Sansaku: Soul Damage
2/17/21
I’ve retold a story several times this past week. A solidified moment in time. The setting: my twentieth high school reunion. The meet and greet night, drinks and a dance. The Boulder Theatre had all kinds of history for me.
I looked around for Cathy; she wasn’t there. Probably home with her family. She was never the kind for crowds. Of all the movies I’ve seen there, “Easy Rider” stands out. The perfect first date.
Despite my visual disadvantage, I had no trouble recognizing some faces. We’d traveled from K through 12. Besides, they spotted me. A beautiful woman approached. By the color of her eyes, I knew her.
Karen said, “I have come to this reunion for one reason. I need to tell Tom how I feel about the way he tortured and ruined my childhood.” That’s a mighty big charge.
I knew the story, but she reviewed it. A PhD in English, she taught at a large eastern college. Smart and succinct. “He made my life hell.” I held my breath. There is guilt by association and I’d done nothing to stop the abuse. He called her names: worse than virus, a germ.
I had a different point of view. I knew her in the context of family. Her father a professor at the university and grandfather a founder of Gestalt psychology. They were forced to leave Nazi Germany. My family respects education. Like beauty, intelligence counts.
We sipped wine and Karen unburdened herself. It helped that I’m a therapist. About this time, Tom spotted us. We spotted him. He walked directly and immediately over. After saying, “Hi, Colin,” he turned and faced Karen. The classic pregnant moment.
He apologized for what he had done as a child. Just like that. Matter of fact. The meaning of perfunctory. He cleared his conscience. It lacked depth of emotion. Both of us were stunned.
After he left, we processed the outrageously crazy synchronicity. She said, “I can’t believe that just happened.” Neither could I. She’d been planning the moment for decades. It was not supposed to go down like this. Tom looked the same, but he wasn’t.
His apology had caught her by surprise. He said sorry and left. She didn’t get a chance to let him know. I was glad she unloaded on me. This doubled-down the meaning. The narrative had changed. I played the role of witness, but had my own conscience to clear.
I’d been mean when we were little and did to him what he’d done to Karen. Captains chose teams on the playground. I never picked him. He was always the last to be chosen. Made to feel lesser, unwanted and worse. Soul damage.
I befriended Tom in high school and the nature of our relationship changed. But after the scene with Karen, I wanted to apologize for my behavior in grade school and finally got the chance a few years later.
I didn’t get far. He interrupted and said, once again in that perfunctory tone, “Don’t worry about it. You were an alpha, I wasn’t.” If I’d had her number handy, I’d have called. “Karen, you won’t belief this.”
I’ve often asked the question, “Why do you think this dream chose to come just now?” I’m asking the same of this story. Why now? I haven’t told it in years and now four times in a week.
Once upon a time, we sat around fires and told stories that mattered. Crystallized meaning. This is one I would tell. It’s a window, a mirror, an opening. Transparent.
bestslowly 