At the end of my adventures you’ll know where to find me. An old man with white chest-hairs, a hat and a cigar. Living in some place I walked through when I was younger: some seaside village that doesn’t know who I am.
I’ll spend my days the same, one after another. Drinking in the morning and swimming in the sea. I’ll walk into town for coffee, reading my old fashioned paper book. I don’t even like paper compared to digital, but I’ll read it, because the sensation brings back memories and anyway it bothers the kids.
An Argentine steak, or else skip lunch and just walk among the village. I’ll know people by name and they will know me by sight: the old foreigner, a little crazy but all foreigners are, he seems safe enough.
When they talk to me I’ll ask uncomfortable questions. Do you believe you have a purpose in life? The question is awkward because I know their answer before they do. I’ve asked it a thousand thousand times, in other villages and in much worse places. It makes it more awkward but also easier to answer. They can see in my eyes that no answer will bother me and anyway I already know; so they’ll unburden themselves and feel a little better. The old man isn’t so bad.
I’ll stand on the docks and never fish, sit at the fountain and never chat, except to talk to young women. I ask them about their hopes. I tell them: never believe a word from your dad or your boyfriend. They smile. Leave me alone, grandpa.
But it’s the evenings, the evenings where I come alive. My house is small. It’s on the beach. You can hear drum and bass music. There are no pets and no clutter and a sign that invites passers-by in for a drink. Passers-by won’t do it, but it’s okay because the internet tells travelers that I’m here for them.
When a backpacker arrives I’ll pay a neighbor with a car to go pick them up. My email says a friend of mine will pick him up. The neighbor doesn’t say much at all. The drive is short and quiet. When he arrives the backpacker will see me pay for the car.
Oh, he’ll say, you didn’t have to do that. Please, let me get it.
And I’ll stare at him till he worries he offended me and then I’ll smile.
No, I’ll say. I know why you offered, but you have no money. I used to have no money. You only offered because you felt you had to, and I know how relieved you feel when I say no.
If you’re going to travel, I’ll say (because the poor backpacker won’t have an answer), learn how to spend your manners. Spend them more carefully than you spend your money. Because money can be replaced but a lost opportunity never can, and the whole world wants to help you, you know.
I’ll lead him into to the house, or her if it’s a she, and I’ll try my hand at cooking. The only time I still bother is when I have company, because it’s only fun to chop things if you can talk while you do it. And we eat and the surf comes in, and I offer rum and beer. I’m always happy to share rum and beer.
And this is how I’ll spend my days: showing kindness to young brave people, loners and couples and teams of them, however they happen to roll into my village. I’ll hold back my stories, because this isn’t about me. It never can be. Let them have the sun. But after a cigar, when we start to feel the chill and people check the time, if any of them stay to keep talking so late—then I’ll tell them a long story. I’ll say what it was like to meet the gods.
If I live a long time this is how I’ll age, and I’ll never get sick of it. But I won’t live so long. I’ll never see my house by the sea, never unburden the villagers or talk to the girls. The backpackers will find somewhere else to stay, and they’ll never hear what it was like to meet the gods.
I’ll die a young man. A smiling ghost will sit by the sea. At the end of my adventures you’ll know where to find me.
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Drew Jacob, Rogue Priest
February 20th, 2012 at 8:38 am
What a nice tale! I’m glad you have a dream for how to handle it if life surprises you and you survive. And we both know life is full of surprises.
February 20th, 2012 at 9:46 am
Awesome! Tweeted, sirrah!
February 20th, 2012 at 9:52 am
I’m suddenly overwhelmed with an urge to watch Rum Diaries again. I don’t know why, since your story is so peaceful and HST was anything but peaceful, but there you go.
February 20th, 2012 at 10:27 am
Reblogged this on Red Rock Crossing and commented:
see ghost…
February 20th, 2012 at 12:34 pm
Thank you everyone. It felt good to write it. Making my peace becomes easier and easier. Life fencing, but at yourself instead of others.
Special thanks for sharing/reblogging it.
February 20th, 2012 at 5:23 pm
Now we will have none of this dying young stuff. You will live a long life , and grow old and grumpy just like the rest of us. Then you will sit and tell tales of wonder for the young ones that stay late by the fire.
February 22nd, 2012 at 12:15 pm
Perhaps, Niniann, perhaps. I appreciate the encouragement.
February 21st, 2012 at 7:49 pm
Drew,
Wow. They say ppl scan blog posts, only reading bits of each paragraph. Not. I was glued to every word.
Sarah
February 22nd, 2012 at 12:48 pm
Sarah, thank you. It means a lot.
February 22nd, 2012 at 12:34 am
You made me weep again… but I still feel happy. Whether you’ll be an old man or a phantom, I’ll take a trip out to that shore and be that crazy lady who talks to all the animals, trees, and rocks, who sings to the wing and laughs. Heh, heh, hee! LOL
February 22nd, 2012 at 12:56 pm
Don’t forget the rum!
February 22nd, 2012 at 9:49 pm
Oh, I won’t forget! And cigars. There’ll be plenty of good cigars. Yay.
February 25th, 2012 at 12:32 pm
Offering accepted.
February 22nd, 2012 at 8:02 am
[...] about the dream after the dream, the life I’d like to live after adventuring. You can see it here if you [...]
February 22nd, 2012 at 9:01 am
Delight tale my friend. Keep this writing up!
February 22nd, 2012 at 1:00 pm
Thank you David. The writing won’t stop till I do.
February 22nd, 2012 at 12:59 pm
Tales of potential selves always seem the most bittersweet, to me. Lovely.
February 23rd, 2012 at 5:25 pm
[...] Does a future girlfriend want to read about my past love? Did my mom want to read that I contemplate my death? [...]
March 26th, 2012 at 11:04 am
a Oide, you know how I feel. I hope you find happiness and wish that your adventures never disappoint. At the same time, I don’t feel a bit of remorse for having my own human emotions of selfishness. You’re the last living father figure I have. You’re the only one who’s actually wrapped his arms around me while I wept. Even my father and step-father never did that for me. Neither of them really cared for my interest in music (my biological father literally blew off listening to my CD right in front of me and complained about having to listen to “that noise”), and certainly had they known my spiritual beliefs they probably would have had a few things to say about it. I carry a lot of bitterness for the father-daughter relationship I never had. Honestly, you’ve been much more emotionally and spiritually supportive of me than my father and step-father ever were. I would say “forgive me for being jealous and upset that you’re leaving,” but I don’t think I really want forgiveness, and I feel no guilt or shame for having that selfishness. It’s mine, I have no problem with owning it. It’s just the way things are, and I’m going to have to accept your choices whether or not I like them, and grapple with the possibility that I may never get to see you again.
Just know that I love you so much to be this upset. For now that will have to suffice.
March 27th, 2012 at 11:06 pm
That’s really moving to me a Dhalta. I have a sense of how much you’ve struggled with “your dads” and I’m glad I’ve been able to be here for you in whatever degree I have. I also appreciate how dedicated you’ve been to the Old Belief. Thank you for that, and don’t worry, this young traveler will take damn good care of himself…
Happiness is in the traveling, not the destination. Love it the first time.