Forgive the Hero's Self-indulgence

In story-writing, there are certain character types (like the hero or the best friend) that are used often enough that people have analyzed them and written whole books on how to best represent them when writing novels or screenplays.  A neat thing about this is that these character types can be found in real life – and often the way a best friend would act in a novel is how you can expect a best friend to act in real life and so on.  Yet another instance of art imitating life, or vice versa (I can never remember which is correct).

So today’s question: How should a mentor be written?  Mentors, such as Obi Wan Kenobi or Yoda in Star Wars, Gandalf in The Lord of the Rings, etc., all hold common traits.  They may be a bit reclusive and strange, but they have once been in the hero’s shoes.  Their job is to earn and keep the trust of the hero in order to aid, instruct, and grow said hero into who s/he must be in order to defeat the Big Bad.         
Their end can be in glorious death (usually while protecting the hero), but there are also many examples of the mentor living to the end of the story and becoming an advisor to the main character.  Optionally, he can also allow the hero to ride off into the sunset after teaching him all there is to be taught.

One thing mentors are not supposed to do?  Betray the hero. 

As I’ve turned him over in my mind these past few months, I wonder if he was wearing a mask all along, or if people sometimes morph into villains over time?  I’m not sure which idea is easier to digest. 

To think that he was a wolf in mentor’s clothing all along is unkind to both him and myself.  That would mean that every laugh we shared was false, every piece of advice was simply a stepping stone to the day when he would turn his back on me and focus his attentions on someone new.  But the idea that he slowly morphed into something villainous is also an unwelcome thought.  If the one that I trusted to lead and teach me can turn on me, then what about all of the other characters that I’ve trusted in this drama of my life?  Will my best friend step out of character and leave me?  My mother refuse to take me in?  My true love find someone else’s arms to lie in at night?

I suppose the hardest part in all of this is that I thought that I would have him forever.  I thought my trust was well placed when I set it in his arms.  But when I saw him last, something cold and hard had lodged itself inside him where there used to be love and respect for me.  He was the one to turn away when my eyes searched his for some proof of who we were.  Asking why and when and how this all happened seems pointless after seeing that look in his eyes.

The knowledge that there are now two mentors that I looked up to and respected that have left me behind is difficult to bear.  First I was left while surrounded by the scent of pine - our friendship disintegrating like an old campfire's ash in a rainstorm.  Now I'm left in the place I felt sanctuary, where I used to feel so at home.

Maybe I need to grow up.  Maybe everyone’s mentors let them down and literature only makes us believe that those men and women can be trusted.  Maybe if I were more of a hero, if I were better, then they would have chosen pride instead of shame.  

Maybe I’m just a fool, thinking myself the hero in this drama of life.   

It’s too hard to comprehend.  I’ve tried to turn it into a textbook study to try to analyze it, tear it apart, and somehow force it to conform to some sort of logic when what I'm left with is simply this:  He may as well have chopped off my foot and taken it when we parted for the last time, since he helped to build me in the first place. 

Perhaps the limp would be a stronger metaphor for the fact that I am struggling to navigate this hero’s journey alone.

Unanswered Corrospondence

The heart is a strange thing.

Because you're gone and I miss you like crazy. Like absolute insane crazy.  But when you reach out, I don't want to respond to your letters, answer the phone, or even see your face.  Because what's the point? You'll be gone as soon as I finish writing.  As soon as the phone is back on the hook.

As soon as your face goes away with the plane, soaring miles and miles away, my mind will reach to try to see your image on its own.

I'm terribly selfish, I know. I should always be excited to keep up with you.  But we used to be real and present, I used to see the thrum of your pulse when you were laughing, and the brightness in your eyes when we stayed up too late talking.

And somehow, now it always feels like we're just reaching.