Bear the Great – Chapter Fourteen.
The freshmen roommates were as mismatched a pair as you could imagine, as odd a couple as the Klugman/Curtis duo of old-time TV fame. Not that one was persnickety and the other a slob. No, they were both neat enough. But somebody in the admissions office must have had fun with this one. Because if you thought polar opposites living together in the same cramped 12X14 space for a year would make for a good subplot? Well then, brother, this was the story line for you.
Kaddesh was from the Williamsburg section of Brooklyn. Eldest son of a pharmacist, coming to college fresh off kibbutz after a year in the occupied territories, he was a self-described “Zionist.” Not only did he keep kosher, but he also strictly observed shabbat from sundown Friday through sundown Saturday each week. How strict, exactly? He asked his roommate to flip the light switch on Friday nights so as not to run afoul of the 4th Commandment.
Daniels was the 4th and final son of a PA apple farmer who ate bacon for breakfast, sometimes also for lunch (BLT’s, y’know). He believed Jesus to be the literal messiah, as did most other Missouri Synod Lutherans. And until college he had never ventured further afield than Niagara Falls, one state over from his own nativity. And as for the light switch? He was happy to do it. As his grandmother often said, “It takes all kinds to make a world.” Lessons learned early tend to stick.
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In the end, they became fast friends. The two spent many long nights well into the wee hours discussing everything from Immanuel Kant to Alan Watts. They settled on Shredded Wheat and Quaker 100% Natural Cereal instead of bacon for shared breakfasts. They played intramural basketball together. As second-years, they suffered through the rigors of Organic Chemistry together. Over-winters they went on icy early morning jogs along the frozen lakeshore, their commingled puffs of breath clouding the sunrise in concert. Maybe those admissions folks were on to something here?
After graduation they were in each others’ weddings. They both went on to med school, each intending to become a psychiatrist. As Fate – or something – would have it, they each flamed out of their respective medical careers in spectacular fashion, though at slightly different points.
Daniels left his psych residency at UCLA early on after a crisis of confidence, seeking instead to travel the earth in search of personal wholeness in non-medical venues. First he worked in a factory in South Central LA alongside Central American refugees with forged papers and limited English. Then he became an airport shuttle driver, ferrying Angelinos to and from their flights at LAX. Later he re-trained as a computer programmer and ended up criss-crossing the country in service of various institutional and private clients who were in need of mainframe application development and support. It wasn’t Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous by any stretch, but it was a living.
Kaddesh finished his Beth Israel psych training and became an expert in multiple personality disorders. Alas, one of the more rapacious personalities of one of his patients seduced him. When the sordid affair came into the glaring klieg lights of public view, the University where he then worked paid a multi-million-dollar insurance settlement to his “victim,” then shipped him off for treatment to a private facility near Topeka that specialized in restoring fallen physicians to some semblance of normalcy. He permanently lost his licence to practice medicine of course, though there are worse fates.
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Across the years they kept in touch, following the exploits of each others’ kids, and finally retiring around the same time. Kaddesh stayed active in Progressive politics and charitable causes, Daniels less so. They shared an interest in pro and college sports, though Daniels hated the Olympics, while Kaddesh found them “inspiring.” Daniels gravitated toward Episcopalianism, while Kaddesh practiced “mindfulness” with a vaguely Zen Buddhist flavor. They rarely spoke of their year-long 12X14 living arrangement. And absolutely NEVER did either of them discuss – or even mention – how it came to be that they had each left medical practice behind.
When Daniels started blogging, Kaddesh followed avidly….
“What is it you’re trying to accomplish here, exactly?”
“Ever the psychotherapist, eh? So probing. So insightful….”
“No, I’m serious. Isn’t blogging – I dunno – kind of passé these days? Aren’t all the cool kids doing Insta and Tik-Tok and what-not now?”
“Ha. Yeah. My kids have certainly moved on.”
“Mine too. So…?”
“Think of it as a relatively healthy outlet for my darker urges.”
“Like Count Dracula thirsting for life-giving fresh blood at 4AM? Breakfast of Champions?”
“No, not like that. Think of it as… I dunno… as ‘Snark for Self-care.”
“Snark for WHAT? Now who’s going all psycho-babble all over my nice clean couch? If that leaves a stain, you’re paying for it.”
“No, I mean it. It makes me feel better. You know, getting stuff out there. Off my chest. Into the public square.”
“Without a filter? Is that really such a good idea? All due respect to your chest, but the public square is chock fulla nuts these days. And some of them are actually armed.”
“Well, maybe a little filter. C’mon, girls just wanna have fun.”
“Cyndi Lauper you’re not.”
“Never was and never will be. But neither is Cyndi either. Have you even seen her lately? Ugh, talk about Tales From the Crypt.”
“Nothing sadder than an aging rocker, I’ll admit. But now you’ve got me interested. Or at least a little intrigued. Keep me posted on the latest @DEWConsulting so I can read it on my flip phone.”
“Ha, you got it. You ARE a dinosaur, you know that, right? Half a step from extinct. You better hope the asteroid doesn’t hit soon or you’re a goner.”
“You and me both. But I mean it: ‘Snark for Self-care’ has a nice ring to it. Alan Watts has got nothing on you, man.”
“Never did. Never will.”
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After the murder, Kaddesh sent a generic note of condolence – along with a tasteful arrangement of flowers – to Daniels’ widow. Beyond that? What more can one say? Some things, after all, are better left unsaid.
