Dreams
by Stokely Barlow
"Men dream, women scheme." So, my dad told me. At a time in my mid-teens when I could have used some good advice concerning the opposite sex, this was his sage observation. At least it was more information than I had gotten out of him earlier in life about why boys and girls were different and where babies came from. I feel fairly certain dad had gotten even less knowledge from his old man. I have concluded that the majority of the human male species have to get their sex education from off the streets, school yards and off-limits juke joints. It's a cultural system not conducive to constructive relationships between men and women.
Dad had such a faraway look as if he were seeing far into his past before mom became relevant. I have no idea of the particulars but can dimly imagine what he may have been seeing.
Females. They are strange and mysterious creatures with closely guarded secrets, and harbor knowledge far beyond that of men. They gather in their small clique whispering, throwing strange and knowing glances at the people around them. Yet, there is not one but many of the little covens, each with their own rules of membership and accepted behavior.
With time and experience this view faded into a teenage myth. Having met some of the downtrodden elements of the sisterhood in bars, dives and abject cafes I came to know that, although better informed, they also struggled on the battle field of making sense of life and hormones.
Reality was a youth spent thinking about, above all else, getting laid. But, wondering all the time, "Wasn't love part of that too?" One could have sex without love, but love without sex? Is that the dilemma of the young of all eras? It is not just the young, but seems to last on into early adulthood; for some it is a nagging question until they are too old to care.
A friend I had from high school met "the love of his life" somewhere through his twisted and tortured way through a few universities. They married. He is now on track taking the course laid out by generations past of devotion, job, family, etc., etc., etc.
Not long ago I met up with him. We spent some time talking working man's philosophy. I do not recall how the conversation led up to it, but he said to me, "You know, Jane was a good piece of ass at one time. Now she's just an ass." How is it that one can be shocked and not shocked at the same time? I was not shocked at the admission; just shocked he said it, I suppose.
I did not think it hard of him because this happened not to very long after my wife had left me. I could see my buddy was doing all he could to make his life stay on track. Was he living a lie? Maybe, I thought, things were not as bad as I imagined. I actually felt bad for myself. Maybe I had not done enough was why I now found myself back to square one where I had been as a teenager. I felt even more ignorant of those mysterious beings called female.
Like my friend I thought I was following the same path my parents followed. I too had worshiped the gods of devotion, job, family, etc., etc., etc. In life, paths can diverge as much as they converge. She at least had the decency to leave a letter on the bare dining table that evening I came home from work. I really do not know much on how she spent her free time. Mostly, I remember for the few short years together for both of us it was work, home, sleep, work. But there were good times together, I think.
This is a community property state. However, we don't have much in common so the parting of ways should not be too economically painful. But I did love her. The ache in my heart and head tells me I did. Or is that just hormones?
Dad may have been right.