Bo's Café (13 page)

So, let’s grill me and see if I can take it. Why do I want to help you?

Because I learned that until I finally trusted someone enough to open up to them, I could never find what I was after, and
I want the same for you.

I don’t want your trust for my benefit, but for yours. I will never demand it. At the end of the day, I can’t ask you to drum
up something that isn’t there. I can only ask your permission to earn it. Trust is a right response to another’s love. For
some it is the most natural response in the world. But some of us have learned, over time, through hurt or all sorts of junk,
to not receive it from anyone. And so sometimes a friend needs to ask another friend to let him in. You see, I think you got
seriously hurt somewhere along the line and closed yourself off to people. I also think something very important happened
today. I could be wrong, but I’m pretty sure you started tipping some of the cards in your hand. You pulled ’em right back,
but I swear I saw a couple. You’re not used to doing that; nobody sees your cards. Maybe you’re regretting that now, hoping
to pull the cards even closer. I expect that.

But everything’s gonna get tested from here on out. See, the old guy knows too much now! Who I am really starts to matter
now, doesn’t it? Sometime, maybe next time, I won’t just listen; maybe I’ll respond. I might just challenge you at some deeply
personal place. You may fear that, but something in you hopes for it too.

Steven, I will never ask that you agree with me. But we’ll be wasting each other’s time unless at some point you
give me permission
. You don’t have to, but I’m guessing you’ll bump around and hit your shins a lot more if you don’t. Either way, it’s a crapshoot.
But, hey, I’m mixing my gambling metaphors, aren’t I?

I can hear you saying,
I thought I already gave you permission. I’m carving out time from my life for this crap. If I’m not letting you, then what
have I been doing?

You’ve been testing me to see if I’m for real. It may have looked like I was testing
you
, but I don’t need to test you to see if I can trust. I’ve already decided. I’m in.

So if you’re still reading at this point, I’d like you to ask yourself if I fit these descriptions. These are characteristics
of what you might call a “healthy protector.” First, do I see others as sinners trying to be saints, or as saints who still
sometimes fail? Is it my goal that something will get conquered or fixed, or that nothing will remain hidden? That one’s huge.
Read that again. There are very few places where the value of no hiding is placed above getting the other person “better.”
Oh, and this is huge too: do I care more about getting your issues resolved or establishing a healthy relationship so the
issues can be resolved?

There probably have been some people and will be many more in your life who offer direction and insight. But if those attributes
aren’t there, in spades, you’ve got the wrong guy. He can give you some techniques to control your behavior. That and $3.50
will get you a fancy coffee drink. But he won’t be able to stand with you in solving your issues. He’ll have tools for inspiration
and, at best, a lot of sincerity; and guilt, shame, and performance standards at worst. He’ll always make sure you know he’s
the teacher, the one in charge. But he’ll never risk standing with you in your struggles and truly sharing himself with you.
Because at the end of the day it’s all about that person being something for God. It’s a notch on his religious belt. He takes
little risk, and pays no cost. It’s just more technique, more practiced advice, more slogans, and his hands stay clean. He
may stoop down to help a dullard now and then, but he’s not in it for anyone but himself. You’re gonna want to stay clear
of that guy.

I’m figuring I may look like that guy to you at times. I’m not. What
I
get out of this is not what I’m after.

Steven, you spoke about the difficulty of meshing your work world with your spiritual life. You said that no one would dare
show weakness or he’d be torn apart. I get that. I have known that world. Most men and women do.

It reminds me of a statement one of Steinbeck’s characters, Doc, makes in
Cannery Row
:

It has always seemed strange to me… The things we admire in men, kindness and generosity, openness, honesty, understanding
and feeling are the concomitants of failure in our system. And those traits we detest, sharpness, greed, acquisitiveness,
meanness, egotism and self-interest are the traits of success. And while men admire the quality of the first they love the
produce of the second.

It took failure for me to realize that there’s a profound “produce” created when the best in people is coupled with humility.
It lacks none of the accomplishment and gains an integrity that allows everyone to enjoy what the product brings. I think
your future is in that quote.

So, who am I? That’s the question Steven Kerner should be asking right now. Well, you know some. You know a little of my failures.
But you need to know more. My life is still messy. I’ll disappoint you, and I’m sure I’ll exasperate you again, whether it’s
my inconsistencies, petty selfishness, or something else. I may even hurt you by being stupid and insensitive. I don’t want
to, but I probably will. Still, I won’t hide from you. Sometime, after you get to know me better, you may
wish
I’d hide… .

You see, nobody
ever
arrives. I certainly haven’t. We just learn to depend and trust better. Eventually we can grow more mature and become better
friends to others. We can learn how to love while learning to be loved. And we can learn how to offer protection in exchange
for permission.

Well, enough. I leave you with this: How many country-western singers does it take to screw in a lightbulb? Three. One to
screw in the new lightbulb and two to sing about losing the old one.

I’ve got a million of ’em. Seriously, somebody stop me.

In the grace of Jesus,

Andy

(Saturday Morning, April 4)

I decide to write Lindsey. We talk on the phone every day. But I want to say something important so I decide to put it in
writing. Recently, when we talk about anything beyond bills, appointments, and picking up Jennifer, it gets all garbled and
I sound like I’m selling soap. So I send an e-mail:

Lindsey,

Last Saturday morning about this time we were making really clumsy conversation over coffee. You told me I needed to be meeting
with someone. I told you I was, but didn’t explain much. Well, I’ve had quite a ride this last month. The night we got into
the fight I came home late. You need to know where I was. I haven’t been doing well. Like for a long time. I don’t talk much
about it, because I don’t usually know what to say. So, a bunch of times, I’d leave work early and just drive around escaping
into some music or something. Usually I’d end up at this place called Fenton’s. It’s a dumpy little dive in Culver City where
my family used to go when I was growing up. Anyway, that afternoon I’m sitting in the parking lot like half a dozen other
times. But this time I go in. And I meet this old friend of my dad’s, only I don’t know who he is. Remind me to tell you about
that some time; like when you’ve had a couple margaritas. Anyway, his name is Andy. We’ve driven around in his car a few times.
He says I’ve been deceiving myself, that I can’t see myself clearly and I need to trust others to help me. I think he’s a
Christian, but not like most I know. So, I agreed to go for lunch at this place called Bo’s Café. There’s this interesting
group of people who meet there on Thursdays. It’s been going on for a few years. The place is right where I used to hang out
down at the beach as a kid. So now I go there sometimes. I’m not sure why. They’re all great people, but it’s more than that.
It’s like some of them can see me for who I am and really listen, like they like me. I know that sounds stupid, but I don’t
have many people I can say that about right now. And I’ve never been anyplace like it. I have no idea what I’m learning. But
I wanted you to know something is happening. So… there. That’s all I wanted to say. I love you and Jennifer. Tell her I’ll
see her on Wednesday after school, at 3:30.

Love,

Steven

Lindsey responds:

Steven, I wanted you to know that your words are very important to me. I’m proud of you and what you’re doing. Andy sounds
great. So does Bo’s.

I know you don’t have to do this. You could be trying to force things right now. I appreciate you explaining this to me, and
giving things time. It sounds like Bo’s is exactly what you need right now. Maybe good things will come out of it. We should
talk soon about when it might make sense for you to come home. Thanks again for your note. Jennifer says she’ll meet you at
the circle in front of her school.

Love,

Lindsey

(Late Morning, Tuesday, April 14)

I work about three miles from Bo’s. I grew up less than seven miles from the pier where the restaurant now stands. Many summer
days, a bunch of us would ride bikes down there from Culver City. I would have been twelve or so, a little over twenty years
ago. We’d fish from the pier with line and weights we’d pocketed from Ronnie Oliveri’s older brother’s tackle box. We’d use
sardines right out of a can as bait and catch some pretty freaky-looking stuff. Creatures that would sting your hands, ink
your clothes, and smell up your backpack. Back then we didn’t know there was a Marina del Rey or Venice Beach. There was just
this exciting, dangerous world that belonged all to us. I still can’t believe our parents let us come down here.

Parts of the neighborhood were sketchy even then. Not far from where Bo’s is was this Italian place. I just remember the checkered-tile
floor was always greasy. They sold immense triangles of pizza. Huge, oily pieces of heaven. One day Wally Miller actually
ate six pieces—pepperoni, sausage, and all. Nobody ever came close to that record. Later, he threw it all up on the boardwalk,
but that just added to the legend.

Most of us swam in cutoff jeans. The ride home at the end of the day seemed like a three-day odyssey. There is no rash quite
like that made by sand, wet underwear, and a one-gear bicycle.

Then came girlfriends, sports, and cars. Most of us no longer went down to that stretch of beach anymore. It was too much
a part of childhood. We were grown up now. We’d take our girlfriends to Hermosa or Manhattan, even up to Santa Monica, but
rarely down to the seedy Venice Beach of our youth. Then college took me to Washington and a couple of marketing jobs. When
I came back to Southern California, it was for this position at Visratech. I never even visited my old home in Culver City,
never went back to any of my old haunts.

It’s been almost two weeks since I’ve been at Bo’s. During that time I’ve taken a couple more rides with Andy in the Electra.
But the newness is gone. I’m starting to think this whole thing isn’t really going anywhere. Maybe it was only “Detroit magic”
after all. This whole season has been one of those out-of-the-ordinary things you do once or twice in your life, and when
you look back, you realize they kind of turned things around. But now it looks like things are getting back in perspective.
I think I may be just about done with Bo’s and these rides. I’m pretty sure I’ll be home very soon. I just had to get outside
the issues for a bit. Bo’s has been good for that.

And Andy… I think he’s a really nice guy with some good insights who just likes to talk. Honestly, I think he’s getting as
much from me as I am from him. I’m like the son he’s never had. I also think it’s probably pretty important to him that a
younger, successful businessman finds his wisdom helpful. That’s fine, but there’s a limit to how deep I want to go with all
of this. Whatever their deal is with permission and protection, it’s all too slow and soft for my pace. Maybe I’ll keep coming
to Bo’s from time to time. Why not? They’re a pretty great group of people. Most of them can’t even understand my life; they
don’t have to. But I’m sure not going to turn over my dirty laundry to people who couldn’t hold a position two levels beneath
me at Visratech.

But I’m back at Bo’s today. I’m dropping in unannounced. I’m immediately greeted by Bo’s booming voice. “Where’s the suit?”

“Hey, Bo,” I say, reaching out my hand. “Well, the suit kind of seems a little out of place around here.”

“Oh, yeah, it does,
cher
.” He laughs. “You come in lookin’ like a symphony conductor, and we got us a deckful of banjo players.” He laughs until he
starts hacking like a man with tuberculosis.

“Hey then,” he rasps, catching his breath, “how you likin’ that shrimp cocktail last time?”

“It was great, Bo.”

“Well, get it out of yo’ head,” he says, glaring suddenly and leaning in at me. “We got no shrimps today. We got us five-day-old
snapper with worms. That’s what you’re gettin’ and yo’ gonna like it.”

I know the routine now. “Okay, then, snapper and worms it is.”

“Good. You lookin’ for Andy? He’s not here yet. What the deal is with that boy?”

I shrug. “Don’t know. Didn’t call him. I just thought I’d stop by. Take my chances, see who’s here.”

“You got Hank and Carlos. So snapper and worms gonna look like an improvement.” He laughs again then yells out to the kitchen
as he walks away, “One snapper with worms for the deck crowd!”

I’m greeted warmly by the group, already a couple dozen strong. Carlos pulls out a chair for me.

“Hey, Steven. Great to see you, man. What’s up?” He looks me over, sizing up my clothing selection.

“You’re looking fine, my man. Nice uniform. Most of you important dudes dress like this when you’re trying to act all casual.
You got your starched khaki slacks and your pastel shirt with the little crocodile guy on it. I love that little guy. He’s
cool. Nothing says, ‘I’m a relaxed, important dude,’ like that crocodile shirt tucked into a pair of starched pants. Nice.”