After a few weeks of my internship and a few Friday night drink-ups at the shop, one of the guys said we should head out to one of the ex-pat bars over on the south side to investigate the nightlife and force me out of my apartment to meet some ladies so I could "get lucky." I appreciated his efforts and joined him that night.
After an hour of struggling to call a taxi to pick me up and a $20 cab ride for 2 miles (still bitter 4 years later), I arrived at Aqua a bit too early. An MMA fight was on the bar TV and roided out guys were screaming at the screens with the passion of Rocky. I ordered my Carib and waited for my buddy. Two Caribs and a rum and coke later, my coworker arrived drink in hand and smile on his face.
He buys me another rum and coke and we find a place on the wood paneled bar to watch the MMA fight for a second time. Shop-talk follows, with discussion of the GPS work we've done and diving on the island. Nothing social lubrication would facilitate. After finishing another round, we head to the tiki patio outside and he notices a lady in his periphery. He looks at me and said, "I'll be right back." He slid his hands into his khaki pockets and moseyed over to the women.
After striking up a conversation and getting her number he came back. Hands now out of his pockets he looked at me and said, "Sometimes I like to push the limits." I stared at him blankly and waited for a follow up. I could tell there had been an internal dialogue raging in his head and I was catching the tail end. "Would you think less of me if I took off my ring?"
All I could think about was his wife who had just fixed the perfect gnocchi two nights before, how she had just decided to take a ladies trip over to Cuba, and how she seemed like the most loving person I had ever met. To my dismay I found myself shrugging my shoulders and showing no disapproval. He wrestled and twisted the ring off and slipped it into his cargo pant pocket. He led the charge to the next bar.
We arrived at Boca de something, a more urban dance club that further illuminated his subtle Hawaiian shirt. He handed me two more beers and agreed we would head out in an hour. I danced; lazily. We met some people from an accounting firm and I struck up a conversation about the world cup and became engrossed in the island's obsession with its mother, Britain. After 30 minutes of intense dialogue, I see my friend on the couch talking with this same jet black haired lady from Aqua. It appears harmless and its not my responsibility to babysit this 30 year old man. Right? I reenter the conversation with my disappointment in the fall of Real Madrid despite a Yankee scale payroll.
The hour or so flies bye and closing time nears. I take a lap around the bar looking for my ringless friend and decide to take one last pass at the bathroom. After relieving my self, I found my accountant acquaintances. I tell them that my ride is nowhere to be found and I think he may have slipped out with his lady friend. They offer me a ride back to their place for an after party. Not seeing a better alternative, I agreed and hopped in the back seat. Inevitably, my friend was the topic of discussion but their disappointment was not in how he may have left with someone else but how I got shafted with finding a way home. Everyone has a beer or two more and then someone says their heading by my place and would drop me off on their way.
I wake up the next morning and put many of the pieces together from the previous night while watching the morning matches of the World Cup and look forward to the US actually making a decent showing later in the afternoon. Around noon I get a call from my M.I.A friend and he wants me to come over to watch the game and have some steaks. After 3 weeks of living off of hot dogs and ham sandwiches, I jumped at the opportunity. I hopped on my bike and rode the 5 miles to the other side of the island just in time for kickoff. Potatoes, steak and even a salad were waiting for me on the coffee table with Landon and crew on the TV.
We chat about the US's chances. I didn't bring up the night before and it didn't come up during the match. Both of us devoured the steak and set back in the glory of gluttony. We moved to the back porch; he handed me a Miller Lite. The back patio looked onto the waterway and we just sat for a few minutes. Amidst the silence, my mind was replaying the two sitting there on the couch and how they were lost in the blur of the night.
"Crazy night," he sputtered. I nodded. While still seated, he began shuffling his feet on the concrete, like a self conscious child in the spot light. He hinted that he wanted to tell me something. "I haven't even told my brother this." I knew it was coming. Transitioned mumbling followed until, "I cheated on [my wife] for the first time last night."
I continued my steady, rhythmic nodding and silence. He pulled out his pack of cigarettes; the ones that he had sad were his last for the past 2 days. He lit and took a long draw, leaning back in his chair and looking over the waterway. He didn't look stressed. But for that matter, I'd never seen him stressed even when we were in a tropical storm aboard a tiny john boat, he was perfectly in control. Silence fell and he asked me what he should do. At the time, only 19, was perplexed at what insight I could offer. More silence. He vowed to give up alcohol, and the remainder 2 months on the island, he did not drink. All I could get out was jumbled advice about honesty, love, forgiveness; all things I think I had learned from wasted days watching Lifetime.
We shook hands, he thanked me for listening and I departed.
It was the slowest bike ride of my life. Reflecting, taking in the fact that only my buddy, the jet black haired girl, and I knew that he violated what I felt was the most sacred vow was tearing me up. That son of a bitch. He could not blame this on alcohol. He took his ring off after 1 beer. He followed the girl to the club. He had one intention. With the sea on my right, the disappointment in humanity fell over me. I had utmost faith in good men. Maybe he was hoping that I had stepped in the previous night. Gave him a nudge from the angel on the left shoulder or not stared blankly at him when he took the ring off.
After making the journey home, I finished a bottle of Appleton’s and passed out to replays of the US losing. I had high hopes.
No one is perfect. Especially not me.
As I try to juggle varying commitments - a new job as a financial adviser, developing non profit arts programs for the city of Dallas, helping manage this blog, and of course being an artist and poet in my own right - sometimes things get overwhelming.
Thankfully, nothing is too bad - I can't write quite as much as I have been writing. I can't work on my non-profit stuff as much as I want to. The job takes first priority because it is a great privilege and responsibility to help guide individual's financial future and I am devoting most of myself to this task.
However as I was studying the market yields of various types of bonds today, I received a phone call that put it all in perspective.
Last fall I had the worst luck of accidentally making fun of two girls who have cancer, for having cancer, in the span of two weeks.
Although the stories are both pretty hilarious in a terrible sort of way - I did feel really lousy about it, especially considering that my own dear sweet mother has breast cancer.
So, as sort of a penance (to one of the girls in particular) I promised to enroll in the National Marrow Donor Program.
As I said earlier - no one is perfect, especially not me. One of my faults is that I am extremely adverse to personally donating any of my bodily materials. I understand all the arguments intellectually and morally. I even realize that it is especially bad for me since I am a universal donor.
Still, I gave blood once and don't ever want to do it again. I didn't want to be a bone donor candidate because I knew that there was probably a strong possibility that I would be a match. If I am ever an organ donor - I am sure someone would have my organs. I just hate the entire idea of it on an irrational, gut level.
So, today after being on the donor list for less than a year - I received a call saying that I am a possible match.
I freaked out.
The idea of having my bone marrow taken out of my body terrifies me.
I know that there is only 1 in 12 chance that I would actually be a donor, I know that there is a chance they might want white blood cells instead of marrow, and I know that theoretically I won't even feel a thing if there was a surgery.
Still, the worse illness I have ever had was mononucleosis my first year in college. I have never broken a bone, never been hospitalized, never have even had stitches.
Heck, I haven't even had a cavity and have managed to avoid having my wisdom teeth pulled.
So maybe most people have interactions with doctors where they are worked on and find out that its okay. I haven't.
So I am scared out of my mind.
However, I know that morally I have to call back - even though I don't want to. I wish I could just pretend I didn't get the message. I wish I could just delete the email sitting in my inbox. Erase the MySpace message. I wish I could just go back to dealing with my already too busy life. Go back to my job, my non profit, this blog, my friends, the arts.
Yet, I have a message that says I have a 1 in 12 chance of being able to save a person's life. I could justify not responding to it by saying I have already saved people's lives before - which is true. I could say that I am devoting my entire life to helping other people, isn't that enough? I could say I have the right to say no, which is also true.
But every day 19 Americans die waiting for a life-saving transplant, and the statistics are even worse for minorities.
After wallowing back and forth, getting over the shock, and dealing with the fear - I am left with a deep sense of joy and excitement.
I might be able to help save someone's life. Even if this time isn't a match - I stay on the donor list for almost the next 40 years. If I never donate that is fine, but I tried - I was an option.
So, please pray for me and for whomever it is who needs somebodies bone marrow. If you haven't I urge you to join the National Marrow Donor Program. As I have said before the harvest is plentiful but the laborers few.
We must always do everything we can to help other people, to positively impact our communities, and on those rare occurrences - to even physically save a life.
