Later,
-Chaucer
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Lucid Dream
After two years and a day, it is still difficult for me to believe that my best friend is gone. The notion that it's true is still so surreal for me. It's like awaking in a fog of drunken and drugged consciousness where I am not sure if I am in the middle of a dream or if I am awake and it's real life. I guess the event that has shaped my past two years so much is just that, not real in my mind, and any minute I'll gain back my cognitive abilities and realize that it was all just a very bad dream. I wish that was so. Miss you man.
Everybody Loves Mario Lucchiari Frassetto
Knowing what I know now, I guess it is pretty incredible what Mario was able to do.
He made a choice to move to AZ where he could ride his motorcycle all the time. Where he could be who he wanted to be – even take the name his mother had picked out for him before she saw the blonde haired hazel eyed baby. Mario Lucchiari didn’t seem to fit that baby, but he invented a character it did fit: funny and lovable, knowledgeable yet irresponsible, good looking, charm that could draw anyone in. He read books about women, cooking, writing, racers. He shaped himself from a skinny, pale kid into a muscular bad boy with a heart of gold.
I told Mario that even after dating him for some time, I felt like there were people I had known only a matter of days who I knew better. He said that was silly. I said that I felt like I never knew what was going on in his head – only surface stuff – happy, sad, hungry, tired, horney – the basics. He just laughed.
Now I know how true that was. I didn’t know his given name. I didn’t know the real year he was born. I knew only what he told me about ASU. I knew the Mario he wanted me to know – the Mario who he designed and built when he moved out here. The beautiful, excitement loving, life-of-the-party Mario. I knew the guy who wanted to look good naked, who wanted to be the best in bed and the best on his bike, but who wouldn’t open up about what he wanted out of life. The guy who wanted love and stability, but not to be tied down. The guy who loved making kids laugh, but was really afraid to have any of his own.
Unanswered questions are what bother me the most. Wondering if I ever would have known the answers, if he ever would have told me the whole story. If ever we would have gotten to a point where I didn’t want to nag him about things he was (or wasn’t) doing and where he wasn’t bitter about choices I made.
The truth is that Mario was pissed at me the last time I had a spoken conversation with him. He and I had continued carrying on long after we should have called it quits – there was something neither of us could quite walk away from between us. Then the day came that I met someone – another man who captured my interest, and I wanted to give him a fair shot. When Mario called me early one Sunday morning, I told him. He wasn’t pleased, yet he knew that marriage and a family was something I wanted and that he was never going to give it to me.
We continued to email a little, text a little. He wanted me to know he was writing again. He needed to tell me that he was working a “real” job, that he had a company. That he was, after all, getting his ducks in a row. Mario told me about how excited he was that his California Dreams were finally going to come true. We could talk about his accomplishments, my family, my work, the cats, people we knew in common…. What he wanted to share and what he wanted to know about, but nothing further. He never really commented on the sarcastic congratulatory card I sent after I heard about that woman. And I let it slide when he would bash my new boyfriend’s occupation.
A couple of weeks before he moved, I was running some errands on my lunch hour. I saw Mario on his bike whizz by me going the other direction. I turned around to try to catch up – I wanted to chat for a minute, give him a hug and wish him luck. I didn’t catch up to him in time – he made it through a light and I didn’t so I let it go… One more little regret.
Missing Mario today and each time he crosses my mind. Every time a well built guy on a motorcycle passes by me, every time I eat an Italian meal, every time the cat cries at the door for no reason and I wonder if he's out there. Wondering how things would have been two long years later.
He made a choice to move to AZ where he could ride his motorcycle all the time. Where he could be who he wanted to be – even take the name his mother had picked out for him before she saw the blonde haired hazel eyed baby. Mario Lucchiari didn’t seem to fit that baby, but he invented a character it did fit: funny and lovable, knowledgeable yet irresponsible, good looking, charm that could draw anyone in. He read books about women, cooking, writing, racers. He shaped himself from a skinny, pale kid into a muscular bad boy with a heart of gold.
I told Mario that even after dating him for some time, I felt like there were people I had known only a matter of days who I knew better. He said that was silly. I said that I felt like I never knew what was going on in his head – only surface stuff – happy, sad, hungry, tired, horney – the basics. He just laughed.
Now I know how true that was. I didn’t know his given name. I didn’t know the real year he was born. I knew only what he told me about ASU. I knew the Mario he wanted me to know – the Mario who he designed and built when he moved out here. The beautiful, excitement loving, life-of-the-party Mario. I knew the guy who wanted to look good naked, who wanted to be the best in bed and the best on his bike, but who wouldn’t open up about what he wanted out of life. The guy who wanted love and stability, but not to be tied down. The guy who loved making kids laugh, but was really afraid to have any of his own.
Unanswered questions are what bother me the most. Wondering if I ever would have known the answers, if he ever would have told me the whole story. If ever we would have gotten to a point where I didn’t want to nag him about things he was (or wasn’t) doing and where he wasn’t bitter about choices I made.
The truth is that Mario was pissed at me the last time I had a spoken conversation with him. He and I had continued carrying on long after we should have called it quits – there was something neither of us could quite walk away from between us. Then the day came that I met someone – another man who captured my interest, and I wanted to give him a fair shot. When Mario called me early one Sunday morning, I told him. He wasn’t pleased, yet he knew that marriage and a family was something I wanted and that he was never going to give it to me.
We continued to email a little, text a little. He wanted me to know he was writing again. He needed to tell me that he was working a “real” job, that he had a company. That he was, after all, getting his ducks in a row. Mario told me about how excited he was that his California Dreams were finally going to come true. We could talk about his accomplishments, my family, my work, the cats, people we knew in common…. What he wanted to share and what he wanted to know about, but nothing further. He never really commented on the sarcastic congratulatory card I sent after I heard about that woman. And I let it slide when he would bash my new boyfriend’s occupation.
A couple of weeks before he moved, I was running some errands on my lunch hour. I saw Mario on his bike whizz by me going the other direction. I turned around to try to catch up – I wanted to chat for a minute, give him a hug and wish him luck. I didn’t catch up to him in time – he made it through a light and I didn’t so I let it go… One more little regret.
Missing Mario today and each time he crosses my mind. Every time a well built guy on a motorcycle passes by me, every time I eat an Italian meal, every time the cat cries at the door for no reason and I wonder if he's out there. Wondering how things would have been two long years later.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
