Greatness

Dammit.

I’m so embarrassed. I’ve sat and watched The Lake House yet again. It was on, and I was doing laundry. I swear, it was not by choice.

That was a lie. And it was a marathon. It’s on right now as I speak, er, type. Not that it is a magnificent movie. Keanu Reeves is a fairly poor actor, adept only at appearing confused. Poor Sandra Bullock might as well be making out with a tree. And the dialogue, oh dear sweet juniper berries. The story? It’s just silly. These ill-matched lovers-to-be are separated by two-years time, without explanation, communicating only through messages left in a magical mailbox. Now that I type it out, it seems even stoopider than I remembered.

But I watched it again anyhow. (whispers) And I kinda like the movie.

I have seen many relationships broken by distance. Weekends on the road, driving with mountains of coffee. It’s a loneliness that I could never imagine. I know I’ve been lucky. But highways can be crossed. In the movie, though, they are separated by time. Who cares why. And for some, it doesn’t matter really–they are always separated by something. And usually, it’s not something physical like gravel and concrete. It’s easier when you can put your hands on it. You don’t have to think about it so hard.

But time? Perhaps it is a metaphor. It reminds me of night shifts, when I would only catch a glimpse of Steve once out of the week. And things when change when I got home–pillows shifted and dishes used. A ghost of someone who had been here, separated by time, unexplained. And every now and then, he would send me a message…via text.

I haven’t decided if I believe in fate.

I saw Slumdog Millionaire last weekend. If you haven’t, I highly recommend it. I haven’t seen such an incredible movie in such a long time. It is a story about love, for rich or for poor, but mostly about love. It made me ache, tears, and smiles.

But yeah, it’s about fate. That some things are meant to be. That means there is a purpose to all this, but I’m just not sure what it is. At least, no one has told me yet. And I am always the last to know.

The sky was gray again today. It has been gray for ages, since at least November, but today in particular was extra gray. I suppose it would make that approach black, but no, it was just gray. Nothing is definite like black. It was cold, that was for sure, but it couldn’t decide to snow or not. So it did, for a little while, then stopped. Then the wind picked up and pretended to snow, blowing drifts against my windshield. I could feel the car shiver against the cold. There was not a single ounce of life or light outside my little oven of a car as I drove, and for a moment, the world was still. I could hear my breath, and I thought if I listened hard enough, I would hear a secret. Listen. This is your purpose.

It’s not that easy. I know that.

In the movie, Jamal is in love with Latika. It is his destiny, and from the slums of Bombay (to Mumbai), when he finds her, he finds her in gold. It is as if she is his treasure, his millions. And she is the answer to all of his questions. That is his purpose. You need to see this movie.

I find myself wishing for my answer, my purpose. I feel as if I am not trying hard enough, not ambitious enough, not doing enough. There are days that I pull my blanket over my head until I can hardly breathe, hiding from the day and the light. I wake to find Steve, snoring softly. He doesn’t own anything gold.

It started snowing again when I came home, and the house was empty and still. I listened again. For a moment, I heard nothing. Then the sound of crunching snow as a car pulled into the driveway. Steve’s home.

It’s faster to carve than it was to vote.

This is Ruby.

She started out as a little woody 2 inch stem with a single leaf. One of Steve’s friend had given it to him just before she left for California. He had commented once-upon-a-time that it was an interesting plant in passing. It was conversation. That was months ago.

He had left the little stem with a single leaf in his desk drawer all day long before he brought it to me, crushed between two stacks of mail and my weekly Time magazine. I looked at it. I had some dirt in a pot sitting on my porch. I had planted something or another some ages ago that never did grow. And the dirt was still in the pot. I took the stem with its single leaf and stuck it in the dirt as if I was planting a flag to claim my land. Then I promptly forgot about it. That was months ago.

Some days, it was sunny. Some days, it was windy. It rained. It poured. The pot overgrew with weeds and filled with autumn leaves saying goodbye goodbye. Then one morning, it frosted.

“You’d better bring your plant in.” Steve said to me. What plant? Did I plant something on the porch a few months ago?

Then I saw it. Ruby. This little 2 inch stem with a single leaf had grown into a little monster of green leaves, white spots, and red underthings. I had no idea what it was. Except monsterous. I brought her in and stuck into another pot of dirt. This time, I watered her.

Google this: Red and green leaves with white spots. Ruby was an angel wing begonia. Begonia coccinea. And she was going to bloom some day. Maybe I will, too.