It's No Fun to Cry on Friday Night
It’s Friday night. The end of the week – the work week, the school week, the mundane-activities-and-schedule week. Friday night: an evening to unwind from the pace of life, to catch one’s breath, to enjoy the fruits of one’s labors. Restaurants will be filled, some even with long lines. Family members will reconnect as they return to home base before the weekend. Friday night: a drink and a smoke; a hot bath and a pair of sweats; a movie for the DVD player and a fresh bowl of popcorn. It’s a night of relief and relaxation….for some. For others, this Friday night brings thoughts and reflection and tears. And it’s no fun to cry on Friday night.
Friday night is no fun for Alice. She is in the simplest, most familiar of settings: wooden rocker on a wooden floor, crocheted blanket covering her legs and lap, shawl around her shoulders, cat sleeping peacefully on the sofa across the living room. Alice is alone with her thoughts. And memories. It was a Friday night, this Friday night, now sixty years in the past. A cool Fall evening at a USO in Baltimore. It was the night Harvey walked in. Private first-class Harvey, a young man on his way to becoming a war veteran. She offered him punch. And they talked. And they danced. And by evening’s end, their hearts were connected forever. And two days later, Harvey boarded a ship on his way to the Battle of the Bulge. Alice cried and prayed. Every day for two years she cried and prayed, buoyed by the occasional letter with never enough sentences but always a closing word of love. Two years later, a battle-scarred Harvey got off a boat at that same dock and embraced Alice. The dream, her dream, was alive. Yet it did not, could not last forever. It was now twelve years, three months since Harvey’s painful goodbye. But no anniversary of his passing was as hard as remembering the beginning. The tears always came on this Friday, this wonderful, miserable, memorable Friday. Alice loved it greatly and hated it more. For Alice, once each year, it’s no fun to cry on Friday night.
Friday night is no fun for Kevin and Connor. Friday night means another night without their father. No Daddy to watch the playoffs with them or to tuck them in bed. No Daddy to climb on and hug. Where might he be on this Friday? He could still be at the office. He may be out with his buddies – that’s what he calls them. Wherever their father might be, they know how the script will play out. They’ll climb in their bunk beds in a little while and sleep fitfully until they hear the sound, the awful sound. Their father coming home at 2 or 3 in the morning, stumbling and muttering. Soon the sound of voices; the weekly fight with their mother. It will end in tears – her tears – seemingly unimportant to their father. And as the battle goes on Kevin and Connor will move together into on te lower bunk beand hold each other close crying softly. It’s Friday night. These events are yet to come. And even now the brothers look at each other and tears well up. It’s no fun to cry on Friday night.
Friday night is no fun for Gail. She sits at her dining table with her familiar partners: a novel – mystery this time, a cup of peppermint tea, and a few graham crackers. The novel may be new but it does not hold her attention. Her house seems unusually quiet tonight. It’s been that way since Denise moved on to her new job in a new city. Who knew a three-hour drive could be so great a distance? But it wasn’t just her daughter’s absence. It was what happened long before which stirs her this evening. Matthew. The silent whisper of his name brings back that face – that gorgeous face, that engaging smile, that personality. Oh, but was he was the charmer. Charmed his way into her heart. And all the way to the altar. And to a miserable, bitter experience. She should have seen it. A deade of hindsight can do wonders for one’s insight. Funny, all in their world celebrated the “perfect couple.” Gail shakes her head. In the years after the split, she and Denise did well. But love never seemed to come calling again, the truly great ones were already taken, the leeches weretoo plentiful. Each night feels empty and lonely. And now her darling Denise has found her way to her own life. Still in touch but no longer a part of “home.” Gail puts the tea into the microwave to reheat and reviie her drink. Oh, that she could somehow do the same in her heart. Some Friday nights found her with friends, or working a bit late. But most were spent with novel and tea. Variety came via the dining table, the easy chair, or the bed. With the peppermint scent again strong, she sits at the table. Slowly she marks the page and closes the book. It’s 10:00 PM, the time each week when the tears come. And Gail knows all too well it’s no fun to cry on Friday night.
Friday night is no fun for Amanda. It’s the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day come true. Amanda lies quietly in her bed and weeps softly. Moments of crisis come in all shapes and sizes, and for all ages. And for Amanda, crisis has come with one simple sentence: “We can’t find Billy Bear.” Billy Bear is only the most important stuffed animal in all the city, hey, in all the world. Billy Bear goes everywhere with Amanda: on shopping trips, in the backyard, on the TV chair, in her playhouse, and, of course, in bed at night. But Billy Bear seems to have gone AWOL. She remembers him being in the car this afternoon. Mama called the grocery store but no one’s seen him there. Daddy looked all over the yard till darkness came, but no sign of the worn black teddy bear with the half-missing mouth. Even big brother Todd checked the closets, well, sorta good. But, bedtime can’t wait for little girls. Sure, Amanda has an assortment of bears and bruins, puppies and pooches. But, none has the cuddliness of Billy Bear. Mama and Daddy promise to do a full search again in the morning. But morning seems a long way off. Amanda clings to the stuffed beagle puppy that serves in a surrogate role this night. But all this sad little girl can think of is where Billy Bear might be. And she cries softly again. It’s no fun to cry on Friday night.
Friday night is no fun for Marcus. The kids are in bed. A movie is on some television network. And, Marcus sits side-by-side with his wife Cindy. It’s “their time” for the rest of the evening. And it’s the same scene on most Fridays: television on, sitting together, Cindy reviewing the week, Marcus lost in thought, lost in so many ways. Yes, Cindy is a wonderful woman, a good wife. Their seven years together have been good. Their kids are healthy, happy, and loving. Marcus has much that many only dream of. And Marcus sits so very alone. As he moves through hi mid-thirtes, Marcus now knows what love should be. Marcus knows the deepest longing of his heart. He understands himself as he never did a decade or so ago. And he knows he’s in a good and safe and very miserable place in life. Marcus also knows he’s here to stay. No one leaves a situation like this, not in this goofy world. Cindy is caring, kind, thoughtful, etc. Marcus glances at his mate who is totally focused on the current step in the plot line. Great moter, good wife, no chance of ever being the love of his life. Marcus longs for a soulmate that he knows he’ll never see. Even if she comes along one day, he knows he’ll never jump ship. Seven years of a good thing has revealed to Marcus what truly is the deepest and best thing. At the next commercial break, Marcus heads to the bathroom but not for the usual reasons. He closes the door, sits on the edge of the tub, and tears off a piece of tissue. He dabs at his eyes which seem to be filling with tears far too quickly. He reaches over and flushes the toilet to cover the sound of his breaking heart. It’s no fun to cry on Friday night.
The restaurants close, the streets become deserted, the evening is done. And the tears of these and others like them linger as sleep beckons. A new morning will greet them all and the promise of a new day. An anniversary past, a teddy bear to find, a father to sober up, a wife to stand by, and a new cup of tea for a new day. The tears of Friday are set aside, at least for another week. And those who have cried them move quickly into the new day and beyond the memories of the evening just passed. For it’s no fun to cry on Friday night.
Friday night is no fun for Alice. She is in the simplest, most familiar of settings: wooden rocker on a wooden floor, crocheted blanket covering her legs and lap, shawl around her shoulders, cat sleeping peacefully on the sofa across the living room. Alice is alone with her thoughts. And memories. It was a Friday night, this Friday night, now sixty years in the past. A cool Fall evening at a USO in Baltimore. It was the night Harvey walked in. Private first-class Harvey, a young man on his way to becoming a war veteran. She offered him punch. And they talked. And they danced. And by evening’s end, their hearts were connected forever. And two days later, Harvey boarded a ship on his way to the Battle of the Bulge. Alice cried and prayed. Every day for two years she cried and prayed, buoyed by the occasional letter with never enough sentences but always a closing word of love. Two years later, a battle-scarred Harvey got off a boat at that same dock and embraced Alice. The dream, her dream, was alive. Yet it did not, could not last forever. It was now twelve years, three months since Harvey’s painful goodbye. But no anniversary of his passing was as hard as remembering the beginning. The tears always came on this Friday, this wonderful, miserable, memorable Friday. Alice loved it greatly and hated it more. For Alice, once each year, it’s no fun to cry on Friday night.
Friday night is no fun for Kevin and Connor. Friday night means another night without their father. No Daddy to watch the playoffs with them or to tuck them in bed. No Daddy to climb on and hug. Where might he be on this Friday? He could still be at the office. He may be out with his buddies – that’s what he calls them. Wherever their father might be, they know how the script will play out. They’ll climb in their bunk beds in a little while and sleep fitfully until they hear the sound, the awful sound. Their father coming home at 2 or 3 in the morning, stumbling and muttering. Soon the sound of voices; the weekly fight with their mother. It will end in tears – her tears – seemingly unimportant to their father. And as the battle goes on Kevin and Connor will move together into on te lower bunk beand hold each other close crying softly. It’s Friday night. These events are yet to come. And even now the brothers look at each other and tears well up. It’s no fun to cry on Friday night.
Friday night is no fun for Gail. She sits at her dining table with her familiar partners: a novel – mystery this time, a cup of peppermint tea, and a few graham crackers. The novel may be new but it does not hold her attention. Her house seems unusually quiet tonight. It’s been that way since Denise moved on to her new job in a new city. Who knew a three-hour drive could be so great a distance? But it wasn’t just her daughter’s absence. It was what happened long before which stirs her this evening. Matthew. The silent whisper of his name brings back that face – that gorgeous face, that engaging smile, that personality. Oh, but was he was the charmer. Charmed his way into her heart. And all the way to the altar. And to a miserable, bitter experience. She should have seen it. A deade of hindsight can do wonders for one’s insight. Funny, all in their world celebrated the “perfect couple.” Gail shakes her head. In the years after the split, she and Denise did well. But love never seemed to come calling again, the truly great ones were already taken, the leeches weretoo plentiful. Each night feels empty and lonely. And now her darling Denise has found her way to her own life. Still in touch but no longer a part of “home.” Gail puts the tea into the microwave to reheat and reviie her drink. Oh, that she could somehow do the same in her heart. Some Friday nights found her with friends, or working a bit late. But most were spent with novel and tea. Variety came via the dining table, the easy chair, or the bed. With the peppermint scent again strong, she sits at the table. Slowly she marks the page and closes the book. It’s 10:00 PM, the time each week when the tears come. And Gail knows all too well it’s no fun to cry on Friday night.
Friday night is no fun for Amanda. It’s the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day come true. Amanda lies quietly in her bed and weeps softly. Moments of crisis come in all shapes and sizes, and for all ages. And for Amanda, crisis has come with one simple sentence: “We can’t find Billy Bear.” Billy Bear is only the most important stuffed animal in all the city, hey, in all the world. Billy Bear goes everywhere with Amanda: on shopping trips, in the backyard, on the TV chair, in her playhouse, and, of course, in bed at night. But Billy Bear seems to have gone AWOL. She remembers him being in the car this afternoon. Mama called the grocery store but no one’s seen him there. Daddy looked all over the yard till darkness came, but no sign of the worn black teddy bear with the half-missing mouth. Even big brother Todd checked the closets, well, sorta good. But, bedtime can’t wait for little girls. Sure, Amanda has an assortment of bears and bruins, puppies and pooches. But, none has the cuddliness of Billy Bear. Mama and Daddy promise to do a full search again in the morning. But morning seems a long way off. Amanda clings to the stuffed beagle puppy that serves in a surrogate role this night. But all this sad little girl can think of is where Billy Bear might be. And she cries softly again. It’s no fun to cry on Friday night.
Friday night is no fun for Marcus. The kids are in bed. A movie is on some television network. And, Marcus sits side-by-side with his wife Cindy. It’s “their time” for the rest of the evening. And it’s the same scene on most Fridays: television on, sitting together, Cindy reviewing the week, Marcus lost in thought, lost in so many ways. Yes, Cindy is a wonderful woman, a good wife. Their seven years together have been good. Their kids are healthy, happy, and loving. Marcus has much that many only dream of. And Marcus sits so very alone. As he moves through hi mid-thirtes, Marcus now knows what love should be. Marcus knows the deepest longing of his heart. He understands himself as he never did a decade or so ago. And he knows he’s in a good and safe and very miserable place in life. Marcus also knows he’s here to stay. No one leaves a situation like this, not in this goofy world. Cindy is caring, kind, thoughtful, etc. Marcus glances at his mate who is totally focused on the current step in the plot line. Great moter, good wife, no chance of ever being the love of his life. Marcus longs for a soulmate that he knows he’ll never see. Even if she comes along one day, he knows he’ll never jump ship. Seven years of a good thing has revealed to Marcus what truly is the deepest and best thing. At the next commercial break, Marcus heads to the bathroom but not for the usual reasons. He closes the door, sits on the edge of the tub, and tears off a piece of tissue. He dabs at his eyes which seem to be filling with tears far too quickly. He reaches over and flushes the toilet to cover the sound of his breaking heart. It’s no fun to cry on Friday night.
The restaurants close, the streets become deserted, the evening is done. And the tears of these and others like them linger as sleep beckons. A new morning will greet them all and the promise of a new day. An anniversary past, a teddy bear to find, a father to sober up, a wife to stand by, and a new cup of tea for a new day. The tears of Friday are set aside, at least for another week. And those who have cried them move quickly into the new day and beyond the memories of the evening just passed. For it’s no fun to cry on Friday night.
posted by Michael Davis | 10:41 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home