The William Holden Moment

If you're looking at the title of today's post and wondering where this piece will go, I must confess that it's not about any connection I have to William Holden.  The guy's been dead for over thirty years.  There was no opportunity for me to run into him in the cereal aisle at Ralph's Supermarket.

But, the guy's been on my mind lately.  No, I didn't just watch "Picnic" or "Network."  I've been thinking about how Holden checked out of this mortal coil.

Drunk in his Santa Monica apartment, he fell down and cracked his head on the edge of a coffee table.  He bled to death.

Alone.

Makes you think.  Those of us who live by ourselves.

I'm doing it for the first time in about a decade and a half.  When my writing partner and I first moved to Los Angeles fifteen years ago, we stayed together in a temporary apartment.  Our time frame was to do that only for six months.  Three apartments and 183 months later, we were still at it.  The set-up just became very convenient and economical, especially for yours truly who maintains a bi-coastal existence.  The key was we both had separate lives and wings in our apartment. 

For a myriad of reasons that mostly concern health and family, my writing partner has returned east.  I remain in Los Angeles to hold down the creative fort and, thanks to computers and Skype, long distance writing relationships can still exist. 

So, I turn around and discover that I am in the apartment alone.  While it never happened once in fifteen years, I discover that there is no door to knock on in the middle of the night if I can't breathe.  Well, there is still a door but now it's just an empty guest room. 

I've lived alone before and certainly never had a problem.  Quiet is something to always relish.  But, I'm older now and maybe a little closer to a moment where I can't breathe in the middle of the night.

Amazing how your mind wanders into this bizarr-o world just because another birthday has been reached.

Yet, I look around and I marvel at the number of people I know who live in solitude.  By themselves.  I easily count those friends and I'm already in double digits.  For whatever reason, I know a lot of folks in the same lonely boat.

A few weeks back, there was a small scare precipitated by just this solo phenomenon.  A friend was going to be picked up for an outing, but he got stuck someplace and, in his cell phone-less life, couldn't connect to tell others he was late.  The usual "there's gotta be a logical reason" explanation.

Except all another friend of mine and I could think was that this was totally out of character and he just might have passed out in his apartment.  Alone.  Conclusions were not just jumped to.  There were major leaps.  Even the police were called.  Plenty of red faces ensued, especially when the tardy one showed up, hale and hearty.

A silly course of events.  You betcha.  But, the moment sticks around to this day.

So, now I have friends looking to erect phone trees of support.  Apartment keys will be exchanged.  Locksmiths look to get rich.  Everybody is looking to have everybody else's back.  Looking to guard each other from a William Holden moment.

I thought back to December 30, 1987.  I don't forget the date because, when your arm is a sling for New Year's Eve, the memory sticks with you.  I was prepping to go out for a movie.  I walked out of the bathroom and tripped on my untied sneaker laces.  I fell forward and landed on my shoulder.  The kind of pain that only makes you lie on the floor and laugh hysterically.  The joint now sported a hairline fracture.  The psyche made me worry about having an accident in my own home with nobody else around.

Nothing like that has happened since.  Fingers are crossed that nothing like this happens ever again.  I think of William Holden and I worry about the pointed corners of my new coffee table.  I look at the wine rack and know that I'm only good for just one glass a night.  Oh, and I always remember to tie my sneakers now.

To all those around me, near and far, who live alone, I feel your angst.  I get your apprehension.  I have your cell phone number. 

In reality, though, we are all alone even in the midst of a crowd.  You can only do what you can do.  Life comes and life goes.  On its own schedule.  Whether a person is across the apartment or across town or across the country.   Vin Scully has an interesting way of referencing this inevitability.

"If you want to make God smile, tell him you have plans."

Yep, there's going to be a William Holden moment for all of us.  I just hope mine doesn't cause a stain on the new carpet. 

Dinner last night:  Had a big lunch, so just a salad.