There were very few times in which the Getty did not sit lonely atop its promontory, and today, as I stood gazing over its railing at the murky nothingness below, there was no exception. I often came up here to taste the freshness of the air which, aside from all the great paintings inside, seemed a work of art sculpted by the hand of God. Everything was always clearer up here. Today, that clearness left the sun unimpeded to burn down with feverish heat upon my skin.
It would have been more comfortable back down there today, where the smog would block out some of that burning, and I knew that as I ascended. Why I came up to inflict pain upon myself is beyond me. Yet I found myself up here standing, gazing, squinting, and struggling to hold back the tears.
UCLA, even in its relative proximity, lay confined in the mistiness. It was April now, and I could not help but think how the winter had yielded clearer days. I remember coming up here back in February and that campus had seemed so close, close enough that I could reach down and sweep its grassy lawns and brick buildings of wisdom up into my grasp. Thinking back on the time, I believe I almost did it, too. It was too far beyond my reach now.
My eyes shifted eastward. The slums of the San Gabriel Valley sat entirely invisible behind a curtain of yellowish, brownish white. For that reason, however, they appeared a greater reality. They had done so ever since that day back in March—that day when I had undrawn a pair of curtains and ventured in behind them—that day when I became enveloped in them.
It had been a pursuit previously unexplored, but apparently once was enough. Unfortunately, in my world of fresh found murkiness, the memories of that night in the basement of a mansion in Pasadena were some of the only things that remained clear. It had been a moment of blindness, of wanting, of desiring to see what lay on the other side. My mind had been clouded; the sounds of music had been blaring, pumping out rhythms of baseness and savagery. That constant pounding had snuffed out any rational thought of the potential consequences that might come. In my state of mind, I was not capable of remembering all that I had worked for, all that I previously held back in order to seal my way into college, career, and everything else. That pounding rhythm was driving, as well as those two green eyes and that encapsulating smile, and in a few short moments of weakness, I was driven by my own mortal weakness beyond the curtain with her.
Her smile did not last long, though, and neither did my irrationality. Shortly thereafter, we learned of life’s realities.
“Ditch her, man, that’s what I’ve done.” The sound of my friend’s voice coming from behind the wheel of his Trans Am reverberated back to me off the Hollywood hills. “It’s the only way to continue on in achieving all that you’ve wanted.”
I remember silently staring back at him for a long time before confessing both to him and to myself, “Dude, I can’t do that.”
That realization had crushed every dream I had ever conjured. I could not run like him. Instead, I would confine myself to be just as much a part of this as she would be. The life I lived could no longer completely be mine. At that moment my grasp on UCLA, and therefore the rest of my life, slipped, for scholarships and school loans would not cover child support.
I gazed out toward the southwest. Venice Beach was only visible enough to declare its existence and its position much farther beyond my reach than even UCLA. I could not stare at it for long, for the sun was burning my eyes. I turned away, looked back on the San Gabriel Valley, and sighed.
No comments:
Post a Comment