Bo's Café Page 15

  “I don’t know. You tell me.”

  “Andy, I honestly don’t know if I’m lying, bluffing, pretending, or telling the truth at the moment. Every time I think I’m in, I’ve just been kidding myself. But I think for the first time, in this moment, I’m convinced at least you know what to do with me.”

  “Yeah, sometimes I do. Honestly, I’m just giving it my best shot most of the time. But none of us fully know how to do this. I’m still a hack. Jesus knows exactly what to do for you,” he says. “And He probably wouldn’t make you feel so dumb for it either. I’m sorry about that. But sometimes you just need someone who’ll listen to point you in His direction.”

  “Forgive me for trying to take back the wheel. Where were we?”

  Andy pauses and takes a deep breath. “I’m trying to get to the motive behind the behavior. It’s one of the things that separates us from the Pomeranian. That and the whole opposable thumb deal. I think God wants you to stop just confessing your anger and admit the shame that causes you to attempt to control your life with anger.

  “When you tell Lindsey your game plan, when you admit that rage allows you to get control over everything around you, for the first time in a very long time, she will believe you.”

  “That’s it?” I hang my head. “All I have to do is admit I’m a jerk?”

  “That’s right.”

  “But that’s what I always do.”

  “Ah,” he says. “But this time, you have your true self to offer her as well. And when you do that, that happens to be the safest place in the world for her—the place where her own husband can be won. By making it about an anger problem and leaving it there, you’re free to justify your anger. You’re convinced your anger wouldn’t be there if people would—if Lindsey would—just get in line and shape up.

  “But when you admit the anger is there because you want it to be—when you confess that you use anger because you’re afraid of not being in control—you’re telling her you are no longer justified. You’re winnable. She’s waited for that all these years. She’s lived with a terrorist who never plays fair. And she’s learned how to survive, how to negotiate the temporary appearance of peace. But she hasn’t trusted the terrorist for years… . So she hasn’t received his love for years. And so both of you have pulled apart. And that’s the name of that particular tune.”

  “Geez.” I sigh deeply. “You think you can write some of that down for me?”

  We’ve reached our slip. Andy navigates the boat into place. “We’re close to being able to send you home. But first, while the door is open, I want to say something else.” He steers carefully, not looking at me while he speaks. “Are you ready?”

  “Sure.”

  “This may be very painful.”

  “You mean unlike the rest of today?”

  “Your shame drove you to control your world,” he says. “So you used your anger as the method. Bad enough. But not as bad as this next thought. Ready?”

  “No.”

  “You thought you were controlling others, but it was you being controlled all the time. It was your own trap. You were drinking your own poison.” He glances up to see if I’m still with him.

  “See, if you just ask God to help you stop using anger to control people, you’re back at square one. Another behavior to conquer. But hey, if you were to discover that you can’t get yourself out, no matter how hard you try, well, then you would really need God. Now we’re talking real repentance. Get the picture?”

  I make an involuntary grunt. “Nothing I can do, huh?”

  “Nope. But listen to this: repentance isn’t doing something about your failure. Repentance is admitting you can’t do anything about your failure. It’s not just agreeing you’ve done something wrong; it’s admitting you can’t do what needs to be done to make it right. God waits and yearns for that moment with everything in Him.”

  “I guess He’s been waiting a long time,” I say.

  “I believe so.”

  Now that we’re safely in our slip, he turns off the engine and motions toward the dock.

  “Well, it’s time, Steven. You no longer need me. You need to be talking to Jesus and then Lindsey.”

  “So, what do I say? To Him, I mean.”

  Andy turns his hands out toward me. “Sorry. No can do. That’s for you and Him. Just tell Him the truth. He’s been bringing you to this moment for a long time. He’s really good at interpreting mumbles and sighs.”

  I still feel so lost, so uncertain. “What do I say to Lindsey? She doesn’t trust me as far as she can throw me.”

  “There I can help,” he says. “First, she shouldn’t trust you, no matter what you tell her. Not for quite a while, probably. She’ll have to watch and see if your repentance is authentic.

  “The heart can’t be talked into trust. Though she may not trust that you have yet fully changed, she can believe that you mean the words you’re saying. She may not trust that you can make anything change yet, but she can at least believe your sincerity. That’s a big deal. For now, it’s the only deal you have. She hasn’t believed you in a long time. If you want to get your foot back in the front door, ask her if she’s ready to hear from you. If she says no, believe her and wait as long as she needs. This alone will cause her to ask who you are and what you’ve done with her husband.”

  Andy smiles at me, and I can’t help smiling back.

  “Don’t tell her you’re sorry unless you’re willing to specifically lay out the truth of what you’ve been doing all along. She knows you’re sorry about the behaviors, but she has waited for years to hear you tell the truth about yourself. This could take a while. Don’t rush it.

  “Then, and only then, should you ask her forgiveness. She might refuse. She probably should. She’s pretty disgusted. In this too you must allow her readiness to determine everything. Just because you feel ready to be forgiven doesn’t mean she’s ready to forgive. The worst thing you can do is demand something she’s not ready for. All this making sense?”

  I motion to my outfit. “I’m out in public in my slippers.”

  “Tell her the truth of what you’re discovering about yourself, about the secrets behind your actions. Tell her your fears. Tell her that you’ve poured your heart out to God and that you realize you need Him desperately for anything to change. Tell her that you can see you’ve been out of control and that you have no idea how to fix any of this. Tell her all that.”

  “Andy, don’t you think it’ll just frighten her more to hear that her husband is so out of control?”

  “You think that’ll be news to her?” He gently slaps my shoulder. “That doesn’t frighten her. What frightens her is that you’ve never told her you realized it. She’s had to watch you lie to yourself for so long. This will be the first time she’s seen you in your right mind for a very long while. For the first time, she’ll feel safety in knowing her husband is no longer the angry emperor with no clothes on.”

  “I’m, like, the worst husband in LA County.”

  “No. Not the worst.” A smile turns at a corner of his mouth. “There are at least four others. Three of them are in prison. But the other guy’s out on the street, holding a job.”

  I laugh out loud.

  “And after you do all that,” Andy says, “it would be great to tell her about my commitment to you. Tell her about our times together. Tell her about Bo’s and the people you’ve met there. Tell her about your time at the Marriott. And Fenton’s. Let her in on the whole process that has brought you to this moment.”

  I look up at him. “That may be harder to explain than the first part.”

  “Tell her you’re beginning to discover how much you’ve hurt her over the years because you haven’t trusted her with you. Tell her she is worthy of your trust and that you’re ready to learn how to trust. Invite her into the process. Tell her you can’t do it without her anymore. She may think you’re reading lines off a cue card at first. This is not a game plan for an evening speech, but for the re
st of your life.”

  Andy puts his hand on my arm.

  “So, Steven, am I just putting words into your mouth, or are you ready to trust your wife with you?”

  After a moment I nod. “Maybe for the first time in my life, Andy.”

  “Then get out of my hair,” he yells. “I’ve got boats to log out. We’ll meet up again when you’re ready. Just write to me. Let me know when you’re ready.”

  As I walk away, I turn back to Andy. “I think I’m supposed to say thank you. But I think I’ll save it for later and see how this all goes first, if you don’t mind.”

  “Fair enough. God bless you, Steven.”

  “Um, He’s one of the two I’m not sure want to hear much from me right now. I wouldn’t demand a blessing out of Him at the moment.”

  “Fair enough. Then God endure you. Better?” He smiles.

  “Sounds about right,” I say, nodding my head good-bye.

  “I’ll see you soon, Andy.”

  “Go Figure. Andy Was Right.”

  (Friday Afternoon, May 8)

  About an hour ago I left the marina and started driving. I found myself on the 101, heading north. I just had to drive to clear my head. I reached Malibu and have now turned around toward home.

  No radio, no phone. Just the silence inside my Mercedes.

  My mind wanders in my self-disgust. Ten miles maybe… past Las Flores, I begin to speak.

  “I guess I thought I was supposed to figure it out, just manage it, and somehow life would work. I’ve always been smarter than everyone. So, then, how can someone with my intelligence rip apart his own marriage, be disdained at work, and feel so miserable? Andy tells me You’ve been waiting for me to ask that.”

  More miles. My mind drifts to disjointed snippets of growing up: childhood, my first girlfriend, sitting on the hood of my Mustang, in college with Ronnie Oliveri, getting drunk on Spanada, my first job after college, my wedding day… all the way to the tense, calculated, angry man sitting in Fenton’s. It’s like my mind is combing through old files, trying to figure something out… .

  “About a month ago I said it seems like something is whispering to me. It’s the same whisper that’s been there all my life. I’ve hidden from it, but it’s always been there.

  “It’s always been You, huh?”

  More miles. Past the Will Rogers State Beach turnoff.

  “I want You to hear that I now know I’ve been blaming You and just about everyone else. I use my anger as my weapon of choice—to get my way, to control my world and leverage my positions. I’ve done it so long I don’t know another way.”

  More miles.

  “A big part of me doesn’t want to face any of this. I want to drive, as fast as I can, somewhere I can hide, where I don’t have to face what I’ve done, who I’ve been.”

  I speed past the turnoff for Pacific Palisades.

  “No. I’m done running. It’s time to face whatever You want me to face.”

  I am now entering Santa Monica. This place has my full attention. Coasting down this palm tree–lined boulevard here on the Pacific Coast Highway, all my senses are heightened. This is the scene of my successes, where I’ve made a name for myself. I’m always on my game here. I am known at these restaurants. I’m respected, given preference.

  Sitting at the long stoplight at Wilshire, I take it all in. After the morning I’ve had, it all seems surreal: hollow, thin. Standing outside the crowded restaurants and bistros, everything seems so different now. Several years from now a whole new stable of thirty-four-year-olds will be given these window-side tables.

  I park on Palisades Beach Road at the grassy strip of City Park that overlooks the Santa Monica pier. In my paint outfit I blend right in with the street people sharing cigarettes and scraps of lunch. Anytime now, well-dressed colleagues will start filling the ocean-view patios across the street, brokering at white-linen-covered tables procured earlier in the day by eager interns. I should be among them, bluffing my way through another day.

  Instead I wander down to a secluded spot at a railing on a walking trail below me. I’m now facing the ocean and the landmark Ferris wheel on the pier’s boardwalk below.

  “Andy says that in all my controlling, I’m the only one who’s really been deceived. The thought sickens me. Drains me. I want to make some sort of penance. But I guess that’s part of the problem; I can’t make up for any of it with more religious pretending. Please just forgive me for all my lying and pretending, the hurt I’ve caused. I can’t stand how it feels like I’ve been wasting my life—and others’.”

  I stop talking as a couple strolls by on the path behind me. I turn and wait until they’ve passed.

  “Andy also says I should trust You with the stuff I’ve never talked about. I don’t really know how to do that. And I guess I always figured you were put-out, disgusted with me. You take care of the big stuff, but maybe You’re here in the small stuff too. I want to believe that. I think that’s the only way I’ll get through this.”

  I take a deep breath, preparing for the next words. Somehow, I’ve been waiting to get to the place where I could say this my whole life.

  “I’m sorry about who I’ve made You into all these years. Right now, I want You to take the real me—if You’re really willing—all my fear and junk. I just give that to You. I don’t want it anymore.”

  I want to say more, but… I think He understands what I’m trying to get out.

  I don’t want to leave this spot. This is the best I’ve felt since… I can’t remember. But I have to see Lindsey. I climb slowly back up from the railing, walk across the park and to my car. I stand and stare across the street to the now-filled restaurant patios. Santa Monica is slowly being repainted with something real. As I walk to my car, I notice a street guy with oily, matted hair sitting on a bench, wearing socks on his hands. I find myself saying hello to him. I put the Mercedes in gear and slowly pull away from the curb and down the coast toward home.

  Carlos said I’m a saint on my worst day. That I’m righteous right now. Me. Today, I think, is the very first time I’ve started to try that on. What if I’m really not defined by anything else? Steven, who can behave like a jerk… is a saint. Geez!

  I don’t want to manage the consequences anymore. I’ve done that all my life. Now I can’t and I won’t. Or I’ll end up managing nothing.

  As I work my way out of Santa Monica, I’m terrified of what I will face at the end of this drive home. But I can’t control that. I can only trust Him with me.

  I smile to myself, surprised that I’m actually beginning to believe what I just thought. What an incredible feeling.

  Just this side of Manhattan Beach I say, “I am asking with everything in me that You will do one thing: allow Lindsey to hear something she can start to believe. Beyond that, I don’t even know what to ask. You take care of it.”

  I feel like a man intentionally driving to his own execution. Ten thousand thoughts are now competing for my attention.

  I’m not so much afraid that she’ll be angry; for the first time, it actually matters more that she might not forgive me. Or that she’ll let me in again, but for the same old wrong reasons. In the past I didn’t care. I just wanted life back to normal. Now I don’t know what I’ll do if she lets me in again out of resigned fear.

  Just let her be there.

  I turn the corner into our cul-de-sac. Lindsey’s car is in the driveway. Everything is moving in slow motion now. It seems like everyone I see has been brought up to speed on our situation. Melanie Patton is out watering some bushes, clearly positioning herself for my return. Her eyes follow my car with a disdainful glare that says, “I’ve never trusted you from the day I first saw you. If I were her, I’d so dump you.”

  I pull up in front of our house and turn off the engine. I sit there for a moment.

  Don’t let me screw this up, I silently plead.

  Then I’m in our house. It’s so quiet. Lindsey is not in the kitchen or the living room. I walk
upstairs, past the bathroom and our bedroom. The last room at the end of the hall is Jennifer’s. I walk up to the doorway. Lindsey is there, folding clothes on the bed.

  “Hello,” I call out tentatively.

  She turns and looks at me. I hate that I have caused that look. It is a fragile but determined self-protection. She has had time to prepare a speech I’m hoping she won’t have to give.

  I blurt out, far too quickly, “Lindsey, I have so much I want to say to you.”

  She has turned away, folding more clothes.

  “But you tell me when you’re ready to hear it.”

  Nothing. As I turn to leave the room she says quietly, “Steven, I’m not ready to talk. I need to be alone.”

  It comes out in a guarded tone that confirms my fear that any trust we may have had is irretrievably gone. Take my fear, God.

  I pause for a moment, deciding if I should say something more. I walk out of the room and down the stairs. I move slowly, hoping she’ll call after me when she realizes I’ve actually honored her request to be alone. But there is nothing. I walk out the door and out to the sidewalk, past our cul-de-sac. When I finally stop, I’m in the middle of Crescent Park, nearly a mile away. I sit on a bench, feeling incredibly shaken. I’m afraid if I give Lindsey too long, she could give herself permission to leave me. But not too long later another thought presents itself.

  Suddenly I realize something. I’ve never done that before. I’ve never let her alone when she asked me to. And I didn’t do it to gain an advantage. I did it because I want what she wants and nothing more. I love her but I’m not going to try to control her with that. Go figure. Andy was right.

  It’s early evening by the time I get up from the bench and head home. I enter the house to find her at the kitchen sink, preparing dinner. I begin to climb the stairs but her voice stops me.

  “You really look bad.”

  I stop and look down.

  “I’ve been over most of Southern California like this.”

  We both stand motionless, neither of us sure what to say next.