Security In A Canadian Couch

It was always there to be one of the securities in my life. I always gave thought to the normalcy of children my age with their security blankets and pillows, but nothing every took. I wanted so much to use something more efficient, something more controllable. Life had always took me to the reminiscent familiar feeling and comfort of my special place. Where I could be a kid again and life and worry weren't part of the mediocrity. Life, as I knew it was not easy, owning up to the finer things in life can be a burden on a young child. My spirit grew to know the ways and hows of fooling people into believing I was,.. Well, normal.

I can not express in so many ways my emotions, I believe it was always the sense of urgency that my parents bestowed on me. There always seemed a proper way of doing things, and then there was my way of doing things. I chose the latter way of dealing with the problems of my youth. It wasn't all snowfall and family gatherings, it was a tight ship in my household. My grandfather was a depression baby and WWII Vet. My father fell into his footsteps, Vietnam, War Hero, and then into sales for Nabisco, in fact, he was one of the fortunate ones to get in on the ground floor of that company, by the time he was 27, he was worth millions. Money was his first love, and then his family came second, after his womanizing of course.

The years of my youth rolled on with morning PT, and language classes. Then it was off to piano and violin lessons. The very root to my problems came with the conception that I was exposed to a life of privilege and nobility. I didn't want this life, I didn't ask for this, "Privilege." I remember my father always stating to me, "When you say yes to something, you just said no to something else." Oh, the warmth of my childhood... Walking around the estate home felt like a fortress, maids, caretakers, butlers and handmaidens. The love I received from my parents felt forced, and artificial. Security could only be found in my beloved couch, where I would dream of a harder life, and orphan life.

Why did I contemplate the very essence of my existence? What was I to become? If your entire life as the third male born to a history of War Heros and successful businessmen, wasn't it inevitable that I was to become the fallen one? The one that held promise, the future of my name, my heritage, my legacy. So much pressure for a five-year-old. So much pain and suffering, why couldn't my father show vulnerability and sensitivity? Could he not be fatherly, am I forced to believe I would never truly know my father? It was at this moment that my fears were realized. I would become outset and dark. I would be the one not smiling in photos. Forced habits and going through the motions of adolescence also felt awkward like I was in a dream, but fully aware that I was in a dream.

My youth was spent at beach houses, estate homes, and on european terraces. I would have loved to had lived as a pauper, my entire fundamental childhood was spent kept away. I was so far removed from the normalcy of life that I began to believe the only world that was out there was the one I lived in, inside my head. Church was a joke, money grieving whores in white robes. When I went to confession it was the most creative part of my life, I actually got to lie about things I wish I could do or say. Ten Hail Mary's and I was clean of my forged sins, I guess the biggest sin was lying that I sinned... Men that sustain from sex, shouldn't where dresses in my opinion, and they wonder why the catholic church has seen it's share of sodomy and child abuse.

Ah,.. the privileged life, where you weren't free to be you, only the person you were suppose to be. My addictions started young, but not in the sense of what your thinking in your head. They started out as tiny white lies, enough to pull you in and accept lies as truth. With time they grew bigger and bolder. It was my escape, and in the comfort of my maple leaf soaked sanctuary I was free to conjure them up. It was at this point I began to live, to invent my precarious sub-life. I have never spoken openly about the things you believe and the reason you believe them, but since the dawning of time we have all told a little fib... Right?

I remember it being a cold, crisp fall day, the leaves had changed and the explosion of color looked like a box of fruity-pebbles that were scattered across the lawn. The scent of holiday spices suffocated my nasal passages. It was by the old oak that was toward the back of the estate when we first met. The oak was strong and planted by the Vanderbuilt's centuries ago. It stood tall and black, its girth was that of an African elephant. Massive, was a word that felt small to describe it. He went by the name, Lucian. A proud man, noble in his appearance. His eyes were deep pools of darkness. His skin, the fairest I'd ever seen, even in the north east. He was a lengthy man, tall, thin, and drawn. The circles under his eyes enhance his dark round pupils. He was an engaging creature of the earth.

As I began to sink deeper into my almond colored cushions, I remembered this first meeting vividly. "Good day to you," he said. As I walked up to the tree his appearance became more known. "Good day to you," he said again. "Can I help you," were the words I had conjured up to help in his own awkwardness. His demeanor grew corse and his eyes shifted to mine, with his head tilted slightly he began to smirk. "Hardly,' He replied. "It is not I that need help, my path has been written by my own hand, yours is but a sketch on cheap paper." Interesting I thought. His outward appearance was unique, his tight fitting black clothes were layered and flowing. "I'm sorry do I know you?" I said nervously. With a dance around the tree, he said, "Possibly, but once again you requested this audience." "I did?" I said puzzled.

He circled once more and squatted to the frozen ground, his back leaned against the old oak. His steps were quick footed and light, he hardly made sound when he moved, it was as though he almost floated more then walked. "You, born of privilege could not possibly entertain the thought of my past, I have come to tell my story and would love for you to tell it." It occurred to me that this was some sort of prank, but getting an audience with this type of person sounded forlorn. "Oh, I tell stories now, and who would listen new friend?" I said sarcastically. He paused, got still, so still it was almost reptilian. His eyes gazed upon me like he was trying to hypnotize me. He finally said, "The world!"

I was baffled, a strange guest, an unusual task, and an impossible assignment. Who was this person I conjured up, or for that matter what he asking of me. Maybe this was my chance to make my way, this was the outlet of this world between the here an now.