Creed 152

       Heading up from The Center, I ran into Ezra heading down. We talked storm, which, of course, lead to Unified Field Theory. Before taking me to school on all that, Ezra looked up, reached his arms out. But then the professor forgot all that--had to get all schoolboy-giddy over something he saw up a tree. 
       "See it?" Ezra said, pointing up into the split fir. "It's spanning between the trunks; the butt end up against the right trunk."
       "You're right," I said, "a widow maker right over the main walk. Must have broke off in the storm."
       "How the hell are you going to get that down? It's five stories up."
       "I've been up that tree--can't climb that high for the gap in the limbs. Got some tree work scheduled for November; piece of cake for my tree guys."
       "Unless the next storm drops cake on someones head." Ezra raised his professor chin, examined my head like a phrenologist.
       "Don't Ezra; you're giving me a headache."
       Holding my head, I got my eyes back up the tree, tracked the likely descent of the limb. Ezra was right; this cake had memorial service written all over it. Though no interest in my own, there was one memorial service I wouldn't mind attending. I lowered my eyes to tell Ezra as much, but his eyes--still trained on my head--shut me up. Damn, it was my finger back there, stirring a lock of my hair.
       I snapped my hand down, got my eyes back on the widow maker. "Ya," I said, punishing my finger behind my back, "hope she's hung up there pretty good. I'll bring my binocs up tomorrow; see how good she's hung up there." And there the two sages stood, looking up, talking limbs, life, and how it sucks that everything in it breaks. 
       Broken limbs led to breakups. Alicia had told Ezra her Beau tale. How the two had worked till dawn on their till-death-do-us-part game plan. Trust established, cautious Alicia entered the relationship. But, alas, what Alicia got, in the way of game, was mounted by a dog for a week, then dumped.
       "Poor girl," Ezra said, eyeing the widow maker, "she was bawling her eyes out. I knew better, but the poor dear needed a hug so bad I went ahead and hugged her. I sure hope that hug doesn't come back to haunt me."
       I explained how I had warned Alicia about Beau. How I must warn Coral now. Which, of course, got me telling my own Beau tale. And, true to tale telling, I ended mine tall. "Bastard, putting the puppy dog moves on my Coral as if I wasn't even in Drawing. Lucky for him I saw fit to take that step back; a lesser man would have stepped up, punched his dog teeth out."
       Ezra threw me the eye a professor throws when his ear has had its fill of sophomore.
       My cue to adult up. "Hey, Ezra, the last time I talked with Alicia she up and says you've gone celibate on us. That's just a line to keep the students from hitting on you, right?"
       "No, I'm celibate."
       "Why, for religious reasons?"
       "What, you think I've up and gone the way of Origen?"
       "Origen?"
       "Origen of Alexandria; that early Christian guy who up and cut his nuts off to better walk the straight and narrow."
       "Jeez, Ezra, I knew those early Christians had a bent for martyrdom, but to up and cut your own nuts off, that's--that's insane."
        "Actually, it makes perfect sense. See, Anton, testicles are the chemical plant that produces the corrosive that hardwires the male eye for curves. Nip the plant in the bud, and the male eye can't see the curves for the straight and narrow." 
       As a First Person fiction writer, I'd played out many an act on paper. I had not, as yet, played out the act of gelding myself. And believe me, it was the scariest script I'd ever entertained. "Boy, Ezra," I said, reaching for the back of my head, "I don't think I could geld myself no matter how good it was for me."
       Ezra didn't say anything, but the whince in his bedroom eye said plenty. 
       "Boy, Ezra, brave man, that Origen." 
       "Ya, you know a man's got balls when he cuts 'em off."  
       A good cure for ache, lack of bravery and the like, is death. 
       And away we went, looking up, debating how that widow maker had to fall to put a couple of guys out of their misery altogether.

       Of course, going out that far on a limb brought us face to face with what we stll had; life. Which, of course, got us back to our struggles with it; in some ways wise as all get out, on other ways, still pawing at the starting blocks. 
       "So, tell me, Ezra, how long have you been celibate?"
       "About three years. Not that I'm counting. See, I made a pact with myself; I'm going to remain celibate till death parts me out."
       Whoa: Till death parts me out. A line worth stealing if I ever stole one.
       "Jeez, Ezra," I said, pocketing my pad and pen, "not to pour your glass half out, but I don't think you'll make it."
       "I'll make it."
       "But how?"
       "I've learned a step."
       I laughed. "Just like a professor; thinking dance lessons will get the sex out of his system."
       "It's not a dance step, Einstein. It's a procedural step. A step I got from an essay some students of mine gave me."
       "Essay?"
       "Yes, Twice Removed From Body. You should read it--right up your alley."
       "Twice Removed From Body. Sounds spiritual."
       "Read it, Anton. The author's Joshua Breed."
       "So, what's Josh's formula for getting sex out of ones system?"
       "It's not about getting the sex out of ones system. Sex drive is part of a healthy system. It's about becoming aware of the system, so when the sex drive kicks in one can step out of the system."
       "What, step out of body?"
       "Exactly. See, there's body stuff, and there's mind stuff. These are separate systems. Take me: When body stuff kicks in--like sex drive stuff--I acknowledge what's happening and I simply step out of body, step into mind."
       "But that's only once removed from body."
       "But it's enough to free one of the body's base drives. Twice removed is much harder. That's where one steps out of mind and steps into One." Ezra eyed me. "Yes, Anton; steps into God."
       A breeze blew up. I looked up. "Steps into God? God, ya, Ezra, I got to read this essay."
       "I'll loan you my copy."
       And there they stood, the two rogue males, looking up at the widow maker rocking overhead. Was the suffering in their faces part of their self imposed celibacy, or were these simply the faces rogue males put on when praying for the stiff breeze to drop a limb, break their stiff necks? 
       A voice broke into my prayers. It was Ezra, recounting his yellow brick road to celibacy. 
       "So I woke up one day to find that age had snuck up on me. Snuck up and blind-sided me. Imagine, me--Mr. Equal Rights Amendment--no longer attracted to women my own age. I felt so bad about this, I decided--out of respect for women my own age--to quit having sex with the twenty-somethings I was attracted to. Which, of course, meant I had to give up on sex altogether."
       Of course, I, too, was largely attracted to twenty-somethings. Perhaps I, too, should give up on sex altogether. I thought of my ex-wife, who was forty-four now. No, I could still imagine having the mechanical sex I had with her all through my twenties. Whew, close call that. For I sure didn't want to give up on sex altogether.

       "Ya," I said, "I'm attracted to twenty-somethings as much as the next guy. But, see, I'm lucky because I'm attracted to thirty-somethings just as much. No, that's what I'm going to get me next; a settled-down thirty-something." 

       "Good one," Ezra said, rubbing his neck. "That's what you said three twenty-somethings ago."

       "No, I'm serious this time. Twenty-somethings are too much work. I mean, any relationship is too much work, but with a twenty-something you find yourself doing double time--raising a child at the same time."

       Ezra had heard that one as well, and was about to laugh, when his concerned eye shifted to the back of my head where, damn, my finger was stirring a lock of my hair--again!

       I snapped my finger behind my back, really gave it what for.

       "No," I said, grimacing, "I'm serious this time. It's like I told ya--I don't do kids, I don't do dogs, I don't do 'I do's.' Well, now I don't do twenty-somethings neither. There, it's done--in my creed, even."

****