The Boiling of the Bones

1. Dream Girl

I was so bored my head was about to explode. I rolled my broad shoulders to stretch as I bided my time in a stuffy, constricting sport's jacket. It was uncomfortably hot and sweaty, so I loosened my tie and shirt collar as I flipped the long, dark hair from my face.

Oak Meadow Country Club was buzzing with Rochester, New York's rich and powerful. It was the evening of the eighty-second, Children's Memorial Golf Tournament—an annual fundraiser for the hospital. The banquet was winding down with the evening gala soon commencing.

My BFF Rob and I were stuck in arranged seats near one end of a sixty-foot VIP table arrayed across the front of the stage.

I glanced around at the different people in the room. The one thing they had in common was extreme wealth. All were gussied up in their finest stuffy collared shirts with blazers or sports jackets and uncomfortable dresses with numerous meticulously crafted accessories. They adopted phony personas, putting on airs, acting important. The soirees were what the rich lived for.

Everyone had dutifully conformed to the requisite attire. I wondered who'd invented dress codes, and if he or she fathomed the degree of discomfort they'd unwittingly foisted upon the world. Its only purpose was to serve as an outward manifestation of superiority. A show to grab attention—featuring human peacocks strutting around the room. I guess you can tell, I've never been big on fashion. Or galas.

I tried to read other peoples' body language–especially the interactions between couples. I was perplexed at how two people, supposedly in love, always seemed to grow irritated and the relationship evolved into near-constant, petty bickering.

Most people seemed dissatisfied, or at best, indifferent about their relationships. Yet, they were all really good at keeping their true feelings concealed and projecting a happy face, pretending everything was wonderful. Why do people hide when they're in pain--like something to be ashamed of? Isn't that when we should reach out for help the most?

A few couples outwardly hated each other's guts and didn't even conceal it. I knew quite a few divorced people. Others were unhappy, yet they stuck together out of expediency. I even knew of a few men cheating on their wives, and surprisingly, the wives were mostly aware of it.

How could you make a commitment like that, go and break it, then pretend to be faithful? Even in secret, wouldn't living a lie make you hate yourself? How could any self-respecting person allow their spouse to be unfaithful? Not that I was being critical--who was I to judge? I was seeking understanding. I'd probably make a mess of it as badly as anyone in the room. I was simply disillusioned by it, I desperately wanted to make sense of our complicated, messed up world. Somehow, I had to navigate my own course through it.

Humans love the wonderful, giddy feeling of being in love. I hadn't really experienced it personally, but it looked pretty good in Disney movies. People are hardwired to desire relationships, even though most are awful at making them work. Even the ridiculously bad ones keep trying over and over, constantly moving from one messed up relationship to the next, destroying families and lives, leaving a trail of wreckage and charred remains of relationships in the aftermath.

I admired the hopeful tenacity of it. My biggest problem was the effect it had on others. Especially emotionally scarred, vulnerable children trying to find themselves while navigating through toxic emotional turmoil and growing up to think such environments are normal. The sad truth is everyone falls out of love. It's inevitable. I glanced around the room, these were the most successful people in society and yet, they were terrible at relationships–every bit as bad as the greater community at large–if not worse. It was sad.

An older couple sat beside me. The woman made eye contact with us. Rob had no qualms about blatantly looking away. I was stuck as she initiated polite small talk.