living being is seduced into an entanglement
he did not invite with his innermost desires.
—Karen Essex
Strange, Yet Familiar
Most people live simple, straight-forward lives. I don't. Life for me is convoluted and involuted and at times hard to distinguish between what's real and what's a dream.
I recall my grandfather telling me when he was young he'd watch a 50's TV series called, I led 3 Lives. It was a story about a man who was selected by the FBI to pose as a Communist in order to spy on them and then ingratiate himself with his comrades by pretending to spy on his own government.
It sounded like a crazy, mixed-up life but not much different from the one I led, which is why I was fascinated by the story, except in my version of it I was split between two worlds of waking and sleeping and unable at times to know for certain which was which.
Yeah, like I said, certifiably crazy.
I can't seem to settle on one thing—even my career is split between being a realtor and a writer. Kate Harrigan, my co-worker and friend, sums it up best when she says, "Si, you're one crazy-mixed up kid."
That's me—in a perpetual state of arrested development.
Oh, I can justify both careers, I just can't choose between them.
And I'm not your usual realtor—for me, it's not an occupation so much as a calling. Let me explain what I mean and ask you to reserve judgment until I finish.
I always had this thing about houses. When I was in high school I figured I might become an architect until I was given a preference test in a Careers class and my Guidance teacher, Miss Daguerre, was stymied.
"These results make no sense, Si—were you just randomly checking items?"
"No, seriously Miss, I just did as you said and answered each question honestly."
She shook her head. "The only way this would make sense is if you had a split personality, but your psychological assessment was normal so that's not a possibility."
"Okay, so how do I know which career path to choose?"
She frowned, "I guess you just have to follow your interest and see where you end up."
I think she was being facetious, but I followed her advice and ended up where I am, split between two worlds.
Lucky me. At least my careers are legal.
I began to notice a similarity between writing and real estate. In both instances I'm less concerned with things than people.
I can look at a person and know what kind of house they need. Sometimes, it works in reverse, I can look at their house and know what kind of person they are. I think I noticed this trait when I was in college driving a delivery truck for Fed Ex.
I had a lot of regular customers on my route. I remember one woman I called Marilyn who lived in a California style house and looked a lot like Marilyn Monroe. She took a liking to me.
One steaming hot summer day when the temperature was close to a 100 she sat me down on her shady patio and served me cold lemonade.
"Sorry," she apologized, "I just can't get the right balance today between sour and sweet."
She was gorgeous and I wanted to reassure her I liked the drink, but I really meant her. "It's perfect—sweet, just the way I like it."
"Guess we all like a little sugar," she winked, causing me to colour right up to my hairline.
"I like you, Simon," she drawled in a little girl voice, "you remind me of a young Errol Flynn."
It was like a kiss on my forehead—not exactly the response I hoped for. But Marilyn has stayed in my memory, and that's something.
And she helped me refine my talent for matching personalities with houses. I still drive by her house occasionally, and the ghost of her still haunts me.
Well, it seems to me that haunting is the operative word, that's how my life seems. It may sound weird but I'm still caught up in a split-screen world, betwixt and between two realities.
When most people go to bed at night, they sleep and occasionally dream—at least, one or two of their nighttime fancies may stand out for them as particularly curious or memorable. But it happens every night for me.
I'm reminded of the James Bond film, You Only Live Twice, because the words are my life:
You Only Live Twice or so it seems,
One life for yourself and one for your dreams.
I'm perfectly fractured into two separate worlds neither of which dominates the other and neither of which seems real.
"You need help, Si," Kate tells me one night over drinks at The Miller Tavern.
We're way up Yonge Street at the top of Toronto and it's either the booze or the hour but everything seems chimeric, like the winking and blinking lights of the city skyline.
I've told her too much and now regret it, but she's got my keys and is my designated driver. Well, I'll say this, the girl is dedicated—I'll give her that much. She drives me back to my condo and puts me to bed and when she leaves, kisses me on the forehead...just like Marilyn
And I'm off and lost in a dream with another girl whose name I can't remember, but she's here every night and I've known her forever.
She loves me and I love her and we're somehow connected...
Somewhere in time and space our lives make sense if I could only remember.