|Aftermath, and new beginnings
||[Jun. 13th, 2004|10:11 pm]
|||||Thiós Fán Chósta, by Clannad||]|
Breakfast: Peter is called away on business before ordering. I tell him I am self-entertaining, am content to wait. I am. I wait an hour. I watch the frigate birds soaring like pterodactyls. I watch the lizards hunting insects. I watch a ground dove crossing the horizon – and watch a kestrel come out of nowhere, and take it, midair. I watch a starling make several passes on the pool, brushing breast feathers on the surface of the water…
Suddenly, I am in a full-blown flashback: Kevin, standing in the late afternoon light on top of Monkey Hill, staring out over the distance at Basseterre. Watching in awe and wonder as starlings went joy-riding on the wind, sweeping over the crest of the hill on the swift laminar flow, circling wide to repeat. Play. Pure joy. Exhilaration. A sacred moment shared. And suddenly the bottom drops out of me and I am crushed by the ache of longing, emptiness, the absence of that daily companionship, the loss of the trust, the sharing, love as a cornerstone of my life. I wake on the table. I am in serious emotional distress. I am hollow, dancing around commitment, around anything that might be construed as a promise, with such calculated reserve, wariness …I hate myself. I feel my need to connect with others is a trap, a pitfall, a hideous opportunity for me to delude myself into the clutches of endlessly accumulating pain. I am BITTER. The loss of my marriage hits me full-force, as it perhaps hasn’t before. I need sleep. The barriers are slipping. I allow myself to fall unconscious on the table again.
Peter returns, and wakes me gently, deeply and sincerely apologetic. I hold no grudge, am not upset. I am grey, strange, disconnected. He is gentle, kind. We eat, return to the room. He walks me to my car before returning to poolside, to bask and rest a while prior to catching his very long flight home. As we part, he tells me with heartwarming sincerity to please take care of myself, as now he cares about me. The phrasing is odd, and catches in my mind. Still dancing around the threshold, but closer, now; saying it without saying it. I wish him a safe trip back, withdraw into my shell, drive home.
On the way, in a state profoundly surreal, I see a man on the side of the road in a shiny black jumpsuit with shiny black boots, his long matted dreadlocks piled up tall on top of his head through the center of what once was a straw hat. He is goose-stepping. It looks like a Monty Python skit. I am not sure I really saw it, now.
Saturday afternoon. Sleep for hours. Wake groggy and low. Dana calls me; we go out for dinner at PJ’s, which I am immensely grateful for, not wanting to be alone in this ringing emptiness. Much is happening in her life, as well: betrayal, disavowal, pain. Truly concerned, I bestir myself from the hanging funk, to listen and try to help. I care about Dana, and she’s taken a bitter blow; we may come down here prepared to put our lives on hold, but life never waits for us. We kill a bottle of wine, talk for hours. So much to say…Dana ends up having to drive us home, as I cannot slip out from under the influence of the wine, and know it. Back to Right Claw South (my apartment) for another glass of wine, more storytelling. The emptiness is pushed away, connection the antidote. Thank you, Dana.
Sunday. Have accomplished nothing I set out to. I am thinking of a classmate I’d like to get to know better, whom I spoke to on Tuesday, then saw again briefly Saturday night. I told her in radiology lab that I felt like Big Bird – socially clumsy and FRIENDLY. She looked hard at me, and said she felt the same way. Felt older than most of the rest of the class (she’s 30). Said that she’s so lonely down here she attaches to anyone who’s kind to her, desperately wanting friendship. My turn to look hard. We agreed we needed to get together and talk. We’ve a lot in common.
Got to talk to Dave; my dearest best friend, your generosity and thoughtfulness constantly astound me, make me feel shallow and self-centered and petty in comparison. Please let me not let you down...
I wrote Peter a long email, thanking him for everything, sharing a bit more of myself. Was surprised to receive a jet-lagged, slightly disjointed response…the sweetest letter I’ve gotten in a long time. Full of tenderness, and an invitation to the future. Openness. Where physicality did not break down the walls, his words shake me. I am such a sucker for romance! (Damn, he’s good.) Perhaps, and perhaps. Perhaps the dream is worth dreaming, indeed, provided I don’t get carried away, beyond the world’s rim, past what is actually real. How much can I trust myself? I don’t know.
I am very much looking forward to getting to know you better, Peter Taggart. I hope my instincts lead me true, and my conflicting desires don’t sabotage us. Sleep well, and I’ll see you someday soon.