The Family Man

Mulholland Drive, deep Beverly Hills. A stocky, latino male in the later half of his 20’s pulls up to the curb. The beginning of the ride is quiet. Slowly, we move past the small talk and the conversation turns to the details of my last relationship and why it ended. He gives me some advice:

“When you have someone who’s willing to jump with you, you’ve got to jump too. Finding someone who’s willing to jump with you is rare.”

He tells me about his family and what he enjoys about having one. His two or three kids are young and he relishes the feeling of coming home to his tribe…of waking up in the middle of the night and hearing them mutter in their sleep, tossing and turning…knowing he has something of his own, here for him on this isolated planet. As we approach my house, he tells me how well he gets along with his wife despite cheating on her six or seven times.

“I always ask her: Do you have any proof? Are all the bills paid? Then don’t bother me.”

He turns to me.

“But, hey, that’s just how I am.”

I respond with the shallow, stunted laughter of disbelief. But, hey, I’m home.