The Stories

“In the end all we have are the stories.” Burt Reynolds in “Burn Notice”

He is a legendary CIA spy, a black ops bad-ass. He tells spell-binding stories… gripping tales of subversion, political assassinations, banana republic coup d’etats, infiltrations of drug cartels, sultry women of intrigue and double-crossing friends. But that was then, this is now. Today he's just some washed-up flotsam lying on a vast and unfamiliar shore.

Blame the Witness Protection Agency. It erases the past, makes all things new ~ names, jobs, residences. But new lives have no old stories. So he sits, bored and irrelevant, in a tiny, dark apartment in a non-descript city of nowhere, yearning for the excitement of the "old days." Ah, yes, he thinks, those quixotic days when guns spoke first, no questions asked. He’s no longer important, things have changed. Of course this is only a chimera, a fictional Hollywood character portrayed by Burt Reynolds in the series "Burn Notice." Yet it conveys a less-than-subtle message to a declining generation of over- achievers.

One day last week my cell phone vibrated, displaying the name of a long-forgotten old friend, literally and figuratively. He called to inquire of my health and whereabouts. His voice was changed, a quiver in it. What did life do to him? I wondered. I soon found out.

You know how these conversations go. First are the entry-level questions, "How are you?" You respond, and also ask. Then comes, "And the family? The kids?" You answer and try to remember enough details to ask likewise. Health Issues invariably come up next. Hips, knees and spines dominate the dialogue. Now it’s time for The People Reunion. “Did you hear about…?” and, “Whatever happened to…?” and, “How’d he die?” The “people part” provokes laughter, shock and compassion as we cuss, discuss and lay to rest those we once knew.

It always gets around to, “Are you still working or retired?” We bemoan the economic conditions and beat that dead mule till the old comfort level returns. We laugh. The call gets easier and more comfortable. We drop our guard.

Then the inevitable happens ~ the Remember-When stories begin. It's important to recall that with age and distance exploits take on a life and hyperbole of their own. We fill in the forgotten details like we want to remember them. Who’s to question this? We dredge up things like, "Remember that New Orleans’ deal when...?" and, "How about that night in the airport when ….?" or, "Remember tricking Phil with the ice pick caper…?" By now we’re on a roll, really laughing, totally losing ourselves in reliving these old stories.

Our best episodes come from shared memories, not those made in the vacuum of our singularity. Our paths converge, often merge, soon morph and then move apart. It's life, and from this rich compost pile of memories we mine the details and fodder for our narratives. No wonder they get better with age! They give character to our lives, meaning to the past and affirm a life lived large.

We knew when the call was over. Spaces of silence, forced laughter and make-talk confirmed it. It ends like they all do with, "Hey, let's have lunch or a beer. Call when you're in town." With an indeterminate date, though well-intended, it’ll never happen. Life works this way...the past is just a bucket of ashes. We can exhume our adventures, but they’re only a lifeless heap of dry and dusty bones. It's best to leave them buried. Perhaps it’s not a lot to show for years of friendship, but maybe it's enough.

The segment of "Burn Notice" ended with Reynold's character attempting to resurrect his past. Impossible, for it had been obliterated. His litany of "… all that's left are the stories," is all that remains for him. He needed the convergence of a new path with new friendships.

The phone call to me remains a subtle reminder of the past. It was still a good call, even if all that remains from it are the stories.


Bud Hearn
August 12, 2010