Peace Through All Doors

Every time I drive down that stretch of road, I am reminded of the first time I’d ever driven it.

The first time I had ever driven there was years … shit, by now, decades … ago, when I used to teach at a small gym in the Canal district of San Rafael. One Wednesday afternoon, a close friend of mine called me at the gym, of all places, right at the end of my class. She told me what had happened and gave me directions to the place she was staying, down the road from the Canal at the edge of Dominican College.

(These were the Prehistoric Days, before anything like a Cel Phone was even a dream in a capitalist’s eye. Some-the-fuck-how, she’d found out the name of the gym at which I taught, and from there she got its number, and called me on the gym phone.)

(Oh and this was actually some years before the founders of Google had even met each other, so, yeah. That’s how old this story is.)

San Rafael is a small but interesting blend of concrete and forest; of wildlife and high life. Surrounded by freeway, commerce, and the city’s poorest quarter lies the lovely campus of Dominican. This small haven of deciduous trees and clean air is a naturist’s delight, especially after passing through that section of town where dark rumors surround what might surface from the bottom of its canals.

It was just past that campus, on this road, that my friends lived. Driving on it for the first time, I was reminded of my earlier years: my hometown was basically built among the trees of an almost untouched forest. Of course, these trees were a bit different from where I grew up: I don’t know where else in the world one finds beech and eucalyptus and palm trees growing next to each other, but it certainly isn’t the Northeast United States.

Ultimately I found the side street and turned to drive up the hill. After carefully making a wrong turn and getting slightly lost, I finally found the house. It was evident that many people had been in and out recently: I had to park a bit farther down the road in a blind curve shadowed by the tall trees which oversaw the neighborhood.

When I knocked on the door, I was greeted with melancholy warmth by a group of friends. Rae, the one who’d called me, was the only one of the five people in the room that I knew. After introductions had been made, I took a seat and accepted a beer from James, while Rae continued the conversation that my arrival had interrupted.

‘And the craziest thing is,’ she was saying, ‘that I didn’t even know. I mean, as I think about it, I remember hearing something in the middle of the night, but I didn’t think anything of it.’ James nodded solemnly. They all knew better than to disturb an artist while he was working, and Kendall worked odd hours. ‘And then, this morning at lunch, I called. James was just getting home, and I said, “Why don’t you check on Kendall and see if he’s still alive.” God, I was only joking…’ With hands that were still visibly shaking, she took a drag off her cigarette.

‘The person I feel for right now is Harris,’ Elizabeth said quietly. ‘He had to clean up.’ At this, Dionne started sobbing again as quietly as her friend had spoken. Harris was not in the room at the time. When I met him later at the bar. I knew who he was immediately, even before we were introduced. Even five hours later, he clearly had the eyes someone who earlier that day had cleaned his friend’s brains off the wall.

‘… That’s just the way Harris is,’ continued Rae. ‘He could always take care of the things that needed to be done. I mean, I could never have done it,’ she continued, reaching for the pipe as James simply nodded, ‘and that’s just too much for James. How long have you known Kendall again?’ she asked him.

‘Twenty one years,’ Those were the first words I’d heard James speak that night. His voice was just barely touched by a faint drawl; one of very few but very definite ways he differed from most of Marin County. ‘Since we were seven.’ Those were almost the only words James said all night. James didn’t say much that night, but then again James never said very much at once, as I was eventually to learn.

‘James lived next door to us when we lived in Texas,’ said Dionne, now recovered, to me. ‘Before we moved out here. How long ago?’ she repeated the question I’d just asked. ‘Oh, that must have been when I was fifteen, so, sixteen years ago.’ I nodded slowly and took another pull of my beer, and took the bowl from Rae. ‘Have the police been here already?’ I asked.

‘They just left,’ answered Elizabeth, as James spat on the floor. Actually spat, on his own living room floor. That wasn’t something I would ever see him do again. ‘They were really obnoxious, too.’

‘They were dicks.’ emphasized Rae. ‘The whole time they kept saying, “We know drugs were involved. We know you had something to do with it.” I told them, “No shit, drugs were involved. There are the open bottles of Vodka and Vicodin.” As if I didn’t feel bad enough already…’

‘Rae, stop it.’ the others in the room offered. Not in chorus, but in different tones, they all helped to calm her down, and after a few minutes, she was able to continue. ‘I can’t help thinking about it, though. I mean, we had just broken up a week ago, and I brought David over last night and …’

‘Stop it, Rae.’ I said finally. ‘Look — how long after Kendall broke up with my roommate did you two start dating?’ I asked her.

‘About three or four days,’ she replied, already breathing better.

‘Then forget it. It wasn’t any one thing. And it certainly wasn’t that.’ I passed the bowl clockwise to Dionne.

We sat in the living room and talked for a while longer, and before we left to hit the bar where they had all met, James showed me the room where Kendall had been alive not twenty four hours earlier. The wall had a mural — Kendall’s penultimate work of art. I used to have a picture of it, but I don’t anymore. I suck at visual art so I’ll try to describe it, but I won’t do a very good job.

It was the outline of an eagle, painted in white on a blue wall, wings outstretched, with its head turned (as I recall) to the left. On the eagle’s chest was a symbol that I now completely forget, surrounded by the words: ‘Peace through all doors.’ Although Kendall wrote those letters in his blood, when I wound up moving into that room one month later, I didn’t ask them to paint over it. It was, after all, Kendall’s last remaining piece, and the last part of his soul that remained in the house. It wasn’t for me to remove.

Three months later, we all moved out of the house to pursue very different lives. We stayed inexpressibly close, until we inevitably fell out of touch. Which fucking sucks.

I have at least recently been in contact with Rae, apparently there was some insoluble problem with Harris, I don’t remember Elizabeth’s real name, I’ve no idea who the hell Dionne was, and by God do I miss the living fuck out of James.

Keep your people close, is all I can say. Everyone matters. Not only that, but everywhere matters too. In fact, I recently went back to the bar that we frequented during that time. It hasn’t changed a bit, and yet at the same time it’s completely different. That’s just how it goes.

But each and every time I drive down that stretch of road, I still remember the first time like it was yesterday.