Happy That It's Not True (21 page)

              “Thanks Diego.”  Ling stood and walked a few steps to the door and stopped.  She looked back at Diego, “You’re beautiful.”

              Diego held his chin up and made a closed lipped smile, but did not say a word.

              Ling also smiled.  “I want to meet your niece.  Tell her to give me a call—we need to discuss her future.”

Chapter Twenty Two

            
 
Diego sat behind his dual computer screens at home in the semi lit office room, typing words into a search engine—abuse—depression—recovery, words that would lead him to personal stories archived on mental health websites.  How could so many be molested as children?  How could so many women recount being raped by family members?   The world is a terrible place, he thought to himself. 

              Cara walked into the room with a troubled look, intending to blurt out her thoughts and feelings.  She was momentarily daunted by the old world motif of the room—the black cherry and gold desk and credenza—the many bookcases and souvenirs collected from traveling the world.  For a moment, she felt like a child in the presence of a monarch, but then summoned and found the courage to be displeased.  “What’s wrong with you?”

              “What?  What do you mean?” Diego asked.

              “I can’t believe you—do you have any idea how hard it was for me to set you up with Priscilla?”

              Diego closed his eyes and waited a moment before opening them.  “Cara—I do appreciate what you tried to do.  That was one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me, but—”

              “You’re out of your mind—she’s beautiful—what man wouldn’t want someone like her?”

              “She looks like she’s twelve years old—she looks younger than you,” Diego laughed.

              “So what—you’re gonna feel sorry for yourself? You think you’re the old man—that your life is over?”

              Diego sighed and tilted his head back against the leather chair.  “Look—I’m tired of seeing men leaving their wives to be with younger women.  I think youth is overrated.  I’m different—I’m Diego.”

              “You’re not leaving anyone to be with a younger woman—you’re all by yourself!  You’re crazy.”

              Diego smiled.  “Why are you all by yourself, Cara?”

              Cara took a moment to look at the bookcase, making small nodding movements to relieve frustration.  “Between you and Dad, you’ve set my standards for men very high.  A good—decent man—that’s all I want.  And he doesn’t have to be like you, Mr. successful yet sensitive man-of-the-world—just good and decent.”   

              “Thanks—you’re very kind.”

              Cara raised her voice in anger.  “Priscilla’s been waiting on this one guy for years.  He travels and has girlfriends all over the world.  He’s just using her.  I spoke to her today, and she said she’s gonna see him again.  I think it’s just so she can forget about you—I think you hurt her.”

              “It just doesn’t make any sense—a beautiful woman—the best she can do is an old guy like me?”

              “You’re not that old.”

              “How old is Priscilla?”

              “Twenty eight.”

              “Cara, I don’t want to go somewhere and have people assume that she’s my daughter.”

              “If you both love each other, who cares?”

              “I prefer someone old and grumpy like me.  Besides, older women are more beautiful on the inside—look, there’s someone else in my life.”

              “Who?”

              “Someone special.  She wants to meet you.  I work with her—she has some personal problems, but maybe one day—when everything is better.”

              Cara thought for a moment and smiled.  “We’re the same, Tio—we really are related.  We both want what we can’t have.”

              Diego raised an eyebrow.  “Tell me about your guy.”

              “His name is Matt.  I’ve loved him my entire life.  Now that he’s available, I’m gonna try and find the right time and place to accidentally bump into him.” Cara smiled when she heard herself.

              “Sounds like a plan,” Diego laughed.

              “He’s going off to law school in the fall, so I only have this small window of opportunity.”

              “Is he a good guy?”

              “I think so.”

              “Don’t wait too long.”

              “I know.”

              “Don’t get hurt.”

              “I’ll try not to.” 

              “Cara, you know I care very much about you.  Not only do I not want you getting your heart kicked around, I care very much about your future.  I want you to go to the school and show Ling your drawing book.  She’s been teaching for a long time—she knows how to help students with their careers.  I’m going to give you her number.  Call her and make an appointment to see her—just don’t bring up the subject of me.”

              “I’ve been thinking about what you’ve said about college.”

              “Good girl.  I knew you’d come around.”

              “So tell me—what is she like?”

              “Well, I have to warn you—right now, since she’s going through some stuff—she doesn’t seem like a very friendly person.  She can be irritable and nasty.”

              “Wonderful,” Cara said sarcastically.

              “Her name is Ling Woo—the most beautiful woman in the world.”

              “More beautiful than the actress in the picture?”

              “Yes—I think so.  She’s the other half of me.  We feel and think exactly the same about so many things.  The only difference between us are the wounds—the scars—the emotional injuries. 

              “You really do love her.”

              “Don’t tell her anything I said—Okay?  She’s got some serious problems right now.  You don’t want to make her mad—understand?”

              “What’s wrong with her?”

              “You don’t need to know that.”

              “All right—I’ll go talk to her and show her my drawings.  I won’t say anything to make her blow up at me.”

              “Good—I hope you like her.  I hope you can see what others can’t—a very special person.”

              “Well it’s about time you got a life.” Cara laughed.

              “Very funny.”

              “Tio, I think a lot about you—what you might have been like when you were my age.  Can I ask you something?”

              “Sure.”

              “Did you have a wild and crazy youth?”

              “I was your typical teenager.  I went to a lot of concerts.”

              “Who did you see?”

              “Everyone.”

              “Everyone?”

              “Yeah, Stones, Floyd, Springsteen, everyone.  So what kind of music do you like?”

              “Actually, I like some of the same kind of stuff you do—I like all those t-shirts you wear.”

              “Tell me if you like these guys—”

              Diego typed the name of a band into a text field, selected a media file and turned up the speakers.  He turned the screen so that Cara could see the video.  There was a silhouette of a man on a stage shaking a tambourine, jumping with excitement.  Cara smiled when she recognized the sound of the electric keyboard repeating a sequence of spacey marimba tones.  As the lights faded on, a man with a black guitar was hitting the tambourine with his fist and manically bouncing to the drums.

              “Keep your eye on the guitar player.  Do you see how alive he is?  He loves his life.  There’s no other place he would rather be, nothing else in the whole world he would rather be doing at this moment.”

              “Maybe he’s on drugs.”

              “Maybe.  Or maybe he’s high on life.  Okay, watch this.  He’s about to deliver his first power chord.”

              The guitarist throws away his tambourine and swings his arms over the strings.  He looks up at the heavens with lips apart as if experiencing religious ecstasy.

              “Cara, love your life.  Love every moment.  The earth is filled with God’s glory—everything that is good is from above.  Did you know that listening to music is a spiritual experience?”

              “Yeah, I think I knew that.”

              “Good.  I’m glad I’m not imagining things.  Speaking of imaginary, I can play air guitar better than you.”

              “No you can’t!”

              Alex heard the music and walked in the room to witness fierce strumming and jubilance.  He sat down, bashing imaginary drums.

...

              Alfred didn’t open for business until after two on Sundays.  He was proud that his restaurant had become a church for a few hours in the morning.  The décor consisted of brilliant yellow walls with high orange wainscoting and small spherical lights that hung from a black ceiling.  The group liked to sit at the shiny metallic green tables by the window facing the street.  There were only eight in the group that day—discussing the mysteries of life—as if they were stranded at sea and could somehow aid in their own rescue.

              Diego, the guest of honor, was seated at one end of the three tables that had been arranged into a row.  The small talk consisted of the ninety-eight degree heat in Miami, which, coupled with the high humidity, oppressed the people who wanted to revolt against
nature and the elements
.  The topic of organized religion was brought up when the group asked Diego to introduce himself.

              “My name is Diego.  I used to be a tech guy, but now I teach art.  My fifteen year old nephew told me about all this—unorganized church stuff, but I have a lot of questions.  I used to be very active in my church, my big organized church.”

              The group laughed.  A man in his early thirties with long blonde hair coiled into dreadlocks cackled the loudest. “It’s all right.  We won’t hold that against you.”

              Diego smiled.  “With the exception of one or two of you, I’m much older than you guys—so I don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable.”

              “No—no—” said some in the group. 

              Alfred, the restaurant owner, sat at the far end of the tables.  Diego couldn’t tell if he was Latino or Middle Eastern.  Alfred seemed almost brotherly when he shouted.  “I had to threaten these guys to let me join the group!”

              A woman in her twenties, the only female in the group snickered.  “He’s not kidding.  I’m Karen, by the way.”               

              There was a tall and lanky man in his late thirties wearing glasses that looked like swimming goggles.  He cleared his throat to speak.  “Diego, welcome to our group.  My name is Belarenus.  First of all, there’s no one leading this group—in case you’re wondering.  We’re not trying to set up any kind of hierarchy where some people are more important than other people.  That’s what we mean by not being organized.  We might consider ourselves teachers and leaders, but only in spirit.  We’re not a cult—we don’t all think the same here.  My friend Alfred has completely different political views than I do, for instance.” 

              Alfred sighed.  “We are diametrically opposed in every conceivable way.”

              “See, we’re not a cult.  So what do we believe?  That depends on who you ask.  See what you get with unorganized religion?”

              Diego smiled.

              “All right, basically many of us’ve had bad experiences.  There’re a lot of good churches out there—I suppose—but I guess we’re still recovering from the bad kind—you know, corrupt, manipulative, all that fun stuff.”

              “Things usually start off nice,” Alfred said.  “Until the guy with all the organizational skills comes and organizes the spirit of God right out of everything and turns the whole thing into an institution.”

              Alfred rubbed his balding head, pushed back his seat and said, “Diego, if you have anything you need to talk about, we’d be glad to listen.”

              “Well—my brother-in-law is fighting in Afghanistan.  Please pray for him.  His kids are staying with me—they seem to be doing well.  Their mother—my sister—is in rehab.  And someone who I care about is severely depressed.  Oh, and I rejected a very beautiful woman.”

              “Dude!” Tom laughed.

              “But right now all I can think about is my friend with depression—I guess I’m in love with her.”

              “O-ohh,” moaned the group.

              “Don’t you think that’s kind of dangerous for you to be involved with someone who’s unstable?” Karen asked.

              Diego smiled, “I already told her that I would wait for her to get better.”

              Belarenus adjusted his glasses and gazed at Diego sadly. “Is it a medical condition?”