Pure Writerly Moments 2 (Short Stories, Essays, Book Reviews, and More)

Final Somethings

It's the fourth of July of 2013, Edgewater, Florida. The final fourth of July of my mother's life. At this point, she is on oxygen all the time and I can't even take her out of the car. She looks over at me in the darkness of the car. Through the windows, the fireworks are going off. Somehow I know...we are both thinking it: these might be the last fireworks she ever sees in her life.

Many things had happened before that moment. I had finished my dissertation defense a few months before. I remember celebrating by watching a movie 21 or Over that reminded me of how old I had become and how much I still wanted to live like a frivolous young man. I was still on a dissertation writing fellowship, so I could now spend my time with my mom without worrying too much about my finances.

But that day...fireworks were going off overhead...we were in my mom's old 1997 Nissan Sentra. There was something magical. We were there together, listening to music over the radio, fireworks were going off in the sky. I knew my mom was going to die soon. How soon I didn't know. We were enjoying a final something together...

But let's go back a little bit. It's 2008. I'm living in Nagasaki. I am counting down the days until I will leave. In August I will be going to graduate school. I have between 4 and 5 months to enjoy my time in Nagasaki before graduate school begins. I am living off my savings. But more importantly, I am enjoying little tastes of Nagasaki as if my time in that city might be my last. I have a checklist of things I want to do and see. I try to make the most of my time as I work on the first draft of The Ghosts of Nagasaki. There is this magnificent walk through Shimin no Mori nature park. The walk where I think what my life will be like once I finish my master's degree and have a full draft of my Ghosts finished. It's perfect weather...I will get to the top of the mountain and then take the long winding road to Miyazuri Beach.

Every moment in 2008 in Nagasaki feels like a final something.

But now I am back with my mom. 2013. There is melancholy music playing in the car. I think about regrets. I am confused and am not entirely sure what I regret...perhaps I will regret not spending more time with her. Though it seems I have learned this lesson. In 2013, I am fully present for every moment.

How much do I remember from that moment? Not much. I remember how dark it was in the car. I don't remember exactly what music was playing. But it sounded perfect. It made me sad that we won't have any more of our days at Dunkin Donuts, reading together for 2 or 3 hours. It makes me sad that we won't drive to Oak Hill – that little town just south of Edgewater with the Baptist church that looked like it hadn't changed since the 1950s – together...or try to make the one hour trip to Daytona Beach to sit in Barnes and Nobles and read together.

It makes me sad that things have to end. It's a cliche, I know, but the ending is what makes it so beautiful. Without the ending, there is not the intense beauty of the moment.

2023 is the year of finishing...I am finishing my movie list. The second to the last movie on my list is Dune 2021. There is something so beautiful about the film. There is a dream-like quality to the movie. Everything looks clean and well-articulated, like every frame is a painting. I never imagined the desert could be so beautiful, even when I was living in it. You never know something is the end until you are in the end...movies...movies...what a wonderful artform. Even after the project is done, I will continue to look for gems.

In movies, you know when the end is coming. In life, it's not always so clear.

During those 18 or so months with my mother, I watched a lot of movies. Usually, free ones from the library...watching Ghibli movies with mom was magical. There were also a lot of forgettable ones. I remember being quite moved by watching Chasing Mavericks with her. As I'm writing this, I find myself watching clips from Chasing Mavericks.

Frosty says that his teaching program is about "building the four pillars of a solid human foundation." What are they? Well, watch here:

I'm at the end of my movie list...Moonlight is the last movie. An intimate movie, told in three parts, about a poor black man growing up gay in the Liberty neighborhood of Miami. It's a touching gentle movie that makes me question whether I know anything about suffering. I don't need to hone my craft...I need to suffer something horrible to write a story as good as Moonlight. Perhaps that's my fault for not letting the world in...I need to have my soul deeply challenged by something. But in order to do that, I need to go out into the world again. Until that time, perhaps it is enough that I fill these spaces with words. Words that tick like the hands on the clock and lead me to my inevitable...

Cut...to a moment in 2013. I'm not sure when. It must have been before the fireworks. I still held out hope that mom would be okay for a while longer. It was late. My mom didn't have cable, only local TV. There was a late night program in black and white where a modern commentator, dressed up like Dracula, would introduce classic monster movies like Creature from the Black Lagoon. I was 31, close to 32 years old, but something about this made me feel like I was in high school again. Local TV. Living with my mom. I felt like a 31 year old who was suddenly 13, 14, 15, 16 again. I felt so displaced...like I had stumbled back into adolescence. But as soon as mom passed...so would my adolescence.

As I was watching Creature from the Black Lagoon, I realized...this kind of moment might no longer be possible very soon. Suddenly, watching local TV on a little TV at my mom's house seemed the dearest thing to me in the world.

If I don't want this to be a final something...if I want to thrive again, I need to learn how to get my creativity out of that block of cement.

I think about final somethings...I think about this short story collection. Tomorrow, I will wake up early. I will try again.