Live and Let Live
Seamus Carpenter stands just over six feet tall, when he stands up straight, that is. His hair is of an unremarkable hue best described as brown, and the way he wears it does nothing to bring out the cerulean of his eyes. Seamus isn’t sure what cerulean means; his girlfriend once applied the unfamiliar adjective to his eyes while they shared a chocolate shake topped with two maraschino cherries at a retro diner one night, and Seamus has since concluded that it’s simply a pretty way of saying blue. A hand with fingernails cut down to the quick travels through Seamus’s shaggy mane, which is long and untamed enough to meet with scornful glares from most adults over the age of forty, like the portly woman who just passed by him with three new releases clutched in her overly-ringed hands. Seamus doesn’t mind. He thinks briefly that he wouldn’t wear so many rings if his fingers looked that much like sausages, but he casts the thought aside. The woman can wear as many rings as she likes, and he can wear his hair anyway he likes. Seamus’s motto is live and let live.
Colorful boxes with bold words and smiling people surround Seamus, their colors and images painstakingly chosen to cast a siren song to his generation, but Seamus passes them by. Aisle after aisle, the titles sulk quietly on their shelves. They do not call out to Seamus, nor does he pay them any regard. Seamus knows which movie he wants, and pauses. There before him, on the third row from the top, the second case from the left, lies the immortal genius that is Mel Brooks’s Robin Hood: Men in Tights. His hand does not tremble as he picks up the movie, although he knows his girlfriend, Amy, will be anything but pleased to see this film again. This particular film has sparked more rows than Seamus cares to remember, and Amy considers it one of Seamus’s biggest flaws that he has rented it twenty-seven times in the eight months that they’ve lived together.
“Twenty-eight,” Seamus says softly to himself.
Seamus thinks of himself as a normal, well-adjusted man in his late twenties. He goes to work everyday for five days a week at 7:56AM, with a standard deviation of 2.3 minutes. He jogs around the community park three times a week, trying to maintain a lean physique that has started to soften of late according to his full-length bathroom mirror. He has a girlfriend with whom he shares an apartment and the occasional appletini, when the situation warrants it. He’s even normal enough to file his taxes on time. But Seamus, like most people, has flaws. Two, to be precise, according to Amy. The first is his fascination with the movie currently housed in his hand, and his ability to laugh until tears stream from his … cerulean… eyes every time he watches the can-can version of the ‘Men in Tights’ song. The second flaw drives Amy up the proverbial wall, although Seamus really can’t see what all the fuss is about.
As he waits in the queue to rent his movie, Seamus decides to have a look out the large, double-paned windows that face today’s spring day. Just outside is a white flowering dogwood, no doubt planted for its aesthetic appeal and its ability to call to mind visions of soft, fluffy clouds. Beneath the tree is a lush carpet of new grass spotted with a few thick clover beds and the idea to hunt for a four-leaf clover passes transiently through Seamus’s mind. Vaguely, he thinks that Amy could use the good luck tonight, but as he moves forward in line the idea vacates his mind as quickly as it arrived, leaving Seamus with nothing better to do than to return his gaze out the window. He counts to ten, and in that time interval two cars pass by; one red, and one not red. Looking skyward, Seamus notes the heaviness of the darkening clouds with a brief pang of trepidation, knowing all-too-well their potential for exposing his second flaw. But if Seamus wishes to keep his supposed-second flaw secret, then I’m sad to report that it may already be too late.
You see, just as Seamus holds out an open hand to receive his change from the cashier, and one quarter, one dime, and one nickel fall squarely into his palm, one shiny, newly-minted 2008 penny chooses a different path for itself. It strikes the side of Seamus’s hand, bounces onto the very edge of the counter and spirals into the air. As he watches the downward trajectory of the coin, Seamus’s sympathetic nervous systems awakens and begins sending impulses to the sinoatrial node, which course through an internal electrical circuit and ultimately terminate at the purkinje fibers, accelerating Seamus’s heart rate and giving him the impression of time standing still. Turn by turn, the penny falls gracefully through the air, finally landing on the floor next to a crumpled-up receipt and a dirty wad of once-pink bubble gum. Sucking in his breath, Seamus watches with widened eyes as the copper coin continues to spin, releasing that breath as the coin lands such that Lincoln’s shiny profile faces Seamus’s relieved face. Seamus stoops to easily scoop up the penny and deposits it in his pocket with the rest of the change.
“Sorry about that,” says the cashier, absently waiting for Seamus’s receipt to print.
“Not a problem,” Seamus replies nonchalantly. He even manages a grin and a thank you as he collects his movie and exits the store, relieved at his merciful reprieve. Tucking the film into the front pocket of the hoodie that he only wears on Friday afternoons, Seamus begins the walk back to his and Amy’s apartment. When he is two blocks away, Seamus breaks into a run to avoid a sudden sheet of drenching rain. He enters the apartment just as Amy emerges from their bedroom dressed in a smart outfit that Seamus always felt made her look like a sophisticated and yet intimidating businesswoman. He never fails to amend his description to include how beautiful Amy is.
Whistling in appreciation, Seamus watches as Amy spins in place for him, giving him a 360-view of her entire ensemble, her strawberry-blonde hair unmoving from her perfect, although rigid, coiffure.
“You look wonderful.” Seamus pulls Amy in for a light kiss, which he places on her upturned cheek, careful not to smudge her makeup.
“Thanks,” she replies. “Will I knock them dead?”
Seamus doesn’t miss the note of uncertainty hiding behind her confident question. Giving her another quick once-over, Seamus says “You’ll knock ‘em dead. If that firm doesn’t hire you the moment you set foot in their door, then they’re crazy.”
Amy smiles, and then asks the question Seamus doesn’t want to answer. “What’s that in your pocket?”
“Oh, nothing,” says Seamus, trying for sang-froid. “It’s just a movie.”
Amy’s eyes narrow. “Which movie?” Although her question is only two words long, Seamus can hear each syllable hit the neutral carpeting between them with all the explosive potential of ticking time bombs. Seamus’s silence is Amy’s only answer and she lets out a sigh of exasperation. “I don’t know what your obsession is with that stupid movie, Seamus. I just don’t get it.”
‘You don’t try to get it,’ Seamus tells her in his mind, but keeps his peace, electing to say instead: “It’s pouring outside. You’ll need your umbrella.”
To Seamus’s relief, Amy accepts the change of subject. As she turns to put on her earrings, she tells him, “It’s in the corner by the bookshelf. Will you take a look at it – I couldn’t get it to open last time.”
“Sure,” Seamus says, swallowing the apprehension rising in his throat like bile. Now Seamus isn’t afraid that he can’t fix the umbrella. On the contrary – he knows he can do it in a trice. No, Seamus is afraid of reminding Amy of his second flaw, especially so soon after the appearance of his first. Seamus does not like it when Amy yells, especially at him. Still, Seamus walks to the corner and picks up Amy’s umbrella, its pastel polka dots seeming to swim on the navy-blue background. Quietly, hoping that Amy won’t notice, Seamus walks softly toward their small terrace, the closed umbrella tucked under his arm.
But Amy does notice. “What are you doing?” Her question cracks through the air like a whip, stopping Seamus in his tracks. “Why can’t you fix it inside?”
Seamus slowly turns to face Amy, knowing that she knows the answer to that question just as well as he does. It’s his second flaw, the one that drives her crazier than Seamus’s watching of his favorite movie over and over again, laughing at every asinine joke as if it was the first time he’d heard it. Seamus could not, or would not, open an umbrella indoors, for the same reason that he would not pick up a penny if it was face down, or would not walk under a ladder. It is the same reason that leads him to believe that four leaf clovers and visits from lady-bugs bring good luck, while shattered mirrors and spilt salt bring bad luck. You see, dear reader, Seamus is superstitious.
When Amy had first met Seamus, she’d told him that his silly beliefs were a breath of fresh, reason-free air in her otherwise logical life. The first time he presented her with a lucky penny, Amy hadn’t been able to contain the smile that spilled onto her face in a rosy blush, nor the laughter that bubbled forth as she accepted the good-luck token from Seamus’s earnest hands. That had been when they first met, over a year ago, and Amy’s smiles at Seamus’s flirtations with irrationality had long ago died. Her tug on her side of the wishbone last Thanksgiving hadn’t merited being called half-hearted, and she hadn’t even tried to smile when the wishbone had snapped with a dry crack, leaving her with the larger side.
This is not to say that Seamus and Amy’s relationship was rocky; that is far from the truth. Aside from Seamus’s superstitious beliefs and Amy’s rigid abhorrence of all things illogical, they fit together quite nicely. They share a similar set of friends, and both secretly dream of adopting a black Labrador puppy as soon as they find a larger place to live. Amy adores Seamus’s singing voice and never misses an opportunity to rain praise upon him when he does sing. Seamus lives in awe of Amy’s culinary savvy, which she takes with her once a week to the local soup kitchen, driven by a compassion that makes Seamus proud to know her. Perhaps it is helping people in need, and seeing firsthand the devastation complete dependence on irrational whims and dreams can create that makes Amy unwilling to abide Seamus’s superstitions. Perhaps it is her undying wish to make the world a better, more rational place that makes Amy so adamant about curing Seamus of his silliness. Whatever it is, all Seamus knows is that Amy lacks the ability to live and let live.
Which brings us to the current state of affairs. Amy repeats her question, her scathing response already selected and grammar-checked. “Why can’t you fix it inside?”
Seamus eyes her, noting her reddening face and her blossoming temper. Normally, he’d say something innocuous and wait for her to calm down, choosing a policy of inactive appeasement rather than assertive action to avoid a sticky argument. But Seamus doesn’t feel like it today. Drawing upon the same boldness that helped him to select his movie with nary a tremble, Seamus straightens his spine and meets Amy’s eyes squarely from his full height.
“I’m going out onto the terrace to fix your umbrella. It’s bad luck to open an umbrella indoors.”
Amy appears taken aback by his forthrightness but recovers quickly, taking it in stride as she lets out a frustrated groan. “Not this madness again! How many times do I have to tell you – opening an umbrella inside is not going to bring bad luck! It just doesn’t make sense. Why can’t you see that? Why can’t you see how crazy your beliefs are?!”
“My beliefs are not crazy,” Seamus says, coldness seeping into his tone.
“Oh, yeah?” She asks, before snatching her umbrella from under Seamus’s arm. “Then tell me, what exactly is going to happen to me if I open this umbrella right here, right now? Please, tell me. I want to know.”
Seamus doesn’t make a move to stop her. He watches in silence as Amy defiantly forces the umbrella to open with a manic burst of strength. She sits down on the couch, the umbrella draped over her shoulder like a parasol.
“Where’s your bad luck, Seamus?” she asks, moving her head from side-to-side in mock alarm. “I don’t see it.”
“No,” he finally says. “You wouldn’t. You don’t believe it. You don’t understand that it’s not the opening of the umbrella inside that brings bad luck, or the finding of a four-leaf clover that brings good – it’s the belief that you’re going to meet with either good or bad luck. That’s it. It’s just a belief. If I think I’m going to have bad luck, odds are I’ll have bad luck. If I think I’m going to have good luck, then the odds are I will have good luck, simply because I believe it.”
Seamus advances on Amy, standing solidly before her. “But you’ve never cared about that. You’ve never cared that finding a penny heads-up makes me happy, or that watching this movie,” Seamus pulls said movie from his pocket and throws it onto the coffee table with enough force for Amy to flinch, “makes me happy. You don’t care that what I believe has been scientifically tested and has a logical, rational origin. You don’t care about any of that. All you can see is that I will not conform to your so-called rationality.”
Seamus stops for a moment to take in Amy’s unyielding expression, and something breaks within him. Seamus loves Amy and he knows in his heart that she is the only person he wants to be with, but this conflict between them, sparked by his idle beliefs, is killing their relationship. Seamus recognizes this, and realizes that it’s just not worth it anymore. His spine deflates to its usual, stunted height as he tells her, “Fine. I can’t take this anymore. You want me to be rational, then fine.”
Before Amy can ask him what he’s doing, Seamus seizes the small mirror mounted above the couch and hurls it into the wall. Silvery glass shatters, the shards reflecting a hundred scattered images of Amy’s shocked face before raining down on the beige carpet. “Well?!” Seamus asks, his chest heaving. “Is that rational enough for you? I’m not worried about bad luck anymore. Does that make you happy, Amy?”
When Seamus looks at Amy, he finds no happiness on her startled face. Instead, he finds a soft question, seeming to ask him, ‘Why haven’t you said any of this before?’ But Seamus doesn’t want to answer it. As his sudden anger ebbs, Seamus feels a hint of remorse for his actions, and the need to be alone.
“You’d better get going,” he says to Amy. “You’ll be late for your interview.”
Amy silently stands up and closes the umbrella. Her eyes don’t quite meet his as she gathers her purse, her leather briefcase, and the umbrella and heads toward the door. She hesitates before opening the door, a burst of nervousness filling her with the need to hear him wish her luck, but Seamus is through with luck, and says nothing.
As soon as Amy leaves, Seamus cleans up the broken mirror, depositing the dangerous shards into a brown paper sack before placing them in the garbage. He thinks briefly of changing out of his sodden clothes and taking a shower, but the will to do so deserts him and he instead sits by the window. The rain that had poured so strongly before has ceased altogether now, and Seamus marvels at how beautiful everything can look after a storm. The residual moisture darkened the bark of the trees in the park next door, making the new leaves and flowers all the more brilliant. Seamus hopes that after the storm of this most recent quarrel, the future of what he and Amy share will be just as bright.
When Amy returns, Seamus is still sitting in that same seat, watching the sunset. He turns his head briefly to acknowledge her arrival before returning his gaze outside. Amy doesn’t speak to him, but he can hear her moving about in the apartment. Sometime later, the irresistible smell of popcorn tickles Seamus’s nostrils, and a familiar tune emanating from the TV prompts him to turn his head. Amy sits on the couch, a large bowl tottering in her lap as she pats the seat next to her, a smile warming her face.
Seamus cautiously approaches and sits next to her with an expression of disbelief, as if he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing. Amy passes him the bowl of popcorn as the opening credits of Robin Hood: Men in Tights flash across the screen, ending Seamus’s disbelief but exponentially increasing his confusion.
Amy answers before he can ask. “I didn’t know how much it meant to you, Seamus. I didn’t realize how much any of it meant to you, but now that I do, well…” her loosened hair whirls about as she turns and flashes him a smile, “I think I can learn to live with it.”
No comments:
Post a Comment