Change and Diminishment

“You haven't changed since you were thirty-two,” said Alexander as the car accelerated out of the station parking lot.

“Um?” Thomas had one arm hanging out the window, relishing the cool night air.

“I mean, your still engaging in the same adolescent behavior you embraced, back when we first met. And I bet you've been doing them since childhood.”

“Didn't we meet back in 1985,” said Thomas, “when we were twenty-five? I had just been bailed out for that illegal demonstration, and you were there to meet your brother, who was in jail for the same reason as I.”

He slouched in the passenger seat, but with hands outstretched touching the ceiling, as his legs constrained under the dash. “I'm always astonished that I befriended you, rather than your brother.”

“See, that's what I'm saying. I just spent a handful of crisp bills bailing you out, and you don't seem to have taken notice. But I keep believing it's worth the expense. Some day I won't.”

“That's the day I'll need a new benefactor. But maybe, I won't need one. You see, I have changed. But, anyway, you're misconstruing change as maturity.”

Alexander turned to Thomas who met his eyes. In the transitory light of the highway lamps that lit up the car and then faded, Thomas could barely maintain the connection, but he felt bound to Alexander's gaze. The graveness of it made Thomas feel as if he had made a covenant with his rescuer.

“You've given up you're idealistic, hopeless crusades?”

“No... no, I didn't mean anything like that,” said Thomas.

“Then, tell me how you've changed.”

“I don't smoke anymore.”

“I call your lie. I saw your illegal venture three days ago.”

“Well, I don't as often.”

Alexander laughed, “Not the same. Next you'll be telling me that five minus two equals zero.”

“Ok, so maybe I haven't changed,” Thomas said, passing a hand over his eyes, “except that I'm tired more often, can't hike like I used to, I can't focus on unique problems, and my eyesight is worse, but I think this whole conversation ignores a basic reality. People don't change.”

“People love change.”

“In a novel, but that's fiction. Only people that suffer religious conversion, or profound agony desire to alter themselves. The rest of us, the common mass, construct our live out of activities that become habits, and those odd behaviors we began with become comfortable conclusions.”

“I've changed...”

“Hey,” said Thomas, “Pull over quick and we can buy a coffee. Lift the spirits, invigorate the mind. An assist to midnight driving.”

“No thanks.”

“Wait, what about... oh great.”

“My car, my bailout, my rules,” said Alexander, foot on the gas.

“You're right. You've changed.”

“If you don't want to talk about it.”

The silence began at exit 25, and it persisted. The ride to Exit 26, fifty-five miles down the Interstate, offered little hope of reconciliation. The repetition of overhead lights, like a steady beat, crashed against Thomas' awareness inducing a mildly hypnotic state, while the irregular interval of car lights across the median interrupted Alexander's partial suspension of consciousness. Physically together they traveled, but they had no chance of connection, for each was attune to their own rhythm. On and on in the twilight they drove, with light outside but only darkness between them where the pale illumination did not reach.

“Exit 26 is coming up,” Thomas managed to grunt from his semi-aware state. He watched as Alexander shook his head once, twice, and then started.

“I thought you were asleep,” Alexander said, over-loud.

“And I thought you were. This the exit.”

“Not the way I go.”

“Oh come on, are we going to argue about this?”

“No. I'm driving.”

The silence that separated them, seemed likely to reassert itself, but Thomas didn't desire it.

“I was thinking. Did your parents sing to you, or play music when you were little? You know, cassette tapes or CDs.”

No answer, for a minute, five minutes, ten minutes, and then:

“Yeah, sure.”

“Well, I was consider what I'd said earlier.”

“About not changing.”

“Yeah, and I'm not sure if my parents meant to, but they contributed to my resistance to change. They probably didn't spent much time selecting songs, or think too hard about the message. People are always too trusting to consider what a story or song intends. And they shouldn't be. Puff the Magic Dragon and Toys”R”Us.”

“Excuse me?” Alexander said as he involuntarily gave the brake small push.

“You've heard of them, right? Same idea's encapsulated in both; 'I don't wanna grow up I'm a Toys R Us kid,' and near the end of Puff, the Magic Dragon by Peter, Paul, and Mary, where they sing, 'A dragon lives forever but not so little boys / Painted wings and giant rings make way for other toys / One grey night it happened, Jackie Paper came no more.' Sure, Puff is more nuanced, but they tug at the same longings: loss of innocence, desire never to grow up, and the sadness of the passing of time.”

“What's your point? Aside from sounding foolish?”

“I don't know. I guess, hearing these made me never want to grow up, to never change from my childhood self.”

“Your childhood-self decided resisting authority and suffering the ignominy of jail would make a good life?”

Thomas wanted to draw Alexander's attention, and fix him with a stare, to express his solemn intention, as Alexander had done earlier, but recognized the irresponsibility of distracting the driver.

Instead he said, “Yes, I've suffered on behalf of the poor that have not enough to eat. I've slumbered in a cell to aid both the neglected veteran, and the people of a foreign land he was sent to slay. I've chained myself to a line of others to ensure there will be a world worth living for our children. And, I've thrust my body into the political sphere, dragged from the steps of the Congress and the Court, for protesting the injustices that exist.”

“And what do you have to show for it? Except that you've emptied a number of wallets, mine included?” said Alexander.

“I'm not sure, but I do know I won't change. Those that change, change for the worse. They lose their childish delight in the world, their sense of wonder. Corroded by power and pragmatism they surrender their innate courage and virtue. The change is insidious, and we assume it happens to all men and women. The only good change is for those who, having lost their innocence, reclaim it.”

Alexander slammed the brake and swerved into the breakdown lane, along the deserted highway.

“You're accusing me.”

“Of having changed, yes, but not anything worse than occurs to us all.”

“I have a family, a duty, a responsibility,” said Alexander.

“A responsibility,” said Thomas.

“You, judge me!”

“This conversation began with your attempt to convict me of the crime of unchanging adolescence, which I rejected. But I realize now that there is no greater compliment: a childish, idealistic commitment to hope and responsibility.”

“Then this is it.”

“Only if you are committed to change.”

“Get out,” said Alexander.

Thomas opened the car door and stepped out into the night, “Then good-bye.  I'm glad that we were able to travel so far together, even if it did not last."

The moment he exited the car, Alexander felt as if a part of himself, a part that had always been in a state of shrinking, finally ceased to exist.  He placed his foot upon the gas, and started slowly.  Alexander could see Thomas standing by the side of the road, and he wished Thomas would gesture or yell, or in some way induce him to stop the car, but he didn't.  So he didn't.

As Thomas receded in the rear-view mirror, Alexander felt diminished by his loss, not relieved as he had hoped.

That would come later.

Thomas, humming to himself, watched the car speed off into the night.  A tear streaked down his face, and though he knew the way, and had traveled many times by dark to his rest, he felt lost.  But he looked to the stars for guidance, and he began.  He had a long way to walk, and a fair distance to carry his grief.  So he walked, hoping for solace.

And that would come later, too.