Shawn
oh….. my sister’s husband is named Shawn. This is NOT about him.
I had a relationship with this guy named Shawn Sutherland. Actually, to be completely honest, his name was Cleveland but he didn’t like that or any of the derivations so he went by Shawn, his middle name.
Shawn’s name came up because I wasn answering a questionairre about “whom do you most miss.” I most miss Shawn and I elaborated a little on that. But I really don’t think I did him justice. He’s departted this world, not according to plan, and doesn’t care about justice, but I continue to reside here and…. well ….. I’m a writer and I’m itchy to say something.
A couple of things, really.
First, you never met a handsomer man. tallish guy with clean cut appearance and even features and and easy smile ….. He was me with blond hair and he was taller.
He was a truck driver. His route took him from Portland to Newark and back again, but every three weeks or so he would swing throug San Antonio. And that’s when we would meet.
He would say goofy shit like, “I took some pitchers in Montana.” And I would correct his locution and he secretly enjoyed it. Though on the face of it he didn’t enjoy it.
I still can’t talk about Shawn without getting sad and emotional. I think about what a waste of time Sex in the City is. For starters it’s about women and I’m a man. But it’s …… shallow, not heeartless but shallow ….. and while its amusing it tackles things on the surface. Even Ally McBeall dug deeper. (Thought look where THAT went)
ShAwn was a beautifil man. He was big. He was dumb enough to love me. He was a rodeo star. He was a truck driver. He was horny. He had substance and ambition and dreams.
I never knew either of my grandfathers. My dad’s mom passed away when I was more or less a kid. My mom’s mom was pretty largely in my life. She died.
Shawn died.
My grandmother died …… because it was time for her to die. She was 974 years old and frankly she had given up on life. Shawn’s story is different. Except, the ending is the same. He’s dead.
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