August 2000

A customer comes back into the restaurant and says his wife didn't leave enough money for my tip, he's friendly and not afraid to touch my arm, forcing more money into my apron. "You're a beautiful man," he says. I am profoundly touched.
Kerwin Kay forwards me a curious e-mail that was sent to the Male Lust website, asking to be put in touch with the "author Emil Keliane". It's the first time anyone has called me an author.
Tariq's inability to commit is no longer a concern. I stand apart from it.
Two of my car tires have been slashed in the night but I have no reaction. It is life. People are silly.
A package arrives for my birthday from Tariq. I have yet to open it.
I've been to the ocean many times since returning from Columbus. I don't go there to think, but to let the waves pummel me. A seal swims nearby.
I'm now twenty-seven.
It's clear I have to return to the diary- this garden of color and expression; to wade in the fountain itself. Otherwise life is stark.
Not facing your sorrow prolongs sorrow. I've been mourning Tariq again. He distracts me in the shower, in the car, in the classroom, but not in the flesh. No one knows this- I don't talk about it.
In the daytime I play a game, pretending to belong, to understand, moving through, opening books, closing books, waiting in lines, driving on empty avenues, turning into quiet sunny neighborhoods.
I run more, eat less.
My heart closes like a strange sea creature clinging to the rocks, swaying in the deep cold currents. But I will emerge unscathed.
A new side of myself emerges that has no shape, face, color, skill, limit, experience and it orbits this space for many days. It has no words, no punctuation, no origin, no ending. The days turned into a month that ate itself, a heart that beat itself. I was all emotion and bad poetry, a chemical mix of recollections in a college laboratory among nameless pupils, placid plastic models, faded science posters, doused in scientific terminology and stark white lighting. I've been running more and more, eating less and less, and have lost ten pounds. Reinvention.
Jackie e-mails, invites me to talk to her, admits that she's worried by my silence. I am heavy doors that no longer swing wide open.
The owner of Half Day Cafe calls me into her loft office above the restaurant and breaks the news that our beloved manager has disappeared with thirty-thousand dollars worth of deposits. Nedrea, who always preached strength, generosity, and courage is a thief!
I chuckle. What next? Is my mother a serial killer? My grandmother a man? Is nothing what it seems?
Who will fall from my heart next? I hold my breath.
Tariq left a message on the answering machine. I listened to it three times. He's in Santa Barbara. "I can feel you up the coast."
Jackie says she regrets it every moment of the day that she confided her illness to me. I turn to her, raise my voice, 'No!' Thank her again for having let me in- the only one in the family.
The yard loses the last of its light and a gentle wind blows through the trees. Where is beauty? Generosity? Grace? Honesty? Integrity? Authentic love? The world is a grim place. Life is mean. I do not seek sympathy but strength.
Nedrea called last night, but I didn't let on that I knew about her crime, though I wanted so much to ask how it was that she could betray so many of us so effortlessly. I extricated myself from the awkward conversation and hope she never calls again.
I put on my running shoes and step out under salmon-colored clouds, carrying every detail in my mind; never a blank moment blanketed by sheer thoughtlessness.
Jackie places fresh red roses from the garden in a delicate glass vase next to my bed.
It's raining Whys, but I have vowed never to lose sight of kindness, love, honesty. I feel myself slowly returning to life. I have sent my wings out to be repaired so that once again I can soar above the pettiness.
God, what darkness I just traversed, where everything I knew failed to make sense or hold any spiritual value. A place where no amount of hope was sufficient. A mood that did not allow laughter. I imagined throwing myself from the bridge. But I can't possibly be that selfish; I would be taking others to the ocean floor with me.
My body changes. I have lost fifteen pounds this month alone. The path that I once ran in forty minutes I now run in twenty. I feel empowered. Physically and emotionally. I eat very little. Jackie suspects that I seek discipline. The transformation I seek is born out of a need to love those I know with a strong heart, not a defeated bitter heart.
I look up at the stars just to feel minuscule.