A man who is no longer young.
His shoulder-length hair pulled back in a messy ponytail.
He is bearded and attractive in that scruffy way that just is here in Oregon.
He is lit from within with . . . something.
Enthusiasm? Intelligence? Creativity? Happiness?
Something.
He catches my attention.
He is perhaps 35.
He is amidst a group of people, all of them older than he is.
He is the center of attention.
He is the reason for this gathering, whatever it is.
I watch.
I cannot hear all of the conversation, but I catch bits and pieces. The man who has caught my attention does much of the talking, and so most of the words are his . . . filming, shots, captured, rain, difficulties . . . documentary . . . trouble with scheduling . . . project . . . passion . . . working to get permits . . . dream.
He is making a movie.
His listeners are captivated by his words. They listen silently, nodding their heads in appreciation and understanding. The man who has caught my attention has also caught theirs. He is a charismatic and charming man, and this group wants him to succeed.
He was lit from within, but now he glows.
This is going very very well.
And then I catch the word . . . funding.
I don’t know what words surround the word “funding,” but from the beseeching quality of the man’s arms and posture, it is apparent he is asking for money.
The group, who just a moment before seemed ready to take whatever journey this man suggested, is now looking collectively down into their drinks. Belongings are not exactly gathered, but there is a reaching out for possessions. As though it has occurred to everyone at exactly the same moment that it has been a while since their fingertips have touched their coats, their hats, their phones, their pockets, their wallets. They sit back in their chairs. Arms are crossed.
If he is looking to get money out of this group, it’s going to be a hard sell.
He pulls out a laptop.
The group relaxes. They seem surprised that he has something to show them. They are reassured. They smile.
I can’t see what is on the computer screen.
But music fills the room.
The Who’s Teenage Wasteland.
Really?
The man looks suddenly very child-like and hopeful in my eyes, begging his elders for understanding and cash as he plays them a song about a disillusioned young man coming face to face with the harsh realities of an uncaring world.
I cannot see the film, but the music plays as background to the scene I can see, and it is jarring.
The man looks childlike and the faces of the viewers are . . . empty.
Purposefully empty.
There is much behind these empty faces.
None of it good.
I get the sense these people have emptied their faces for this man before.
The man is perhaps not quite what I imagined.
The film plays for the length of the song, and then there is silence. The man folds up the laptop. Stands before the group.
So much hope. So much vulnerability.
Ugh.
I want to look away but I cannot.
There is a single statement, spoken loudly and rudely by a large pale man with eyes too small for his wide shapeless face, “Well. It must have taken some doing to get permission to use that song. The highlight of the clip. Well done getting that song.”
The man with the glow is extinguished.
He sputters and stammers and explains that he does not have permission to use the song.
Sigh.
There is no more discussion.
Belongings are gathered in earnest. Exits are made.
And then it is just the defeated man and one of the older women.
They sit together for a few minutes.
She reaches to put her hand over his, and they speak quietly.
I have no idea what they say to one another.
The woman stands.
Adjusts her purse on her shoulder.
As she walks away from the man, he turns to say goodbye.
“Goodbye, Mom. Thanks for trying.”
Really?
Sigh.
Not sure who to feel more sorry for… The man or his mother…
Sad that his dream, whatever it revolved around was shot down like it was.
Sigh.
I know, right?
I felt so connected to that man and his dreams.
Until I realized that the woman was his mother.
And then I felt connected to her.
Sigh.
Wonder how many times she put herself on the line like that for him?
To hope that just maybe this one time something good will come of it for him…
To hope that he will be able to achieve at least one of his dreams…
I just wonder…
I know.
I was left with the same thoughts and questions.
Exactly.
I got the sense (from your written impression) that this poor woman just wanted her son to *finally* complete something. To succeed in a tangible way. So much so, that she was willing to risk her credibility among her peers.
I wasn’t sure if this was a group of older relatives or a group of the mother’s friends.
But yes . . . it was my impression that the mother had put herself on the line.
Taken a risk for her son.
Not for the first time.
Sigh.
People watching is one thing. Being able to tell that defeated man’s story so eloquently is pure talent. I’m glad I found your blog. You made me want to give the guy a hug.
Kimberly -
Thank you so much for that.
Thank you.
Wow. I knew there was a reason I had all this sycophantic worship for you. *sigh*
That was beautifully rendered. Really.
It makes my mind wonder about the man. And his mother. I wonder how many times they’ve done this before. I wonder if he has what it takes to bring his passion to life or if it is just empty sparkle. This could go a lot of ways.
But you made it lovely. Not matter how it went before or how it goes from here.
Ms. WTH -
I am so pleased this story touched you. So pleased that this story makes you wonder.
As I was left wondering.
About what went before and what comes after.
But I do like that moment of connecting with a stranger . . . even if the stranger never notices me.
Love that.
oh gosh. the man started out so attractive. but in the end? so not.
Sigh.
I know.
I want to slap the man with the comment
I want to hug the man speaking and encourage him to keep trying
My heart aches for his mom
Leighann -
Your responses are exactly what I felt.
Yes.
To everything you said.
from the beginning? I knew this guy was a washed up something.
i was right.
do not trust men in their 30s with shaggy pony tails.
Katie -
Guess what?
Portland is filled with men in their 30′s (and 40′s) with shaggy ponytails.
Snort!
They are everywhere.
wait…does MARK have a shaggy ponytail?
Snort!
He so does not.
Very short hair for as long as I have known him.
Silly you.
ok phew.
i thought i made a wrong turn there.
but then i remembered that you are in the pacific northwest. the breeding ground for artists with long, shaggy pony tails.
and the birthplace of grunge.
sweet, sweet grunge.
Katie -
Silly you.
Mark is all grown-up and responsible looking.
Not even a speck of grunge.
Snort!
so sad to see/hear someone’s dreams squished like that :(
and FWIW, i dig a long-ish haired guy! weird that my hubby is bald, huh? ;)
Sarah -
This man was very attractive when I first noticed him.
Less so just a short while later.
More to a man than the way he looks.
Obviously.
What amazed me about this story is how our perception of attractive changes with our thoughts, even though nothing has changed physically.
In the beginning of this story, he was attractive to me, too, then as the story went on, he began to take on a greasy ponytail and I imagined that his shirt didn’t exactly smell clean, either.
Amazing…physically altered appeal, even though, nothing superficial has changed.
Amazing.
Alexandra -
If I have not mentioned before how very very much I like how you read my stories?
How you always seem to notice what I am doing? What I am trying to communicate?
I want to tell you now.
You always see what I have tried to share.
You always do.
Thank you.
There is absolutely nothing more gut-wrenchingly painful for me than witnessing someone’s shame. Even my own shame is not as bad as that of another person.
Ouch.
Adrienne -
I know.
The girls were obsessed with American Idol last year. You know what part of the show I cannot watch? Literally cannot watch?
The very first auditions, in which the people who cannot sing at all but believe in their own abilities stand before the judges and sing.
Ugh.
I cannot stand that part.
My heart aches for their lack of self-knowledge.
For their misplaced confidence.
And then for their crushed dreams.
Oh, I just cannot watch.
Ohhh my goodness,
I am sooo sometimes that mother.
The perpetual cheerleader.
The soft place to fall.
The hopeful.
The cheerful.
The “there is nothing I won’t do for you” mother.
The sometimes so stupid, mother.
Is it wrong…?
Even so.. there is no stopping “it”.
Even if I wanted to, I am powerless to do so.
Koby -
I started out feeling all connected to the man.
And ended up feeling bonded with the mother.
She was clearly powerless.
And she clearly had dreams . . . just as her son did.
Dreams just as doomed to failure.
Sigh.
This one freaked me out. Let me tell you why. For years, that really handsome sexy charismatic guy who got everyones’ attention and mesmerized them with his passion, plans, and talent? He was my Husband. Those characteristics were part of what attracted me to him. He was so full of amazing ideas and dreams! But he would inevitably become so child-like, lost, vulnerable, and even shocked time and time again when plans went awry and dreams fell to pieces. He’s was dreamer. All under the scrutiny of my entire family of disapprovers. I am the one who put myself on the line and picked up the pieces every time things went to hell. We are lucky to have grown and matured together. My husband has since found his place in this world. But the memories are still fresh. Kris? You gave me chills!
Lola -
Wow.
I am beyond touched that you would share that here with me today.
Thank you for that.
Wow.
I am so happy that your husband has found his place in the world. So very happy for that. And just . . .
Wow.
what the hell. It’s just between us, right?
Right.
Ahem.
I felt sorry for the mom at the end….because I know several men like this one. Struggling, grasping at straws, trying to grab the next best thing to try and make something of themselves.
excellent job.
Erin -
Yes.
I know men like this as well.
Sigh.
Yeah.
He was no longer young, perhaps 35. EXCUSE ME????? No longer young?????????????
Silly you.
That was not my first impression of him.
But I wanted to foreshadow that he was no longer young enough to play the part he would end up playing before me.
I am 44.
I was not speaking objectively.
I was speaking subjectively, letting the reader know that he is no longer young enough to be this man before me.
Love you.
Kris
This man who crumples after being rejected? Seems so much sadder because it was his mother who gathered the prospects.
People who have the actual job of asking for funding or contributions, must have very thick skin. I hope they know better than to ask their mother.
Did the man stay there, alone after his mother went?
that is all
Amy -
Yes . . . so much sadder because his mother was the one trying to help him make his dreams come true. So much sadder.
After his mother left, he sat there for a few minutes.
I looked away, engaged in conversation, and when I turned again he was gone.
Did not see his exit.
Sigh.