08.18.2020 | The Future Forest

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Murph

During last Friday’s <quote-01>Driveway Dodger Game<quote-01>, a few of us were remarking on <quote-02>how luxurious Max’s overlong pandemic hair had become<quote-02>.

“Looking good!” Pat started in.

“You look like something out of Jason and the Argonauts,” I told him.

“Like Paul Rudd in the hot sauce thing,” Kristen said.

Tom, especially, marveled. “You know,” he began, “some people like you, Max, are just blessed.” We laughed. “Other people need the help of medical science.” I held my breath. “Like me and Ryan,” he concluded.

Silence.

“Maybe no one heard,” I thought to myself. “Maybe people will just chalk that up to Tom being Tom.” I looked casually nowhere, doing my best to act as if Tom had said nothing revealing at all, as if others might follow my lead. What constitutes a moment? An entire moment passed.

“What?!” Kristen finally blurted, both bewildered and irate.

I was undone again.

Weeks ago, as May turned to June, as the school year gave way to this most unusual and unsatisfying summer, I peered coldly into a bathroom mirror and resolved that my hair was indeed beginning to thin. The possibility had been on my radar for a couple years now, ever since Grammar’s early months helped make more pronounced my first signs of aging: deeper wrinkles, whiter hair in my beard, darker circles beneath my eyes, an even splotchier forehead. I like to think I had legitimate reason to believe that balding wasn’t a foregone conclusion—while both of my grandfathers were thinning by middle-age, my dad’s hair was as thick as ever when it met the crematorium flames—but I knew the earlier I gave up the ghost, <quote-03>the better chance I’d have of saving it<quote-03>.

So after submitting grades and setting all my other professional ducks in a row for the summer months, I texted Tom: “You still using that hair stuff?” I was pretty sure he was; I knew that it’d worked for him, that the thinning patch in the middle of his lengthy locks had been restored to its former glory. I’d also wanted to give him some time after losing Brutus before bombarding him with such petty stuff.

“Do it,” he texted back. “No brainer.”

He mentioned too that he had suffered from none of the possible side-effects, so after doing a bit of research myself—decreased libido and floppy erections, eh?—I took the plunge in secret.

Kristen, after all, would only fret about the worst-case possibilities if she knew, reading into every fleeting awkwardness or irritability as a tell-tale symptom of irreversible harm. I figured I’d just store the pills and drops and gummies in a drawer in my study, monitor closely my drives and desires for a fortnight—if the side-effects didn’t emerge by then, they wouldn’t—<quote-04>and make Kristen hip only after everything was a success<quote-04>.

As of last Friday afternoon, I was still going strong and in secret, well on my happy way to the three-month mark, when the first signs of regained fullness would become apparent. My working plan was to tell Kristen either then or in December, when the full benefits would be visible. There’s a photo on my phone from after a meal last Christmastime; I’m seated at the southern end of Conch’s dining-room table, something chocolatey before me, and the flash from the camera has betrayed the just-thinning patches on either side of my pomaded pompadour. “Doesn’t my hair look better tonight,” I’d planned on saying, roughly one year later, scrolling through the photos in my phone, apparently at random.

“It really does,” she would have said, only scrutinizing my hair line at my direct behest. Then I’d have told her, pudding-proof before her very eyes.

Instead, thanks to Tom’s indiscretion, I was in for a public execution.

I’d thought about weaving all of this into my previous letter—it happened while I was in the middle of writing—but I’m glad I didn’t. It fits better now. Because Tom, mortified by what he’d done to me, went appropriately overboard in his apology. Never did he think, “Murph should have already told Kristen about this.” Never did he assume to know better than I what was best for the situation. Never did he seek to explain his motives so as not to look like he was in the wrong. He just wore it.

<quote-05>“I’m Venmoing you forty dollars right now,” he said and did.<quote-05> And later, this text: “I wonder if there’ll ever be a time when I won’t blurt shit out of my mouth. Keep thinking about the hair thing, been eating me up. I feel bad I put you in that position. I’m really sorry. I messed up. <quote-06>I know you’ll probably say it’s not a big deal<quote-06>. I still feel shitty. Anyways, I wanted to get you a signed Kershaw ball until I saw they are a bit steep! So I got you a book instead. Should be there Thursday.”

Tom—like you, Hoke—has a history of doing this kind of thing to me.

I’m actually glad Pat was in the driveway with us last Friday because he, not I, was able to quote Tom’s infamous slip from July 2006. This was when I—seated next to Pat in the isolated shade of the Reserve level, the Dodgers besting the Giants below us, the World Cup final recording back at home—answered my phone to be met with Tom’s immediate, “Did you see Italy win the World Cup!?” Pat and I share this memory in much the same way we share being abandoned at the Rio buffet.

Of course, Tom didn’t need to send me that text or buy me that book, but it was nice to know he was thinking of me.

Much later in the evening, the Dodgers up by a six-spot, the conversation turned to who in the group is worst with a secret. Dave—drunk and on fire—was quick to point out your <quote-07>most recent text-message blunders on The Dodger Thread, Hoke<quote-07>, before reminding us all of Andy’s disastrous marriage proposal. We all—maybe for the sake of Tom, still beating himself up—agreed that Andy and you, Hoke, were worst with a secret.

“<quote-08>Those guys are fucking awful<quote-08>,” Pat said.

“They are,” I agreed, the memory of the last few days fresh in my memory. “But they’re bad at it for different reasons,” I said. “Andy’s bad because he’s like, ‘I know something you don’t know! I know something you don’t know!’” I was, for instance, bummed when Kristen told Ashley she was pregnant before we could tell the rest of the assembled group at the beach house on New Year’s; I was convinced she’d tell Andy and that Andy would ruin our moment. <quote-09>“Chris is bad,” I continued, “because he thinks he knows what’s best for you; he thinks he knows which of your secrets people should know.” Everybody laughed and nodded along.<quote-09>

<quote-10>“You should read it!” you told Kristen on speaker phone about that earlier letter; “Rachel really enjoyed it,” you wrote in a recent comment.<quote-10>

I get it: “How was I to know either of those were secrets?!”

You know, I’m realizing that something I share every semester with my students is something I should share now, something I should have shared with you both years ago, something maybe I have. It is this: ask for permission not forgiveness. Some people live their lives actively practicing the reverse; “It’s easier to ask for forgiveness than permission!” they cry. With me, it’s not.

Remember when you helped yourself to my <quote-11>bottled water at New Harmony Ranch<quote-11>, Hoke? How’d that work out for you? Had you just asked for a sip, there’s no question I’d have given you one. Conversely, Wuck, remember when you told me you were planning to accept your part in A Midsummer Night’s Dream even after our high-school drama teacher blackballed me, <quote-12>provided I was cool with it?<quote-12> That basically cemented us as brothers as far as I was concerned.

Had you texted me to see if you could share my letter with Rachel, Hoke, I think—actually—I would have been flattered. Probably I would’ve said something polite and totally untrue like, “You didn’t have to ask, man,” but I would’ve been glad you did. Probably I'd have been eager for Rachel <quote-13>to see a side of me that you love<quote-13>.

It’s funny. I really don’t give two shits what most people think. <quote-14>Why is it that I care so much about your wives’ opinions?<quote-14>

August 18th

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<pull-quote>Driveway Dodger Game<pull-quote>
<avatar-wuck><avatar-wuck><author-name>Wuck<author-name>
<p-comment>so jealous.<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<avatar-hoke><avatar-hoke><author-name>Hoke<author-name>
<p-comment>That you have found a way to gather all the guys for games at 1868, and in a way that keeps your elderly mother and asthmatic wife safe, makes me very happy. I have loved all those images on The Dodger Thread of you guys seated around the garage-door-turned-projector-screen, all exactly six feet apart. Wish I could just get in the car and pop over every Friday night with all the other locals.<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>Yeah. They've been a highlight of the pandemic thus far. I went all out and overboard for the first two--smoking a prime rib and dashing out a pair of aiolis for the first, grilling a variety of sausages and shrimp for the second--but as they've become almost a weekly occurrence, we've settled into a simpler routine.<p-comment>
<p-comment>Pat usually picks up communal takeout on the way--burritos, barbecue, pizza--and everyone rolls in around dusk. Pat and his pooch take in the game from the back of his convertible, Max brings a deluxe camping chair, Dave sets up his more basic beach chair a few feet further back in the alley, Tom's happy to sit on anything I bring out for him, Grapey's either seated cross-legged in the driveway or pacing in the alley with a cigarette, and Andy usually shows up late with some sort of fast food he'd rather Ashley not know he's eating.<p-comment>
<p-comment>Even as we've become a bit more comfortable around each other--and it's taken time after five months in isolation--the masks stay on for the most part, even as the night devolves into some kind of hijinks. We've had a water balloon fight, played laser tag, a bit of socially distanced swimming, even a Chicken McNugget-eating contest. These antics are often egged on by Kristen, believe it or not, and most thoroughly enjoyed by Grammar probably. It's been good medicine.<p-comment>
<p-comment>Finally, and most importantly, the Dodgers are undefeated when we gather!<p-comment>
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<pull-quote>how luxurious Max’s overlong pandemic hair<pull-quote>
<avatar-wuck><avatar-wuck><author-name>Wuck<author-name>
<p-comment>fuck that guy so hard.<p-comment>
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<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>Imagine how his completely bald older brother feels!<p-comment>
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<pull-quote>the better chance I’d have of saving it<pull-quote>
<avatar-wuck><avatar-wuck><author-name>Wuck<author-name>
<p-comment>i spent a brief period going around the horn with possible solutions to my receding and thinning hair. seemed like once you start on a routine, you’re stuck with it. i was able to ween off the mild dose of anti-anxiety medication i started in college years later; this wasn't an option with hair loss treatment—once you’re off it, bye bye, hair. so i’ve opted to embrace the loss. my barber continues to reassure me that he’s been cutting my hair for a decade now and he hasn’t noticed a difference. he’s being kind.<p-comment>
<p-comment>my favorite hair loss model: mark rylance. in my book, he somehow manages to make hair loss look cool. moral of the story? it’s ok to lose your hair if you’re literally the best in the world at something.<p-comment>
<p-comment>also, larry david: anyone can be confident with a full head of hair.<p-comment>
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<pull-quote>and make Kristen hip only after everything was a success<pull-quote>
<avatar-hoke><avatar-hoke><author-name>Hoke<author-name>
<p-comment>Master strategist.<p-comment>
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<avatar-wuck><avatar-wuck><author-name>Wuck<author-name>
<p-comment>ha. mice and men.<p-comment>
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<pull-quote>“I’m Venmoing you forty dollars right now,” he said and did.<pull-quote>
<avatar-wuck><avatar-wuck><author-name>Wuck<author-name>
<p-comment>how now?<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>I'm guessing he does this with others in his life half-jokingly, offering or requesting money at the moment of a perceived slight. He did it jokingly to someone else that night too, like, "I already Venmo'd you five dollars."<p-comment>
<p-comment>Very Catholic of him, an Episcopalian.<p-comment>
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<pull-quote>I know you’ll probably say it’s not a big deal<pull-quote>
<avatar-wuck><avatar-wuck><author-name>Wuck<author-name>
<p-comment>i know you’ll probably write about this to nick and chris. and good! do! make me look horrible!<p-comment>
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<pull-quote>most recent text-message blunders on The Dodger Thread, Hoke<pull-quote>
<avatar-wuck><avatar-wuck><author-name>Wuck<author-name>
<p-comment>come again?<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>He almost exposed my secretive sharing of your baby registry info. What I did was remove you from The Dodger Thread for a couple minutes, send a couple texts, and then let everyone know I was re-adding you and that mum's the word.<p-comment>
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<avatar-wuck><avatar-wuck><author-name>Wuck<author-name>
<p-comment>i was wondering how dave got my address! a manual breast pump and a butt spatula.<p-comment>
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<pull-quote>Those guys are fucking awful<pull-quote>
<avatar-wuck><avatar-wuck><author-name>Wuck<author-name>
<p-comment>larry david: fuck that guy, he’s a pathetic, waste of a man. i can’t stand him.<p-comment>
<p-comment>leon black: yeah man, i hear you. let’s go get lunch.<p-comment>
<p-comment>larry david: what? are you an idiot? it’s tuesday! i can’t miss golf with (said waste of a man).<p-comment>
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<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>This is it.<p-comment>
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<pull-quote>“Chris is bad,” I continued, “because he thinks he knows what’s best for you; he thinks he knows which of your secrets people should know.” Everybody laughed and nodded along.<pull-quote>
<avatar-hoke><avatar-hoke><author-name>Hoke<author-name>
<p-comment>Maybe I wasn't on pins and needles about your potential discomfort at me sharing something meaningful and gifted about you just with my wife because you--and our group--are so comfortable regularly talking shit about each other just like this. You sharing this story is all I need to not feel bad at all.<p-comment>
<p-comment>I would never chime in with the group ranking how you suck, adding my deeper analysis of your motives and flaws, only to comfortably enjoy how this would get the group to laugh and nod along with me.<p-comment>
<p-comment>The hypocrisy here is just stunning, man.<p-comment>
<p-comment>It's a relief, though: you've invalidated the performative hurt and rage of your last two letters and I'll sleep better now. I was beginning to feel terrible as I read through these letters and comments, really questioning myself and how I'd missed something truly important to my friend in the rush of my good intentions. But if this is how you talk about me to the group, that's actually easier: I can just shrug at your discomfort and drama, tell you to grow a pair, and move onto the next letter in good cheer.<p-comment>
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<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>The old “I don't care if you're miffed at me because now I'm miffed at you” routine, eh?<p-comment>
<p-comment>Listen, punk. If there's one thing I'm not, it's a hypocrite; I've made it a life's goal.<p-comment>
<p-comment>a) do you not think this is exactly what I would have said and how I would have said it if you were sitting in the driveway with us?<p-comment>
<p-comment>b) did you think you were good with mildly sensitive information (I think, actually, you’re great with very sensitive information)?<p-comment>
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<avatar-wuck><avatar-wuck><author-name>Wuck<author-name>
<p-comment>tom: ah, come on guys. i love andy and chris.<p-comment>
<p-comment>pat: shut the fuck up, tom.<p-comment>
<p-comment>dave: yeah tom, you heard him.<p-comment>
<p-comment>murph: obviously we love andy and chris, tom.<p-comment>
<p-comment>dave: yeah tom, you heard him. we love andy and chris more than you!<p-comment>
<p-comment>tom: (chuckles) stop, guys, c’mon.<p-comment>
<p-comment>connie: (under her breath with an exasperated eye roll and a throaty chuckle) oh tom. tom tom tom.<p-comment>
<p-comment>kristen: (under her breath to murph) we need to talk right now! (outloud) fuck you, tom.<p-comment>
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<avatar-hoke><avatar-hoke><author-name>Hoke<author-name>
<p-comment>Still in good cheer over here!<p-comment>
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<pull-quote>“You should read it!” you told Kristen on speaker phone about that earlier letter. “Rachel really enjoyed it,” you wrote in a recent comment.<pull-quote>
<avatar-hoke><avatar-hoke><author-name>Hoke<author-name>
<p-comment>"Hey my wife and Murph's wife: Isn't Ryan Murphy totally amazing?"<p-comment>
<p-comment>vs.<p-comment>
<p-comment>"Hey guys: Isn't Hoke totally untrustworthy and annoyingly smug about it?"<p-comment>
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<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>Ok, Fox News. Lol.<p-comment>
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<avatar-wuck><avatar-wuck><author-name>Wuck<author-name>
<p-comment>these moments are closer to tributes than any prank. to be laughed at by your friends is perhaps one of the highest honors.<p-comment>
<p-comment>occasionally people get butt-hurt, but the people are usually just andy. with him, it’s a matter of trust. or koontz, i guess, and likewise with him.<p-comment>
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<avatar-hoke><avatar-hoke><author-name>Hoke<author-name>
<p-comment>You might be right, there, Wuck. Which is why I normally never defend myself. Didn't I write about the inherent love in being lampooned and known by friends, two letters ago?<p-comment>
<p-comment>But it's a whole different matter when we're talking to our wives?<p-comment>
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<avatar-wuck><avatar-wuck><author-name>Wuck<author-name>
<p-comment>our wives play a very difficult role in all of this. our marriage contracts do them a certain disservice on the page. we can’t hold them up for the same scrutiny we do our parents or our friends. we will sooner present ourselves for examination than our spouses. why do we care about the opinions of our friend’s spouses? possibly because theirs are the opinions we are not allowed to share. we fare better when adopting them as our own.<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>With the wives stuff, I am at a disadvantage. You have each known my wife for over two decades, and she is almost always forthright with her opinions, which are often warm and loving when they concern the guys.<p-comment>
<p-comment>Hoke, you shared something wholly unknown to most everyone in my life with someone whose opinion I care deeply about but who has said perhaps zero unbidden words to me ever.<p-comment>
<p-comment>For instance, you have never once fretted, "What does Murph's wife think of me?"<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<avatar-hoke><avatar-hoke><author-name>Hoke<author-name>
<p-comment>Very true indeed. I’m in a lucky position to be very much loved by Kristen. <p-comment>
<p-comment>This sheds a really helpful and new light on this whole interaction, Murph: Rachel is really quiet and really hard to read. Some people feel she doesn’t like them, or she’s judging them, or she prefers to be elsewhere. <p-comment>
<p-comment>Remember the description of how adults reacted to Scout Finch when they sat down at Atticus’ table? When people learn Rachel’s trade, anxieties double. Your extreme self-confidence, Murph, probably has kept me from intuiting a need to explain this more, as I do with others. I feel dumb I didn’t see this in the water earlier.<p-comment>
<p-comment>She’s just super shy and introverted and not terribly sure of herself. She’s probably so busy judging herself and being unsure of herself (in a large group especially) that it’s all over her face—but looks like she’s judging others and is unsure of them.<p-comment>
<p-comment>I totally want to show her this text thread now! But I won’t. She’d laugh, and be shocked: “I feel that way about Murph!” She might say, relieved. When we hang out in smaller numbers you can be kinda cagey too, Murph. <p-comment>
<p-comment>So here’s two of my favorite people, both with big social anxiety, wondering if the other person’s not liking them. We really should have had that week of Disneyland and the San Clemente beach house with the boys this May past. What a 2020 casualty. That time would have been really sweet together. You would be having a lengthy conversation in the kitchen, instead of learning about the other through these letters.<p-comment>
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<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>This all checks out. Casualty indeed. Since you mentioned it, I wouldn't mind your mediated sharing of the fact that one of your best friends cares very much you wife's opinion of him.<p-comment>
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<pull-quote>bottled water at New Harmony Ranch<pull-quote>
<avatar-hoke><avatar-hoke><author-name>Hoke<author-name>
<p-comment>I was going to write about said bottle and your merciless campaign throughout that trip in my next letter. I did not know the nondescript bottle of water in the communal fridge was yours.<p-comment>
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<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>But it wasn’t yours, Hoke! And there was only one! Goddammit!!<p-comment>
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<pull-quote>provided I was cool with it?<pull-quote>
<avatar-wuck><avatar-wuck><author-name>Wuck<author-name>
<p-comment>i do not, but good on me.<p-comment>
<hr><hr>

<pull-quote>to see a side of me that you love<pull-quote>
<avatar-hoke><avatar-hoke><author-name>Hoke<author-name>
<p-comment>I'm grateful for this. It helps recalibrate my instincts and isolate my error. So, in a way, I did rightly intuit and anticipate what your stance would be. However, the part I missed was the asking anyway. Which you make a good case for, above.<p-comment>
<p-comment>But what's confusing is your (thankfully) honest admission here that you'd verbalize an assurance that wasn't fully true ("You didn't have to ask, man.") Do you maybe do this in other instances? Is it possible that I remember certain warm assurances you've given me? That I took my lead from moments like those?<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>Yeah. This is my bad. I too often default to an “of course, don’t be silly” when I actually mean, “thanks for asking.” I’d say both with the same warmth, but the latter sounds—stupidly, I know—weaker or something.<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<avatar-hoke><avatar-hoke><author-name>Hoke<author-name>
<p-comment>Your comment above feels new. Your verbal defenses are mighty. But simple, self-aware admissions like this, from you, are even more powerful. You conquer me with that courage. Opposite of weak. I feel weak now.<p-comment>
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<pull-quote>Why is it that I care so much about your wives’ opinions?<pull-quote>
<avatar-hoke><avatar-hoke><author-name>Hoke<author-name>
<p-comment>How is it that I now want to hug you upon finishing this follow-up?<p-comment>
<p-comment>But how can I not be undone by this admission, this final taking off of your formidable mental armor and scratching your head at how our friendships have broken through your reliably "don't-give-two-shits" thick skin?<p-comment>
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<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>Gosh, a hug would be nice.<p-comment>
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<avatar-wuck><avatar-wuck><author-name>Wuck<author-name>
<p-comment>whether or not you get a hug from hoke, i’ll say that i appreciate this last sentence. i find it very moving.<p-comment>
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<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
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<avatar-hoke><avatar-hoke><author-name>Hoke<author-name>
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<avatar-wuck><avatar-wuck><author-name>Wuck<author-name>
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