The Sun is Still Sunny - Barry & Maureen

I was recently thinking about how the number 1111 appears more than others for me. This thought led me to thinking about the Mayan calendar and the end of the world prophecies. And when I start to contemplate about the end of the world, I think about the phone conversation I had back in 1994.

When I set out on my own in 1992 to live in Chicago, I only knew a handful of people in the city. Consequently I did not receive many phone calls.

This state of existence, living in the world as an unknown, appealed to me because it allowed me to spend my days in solitude and anonymity.

I also worked evenings in the historic Monadnock building on Jackson Street, so anyone trying to call me after 2:00pm would not get through because I did not have an answering machine. A friend of mine once called me at midnight because he got frustrated trying to call at a reasonable hour. He told me, "your parents gave me your number, and I have been trying to get a hold of you for the past two months."




One afternoon before I left for work I got a call from Barry.

I first met Barry on my dorm floor in college. There were few people on the floor whom I talked to, but Barry was one of them. I avoided all people who struck me as being normal, because if they were normal, they would most likely expect me to do normal things with them - talk about television shows and sports teams, see movies, go to parties, drink beer.

I will admit I liked to drink when I was in college, but I made sure I was alone, the room was dark, and Mahler was playing on the stereo.

I surprisingly did have some friends in college. Each of them had an interest which I could not find in the suburbs - Christian fanatic; manic depressive who obsessed about getting laid; painter; philosopher; political radical; atheist/vegetarian/peacenik; Zen Buddhist.

Barry was the Christian fanatic.

"Hey Barry, it's been a while..... How's it going? ....... Oh, well, I'm planning a trip to Paris in 6 months..... what do you mean I'm not going to make it?.....what do you mean the world is going to end?.....when? ...... September, 1994?........ you even know the exact day?....... shit.........

So Barry had decided that he was a modern day prophet, and believed in the predictions of Harold Camping. He informed me that he had quit his sales job, sold his car, and had just returned from a 3 week stay in Poland where he walked the streets warning the Poles that the end of the world was imminent.

I asked him what he was going to do if the world didn't end in September, 1994. He told me not to worry about him, because there was no doubt it was going to end at that time.

I was worried about Barry. Sure, he had always been a bible fanatic, but now he believed he was the reincarnation of a biblical prophet.

I started reading the bible after my girlfriend left me a few years earlier, so I knew how to engage Barry in religious conversation. We set a time to meet, and I looked forward to seeing him.

He drove down to Chicago and we met at an uptown Mexican restaurant. The meal was unmemorable, but I remember him telling me that the burritos were microwaved. I wanted to ask him how he knew that, but decided against it.

After our meal we studied a Reader to find something to do later in the evening. There was a folk singer named Maureen playing at a nearby coffeehouse. We decided to check it out.

The coffeehouse had an upstairs area reserved for performances, so we walked up a flight of stairs and found that we were the only ones there. We sat down on the folding chairs and talked about God, girls, and the end of the world.

A couple of other people joined us, and then Maureen appeared on the stage, an attractive woman in her late 20's or early 30's. She had a pleasant voice and her guitar had a sweet, clear sound. I listened intently to her songs, and realized they were beautiful, but sometimes they crossed into sentimentality.

How is it that the beauty of the world can be ignored, while trash is usually popular? I wasn't going to complain, though, if everyone realized how much beauty could be found in a field or woods, it would soon be ruined by real estate developers and people hawking trinkets. The sublime is surrounded by miles of silence, and then, a single pair of eyes appear.

When the show ended we clapped and stood to leave. Before I knew what was happening Barry had walked over to Maureen and started talking to her. I followed and stood close by so that I could hear the conversation.

She seemed to be a very easy going lady, and as the 3 of us walked down the stairs to the street, I casually mentioned that I liked to play the guitar.

As we stood on the sidewalk, the cool spring air making me feel a bit intoxicated, we decided that the 3 of us should go out to dinner. I laughed to myself, because if I had been alone there was no way I would have approached Maureen, but now, here we were, going out to dinner with a folk singer.

I can't remember all the things we talked about, but I do know that it was easy to talk and feel comfortable. When the evening finally ended, I left Barry and my new singing friend, clutching her business card in my left hand.

The next week Maureen and I met up in the city. We had dinner together, and then she invited me back to her apartment.

She lived in Rogers Park, which is on the far north side of the city, where rents are cheap and its easy to get mugged if walking the streets too late at night.

Her apartment was spacious, a bit cluttered, and she had a cat. The litter box was in view, off to the side in the living room. I sat down on the sofa, feeling relaxed.

We talked a bit, and she told me that the night of her performance she could feel how intensely I listened, and that she imagined she was playing just for me.

This surprised me. It was true there were only 4 or 5 in the audience, but why did she single me out as the lone member to play for? It made me feel a bit special, but also made me realize that sometimes things which seem to be invisible, in this case, listening, can be seen just as clearly as a color or a sunset.

When it seemed the night had gotten too late, I got up to leave.

As I was putting my jacket on Maureen asked if I wanted to take a shower with her. I wish I could have seen the expression on my face, I must have looked pretty silly, because I did not respond. I stood there with my jacket on, and then sat back down on the sofa.

I thought about the question for what seemed a long time, but in reality it must have been 30 seconds.

I enjoyed getting laid just as much as the next guy, and I knew that I didn't get laid enough. But something here in the room struck me as being wrong.

Perhaps it was how cluttered the apartment was, and having the litter box in plain sight somehow made me feel squeamish. But I knew that I did not know Maureen well enough to just jump in the shower with her. Maybe in another circumstance I would willingly sleep with a stranger, but this instance struck me as somehow being dangerous, and therefore my heart recoiled, instead of jumping with glee.

"I don't think that would be a good idea", I finally managed to say.

She seemed a bit surprised at my refusal, but did not seem bothered by it.

"Well, it's late, you can at least stay and sleep on the couch. Don't worry, I won't touch you", she said jokingly.

to be continued......

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Worked on this picture after writing the above :

In Memory of Barry & Maureen

The sweet melancholy of Dean & Britta :