A Man Named Dave

partner of the firm, woke me with a phone call, asking me to come over to the office right away. I thought the reason was some surprise party for the award I had just received. The entire staff knew how hard I had worked to prove my worthiness, and since my separation they had gone out of their way to show me kindness.
    With my award clutched in my hand, I nearly dropped it when I saw the look on everyone’s face. I thought someone had died. Sitting down, I swallowed hard as I was told that Jerry had stolen funds from the organization. As I was presented with reams of paperwork and canceled checks made out to himself, everything suddenly made sense.
    I didn’t want anyone to think I had violated their trust, so I confessed to the group the advances that Jerry had instructed me to keep to myself, and that I felt Jerry was deliberately isolating me from the staff. When they looked at each other, then back at me, I thought I was doomed. The last thing I wanted was for anyone to think I, too, had cheated on them. With the award on the table in full view, I felt like a heel. I should have come forward months ago when I felt something was wrong. But when Rich, the co-founder, told me that the advances were not only legitimate but paid in full, only then did I feel a sense of relief. “Besides,” Rich said to me later in private, “you’re too Jimmy Olsen. Oh, yeah, by the way, Congrats on the award.”
    I alone had to address Jerry. As much as I hated to, I phoned Jerry, and for the first time as a businessman, I showed a little backbone when he made excuses. Jerry tried to blame it on the firm, and told me to trust him, but I didn’t want to get into finger pointing or blaming. Without disrespect or emotion, I simply stated, “I can never see you or talk to you again. Ever.”
     
    Days later, upon returning to Guerneville, I hated everything about myself. I felt like a joke. Because my place was a summer home, it had no insulation or heating unit except for an ancient wood stove, and the temperature inside the house was literally just above freezing. From the constant traveling and other roller-coaster-like events, I was emotionally drained. With a clean cloth I wiped off the statuette made of a pair of golden hands that held a silver globe, with my name engraved on the wooden base. In a flash of rage I almost threw the award – which I had received days ago in front of thousands of delegates throughout the world who showered me with praise I felt I did not deserve – into the fireplace. I shook my head with disgust. Here I was, an Outstanding Young Person of the World, separated from my wife and son because I had chased a dream, only to have my trust violated again, and if I didn’t freeze to death due to my firewood being soaked from the rain, I could celebrate with a Cup-O-Soup for dinner. After pumping air back into my leaky air mattress, I covered myself with layers of worn-out sleeping bags. If I was lucky I’d fall asleep before hunger took over, so I could save my dinner for another time.
    When I awoke the next day, I walked for miles in a cold drizzle. I reflected on the last few years and how within a short amount of time I had tossed away my air force career and my marriage. Patsy was right: she had given me two years and the results were I was now living like an Eskimo. By taking a chance and blindly charging ahead, I had put at risk all that I held sacred. As much as I thought my message was helping others, the personal results were obvious.
    It was Patsy who had the guts to call it quits. I never had the nerve to walk away, and I felt she had worked on our relationship far more than I had. In the final analysis, we were simply two different people. Maybe in my desire to protect Patsy, I had unintentionally smothered her until my pettiness drove her away.
    I didn’t deserve to be with Patsy, or anyone else. But as much as I still cared for her, I could never trust her or, because of Jerry, anyone else. Maybe my ice-cold environment was the perfect penance for my stupidity. One thing I knew: I was meant to be alone. Because of the tangled feelings of unworthiness and self-preservation, I could never allow anyone, besides my son, into my hardened heart.
    Within months, I rid myself of my self-pity, took stock in myself, and said good-bye to the Lincoln firm. I had heard Jerry and the firm had settled their issues, and I wished them the best of luck. I decided to run my own business. This way I could be