The Wait...

I used to love cocaine. I dabbled in gateway drugs, but not for long. Pot was a daily habit from day one, but coke brought me out of my shell. The real Bryan surfaced without fear of reprisal socialized with others, even girls. But I ended up on the seedy side, smoked all my worldly possessions (and some other people's possessions) until I ended up in rehab, then eventually prison. But none of it compared to the waiting. Any recovering addict will tell you that the waiting is the hardest part, worse than coming down. So I've assembled a montage of moments in my life where The Wait has caused me to gray prematurely:

The earliest I can trace back my hatred of The Wait is Christmas. At least two full months of build up for one day of reckoning. It was especially trying for me because the more presents I got, the more I thought Mom loved me. (See post Presents=Love for details).

I spent a total of nine years drinking and drugging. In that time were countless instances where The Wait took its toll.

The Wait almost destroyed me the day my lawyer told me the Assistant Attorney General wanted to put me in a line up. I panicked because I was guilty and another charge of armed robbery easily doubled any time I was already looking at.
All I could think about was the fact that in every movie, the perpetrator was always number five, so my mantra became, 'Don't be five. Don't be five.' The day of the line up, they handed me my number, 5, and I took it to the jury box where I was told to stand with five cops and a homeless guy they plucked off the street ten minutes prior to the victim's arrival. I was sunk. I figured my only choice was to capsize and confess in front of everyone. But my grandmother put up her house to pay my lawyer ten grand and I wasn't about to waste her life savings.
When the moment of truth arrived, the cameras switched on, and everyone was in place, they announced that the victim was coming in. The Wait ground time down to a slow, steady vibration that rattled my head. While I waited for it to crumble, questions begged: Should I look straight ahead, or make eye contact with the victim? Was it too obvious to look around at my counterparts to see what they were doing? Was that nose pick a signal from my lawyer telling me to look more innocent?
I decided to copy number 6 and look straight ahead, like a cop. They brought in the victim. I remembered his face, having stuck a gun into it a year prior. He walked down the line, stopped between me and 6, then scurried out of the courtroom.
That's it. Thank you all for coming. We have some lovely parting gifts for you. I'm going to prison now. Good night.
But The Wait had other plans, another pass through. Was this a good sign? During the second walk, the victim stopped again, between me and 6.
When all was said and done, The Wait made me sit in the court cafeteria until my lawyer came and told me the victim was unable to identify anyone in the line up. As a joke, he gave number 6 his card.

Prison is tantamount to being The Wait's bitch for three years. Want to know what it's like? Here's an easy way to find out: Lock yourself in your bathroom for three years. You can come out once a day, for an hour, but only if it's in the company of rapists, murderers, and drug dealers (This might not be much different than Thanksgiving for most of you). Every other day make sure someone comes in and strip searches you, don't forget the bend and spread. Every meal should be served stale, cold, or leave your wondering why the small breasted carcass that was baked and presented to you as dinner coincides with the shortage of pigeons in and around the yard.

The Wait serves only one other force in the universe and that's Cancer. They go hand in hand. Once we accepted Mom's diagnosis and consequent death sentence all that was left was The Wait. Sounds morbid, perhaps a bit cynical, but there is a gift in Cancer. The Wait allowed me to tell her everything I needed to, and she me.

The Wait still tests my patience. The puppy won't be here until June 12th. Four agents have my manuscript and none have gotten back to me. I've spent my life waiting. And when each episode of waiting ends, another begins, until I realized, I do it to myself.

Maybe The Wait is trying to teach me a lesson.

STOP WAITING...