this instinct was correct. That morning was the last time I would hold him close.
Life Lesson: The Life.
Fall gave away to Winter. Our relationship deteriorated further as the seasons changed. Because of tight budget on both ends, we couldn't meet since November. I had hoped for a Christmas respite but he had to go to California to ask for a small loan from his friends.
Winter led to Spring of 1995. It gave both of us hope. I already asked him to send me job ads from Dallas so that I could move there once I graduate in April. He complied but didn't make other extensive arrangements beyond that. Expectations were running high. There were problems to be solved, with extra consideration of my student visa that would expire upon graduation. Still we kept at it though neither of us knew a way out. I had promised to come back for him if I had to return back to Malaysia for a while.
On an early evening, Friday, April 21st, 1995 I called him up, having been annoyed that he hadn't returned my calls for the past week. A stranger picked up the phone and introduced himself as
Raul. I asked him where Rob was. He told me that Rob was in bed. He had had pneumonia for about a week but had refused to go to the hospital as he had no money to cover for it. Incredulous at this explanation, I told
Raul to get Rob to the hospital right away, whether he likes it or not.
I woke up the next morning with a strange feeling. Spring was in full bloom, and the day looked sunny and warm. Yet something did not feel right. After breakfast, I called up Irving to check up on things.
Raul picked up the phone. He was at lost for words and sounded distraught. I asked him what was wrong. He told me bluntly: Rob had passed away at eight o'clock that morning.
I was shocked. Final exams came and went. Graduation felt like it wasn't such a big of a deal. I left America having never visited Rob in Irving, once.
For the next 12 months, I was in various stages of mourning. Intellectually, I knew that Rob was freer in the afterlife, leaving his troubled life behind. Emotionally, I wanted him back with me every single day. I missed him terribly. Not a single day passed by that I didn't think of him. I'd even talk to him when I was alone, as if he was around.
This wasn't such a weird idea. I may be agnostic but it doesn't mean that I am not spiritual. But ever since he died, I had felt that I wasn't quite alone where ever I was. And my instincts are rarely wrong. I had felt an awkward sense of emptiness that Saturday morning before I even called Irving up. This was the same feeling I felt when first my mother, then my father and then my uncle passed away. The only difference is I had lost the love of my life in Rob. My only sole comfort was the feeling that he was around, making sure that I was coping well. I did miserably for the first six months.
Death is the cruelest of breakups. I could never ring Rob up anymore to vent my anger at him. I could never meet him for breakfast, lunch or dinner. I could never kiss him, hug him and make love to him. There is no second chance. There is no reconciliation. My world had forever changed.
I couldn't honestly say that our relationship would have lasted if he did make it through the night. But I would have liked to be given a chance of saying goodbye for the last time.
Ditto.
At the end of Ghost, Oda Mae became a believer of the afterlife. Molly and Sam have a last chance to say goodbye. Through the power of belief and Hollywood special visual effects, their last words to each other are forever sealed on-screen.
In real life, the only chance you have of expressing your love is in the here and now, while you're still alive. Believe the love that you gave and received, however brief, was real. Enjoy it while it lasts. Don't be afraid if love overwhelms you for it is in its nature to do so. Love well and wholeheartedly for only love would see you through it all.
I didn't have the chance to share Rob's last few moments. I had to create that moment. So on the first anniversary of his passing, I held my peace. I forgave him for what little he did me wrong and asked of him the same. I forgave myself for not being there for him through the hard times when he was struggling alone. I told him that I will forever love him and that where ever I go, I'll take him with me. I said, "See ya!" And let him go.
I woke up the next morning without his presence around me anymore. I was glad I set both of us free.
In Memory of Robert Aaron Parker
November 27th 1949 - April 22nd, 1995
WetWetWet
PS — Thanks to Bruce, Dave, Jim & Jim, and all my roommates and friends in Cleveland who was there for me. I would never be able to cope without all of you. *bearhugz* Thanks also to George Michael for writing Jesus To A Child, and Sarah McLachlan for Hold On.
