December 2000

The moments at the airport, before his arrival, were sweet and exciting. I chuckled at how nervous I actually was. The plains of the immediate future were wide open and when I looked down on them I became dizzy and giddy. A sanguine wind blew through my hair... the wind of anticipation.
Tariq arrived, we hugged, proceeded to baggage claim, talking easily, joking, laughing. Driving into the city I noticed how easy and comfortable things were between us, familiar and graceful- except for some private pangs...
He looked wonderful. I don't remember others at the sushi bar. All I remember is Tariq, his warm, languid eyes with soft lashes, into which I wanted to climb and stay hidden and safe forever. His sad eyes.
After dinner we stopped into Metro where we sat on the balcony and had drinks. I was confident that Tariq was present, with me, not in other worlds, escaping as he had in Columbus, alienating me, punishing us.
What is this ship doing in my heart, sinking as I write, while I fumble for the story that slips like mercury between my fingers? If I am not the captain who bravely traverses a tempestuous sea, a league of emotions, then who am I? The kelp? The barnacle? Or the glass face of a broken compass?
Mom asks if I'm all right as I write.
After drinks we walked across the street to Cafe Flore and met others. I did not bravely climb without a harness, bare fingers feeling the lateral face of each significant moment, paramount minutes with the love of my life, my first and last love, sorrowful and breathtaking sunset beyond peaks- Tariq. I remained at the foot of immediate moments, staring wistfully up at the distant peaks where I once proudly and defiantly stood.
Capturing Tariq is like trying to write legibly on a moving freight train... a hundred years ago! In the cattle car. Sentient cargo.
Tariq was tired now. As we walked up a steep sidewalk shrouded in mist he thanked me again for receiving him at the airport. 'Will you stop thanking me? I'm the one who's indebted to you for all the love you've shown me.' The words should have been soft, but felt abrasive. Each syllable had a benign face, and a sharp whiplike tail.
Madness. It comes in waves, lingers a few hot minutes, then retreats. I try to control it, wrestle with it as though it is a wild animal on the loose. But I am the wild animal. The madness is tame in comparison to me.
I said I wanted to see him once more to say goodbye, but inside I fell as many children in many directions, off a spinning carousel of insecurity. I wanted to forget the airport, his beautiful face, having eaten with him, his hands, and return to my small life in the corner of solitude, by a window of a dream, in the studio of imagination, and forget my longings, fresh as ever, a wound sparkling and sizzling. I love him still, but have no face for, no definition for, no place for this love in my life. So, I wander the outskirts of composure with this dying child in my arms, a child who takes a last breath for the both of us.
He asked what I had planned for the next day, and even though I had taken the day off to be with him, I lied and said I had to work.
A pause.
Changing light.
Passing cars.
Streets that were angled and dark.
'I want you to know that I want to give and receive this love- from you, from everyone- but feel impotent.'
He understood.
But is there a cure, when this is what I am?
"You know your limits. We could all learn from you."
I helped him into the lobby and we hugged goodbye. He felt insane in my arms. The moment ripped my roots out of the ground, flinging them into the distance.
On the drive home I cried quietly, the road before me becoming nebulous through the tears, inculcating myself for lacking a sense of direction, emotional equilibrium. I entered the house shaking, collecting myself as Jackie was still up. I knew I would not sleep, so I dressed and went for a midnight run. The empty streets were at points pitch black and I couldn't see where I was going. Occasionally the stark white headlights of a passing car aided me. I felt autumn leaves under my step but did not hear them because of the music. I don't recall thinking anything in particular; I was just concentrating on not falling into the abyss, lost and forgotten in the smoke and firewood scent that permeated the neighborhood.
That night was difficult. I was reminded of the pain I felt when I first returned from Columbus, the void, the ugliness, unable to appreciate anything. And I regretted having gone to the airport, having opened doors that should have remained locked. I cried myself to sleep and in the morning collected tissue from my bed. Any reminders from the night before I tore up and discarded: the piece of paper with his name and flight information, the receipt from dinner.
The mines had been set in the soil of my memory and all the next day scenes came back to kick me in the heart. I missed him and regretted lying to him about working.
Friday I was forced to confront my own shortcomings and demons. Jackie picked up on this vibe and steered clear of me. I tried to cheer up, went to the gym, did not eat, tried unsuccessfully to push the darkness back with my bare hands, promised to forgive him, slept with the telephone next to my bed. Dreamt that my father was sucking my dick!
In the morning I e-mailed him. Awaiting his call brought anticipation and color to the day, but he did not call. The day became unoriginal and I wondered how I survive this unchanging routine. Night peeled back my skin with its jagged teeth and juggled my heart in its claws. I sat in a dark room and planned my suicide, felt the coastal wind whip my body on the bridge. When I caught myself in the mirror I was shocked to discover a beautiful, young, vibrant man, but mad and dying.
And I'm frightened. There is just too much sadness in me, too many years, insecurities, crippling regret. The many questions crush me. The question mark hooks and asphyxiates me. I want to die, to stop thinking, to stop feeling, to stop reliving every single time I was lied to, made to feel unwanted, unloved, neglected, forgotten. I did not realize there was so much pain in me. Is it any wonder I am hindered in all aspects of life? I struggle to push, push, push on. I am a stone desperately wishing she were a bird.
He called and could sense I was not well, encouraged me to talk about my feelings- things I'd rather tie to heavy rocks and sink in the sea. I asked him to give me more time and distance, said that I felt rushed into seeing him when I was not actually ready, that it was still as painful to be with him as it was to be without him. He sounded forlorn, but said he understood, and made me promise to call him when things became too dark. He was worried and I apologetic. "I love you," he stressed. We hung up.
I turned out the light and fell into a space that was unfamiliar and inhospitable, wondering if I was petulantly acting out, unable to recognize what was good and right. I tried to sleep. An hour later my grandmother came into my room, "Emil, it's some man. Tariq. Will you talk to him?"
'Hello?'
"Emil."
'Yeah?'
"I need to see you," Tariq's voice said defiantly from another universe.
'OK.' We chuckled and made plans.
I suppose I have to face the bittersweet beat, spend another day with him knowing his words, no matter how tender, will rip into the silk walls of my makeshift cocoon and shred my nascent soul into thin strips that will blow haplessly in love's cold stratosphere. I want to breathe deeply and sigh with him, relax in his warm presence, rest on the love that exists and strives to redefine me, though I obstinately resist- the spooked wild horse that I am. God help me receive love.
Somewhere, despite the darkness that envelopes, the sun shines. Somewhere in the universe of my soul.
Last night I left a note on Jackie's pillow:

J, 
I hope you had a wonderful time in the city with your friends. 
I just wanted to let you know that I've hit a rough patch and that it will make me darker than usual for the days to come. Don't be alarmed. I'm fine. 
I just don't want to be a conundrum that you feel you have to unriddle. 
Love,
E

This morning I woke up to a response:

Even though I just got in at 2 a.m. I was glad to find your beautiful note. OK, like, this is all a big surprise to me. I know you're going through a rough time. I thank you for the note. It's very considerate/mature of you, especially as you experience the difficulty. Please, please, when you're ready know that I can lend an ear to the cause. Of course you'll be OK in due time. I just hope you don't spend more precious time than you need to on "it". 
Love you,
Me

I'm just trying to maintain a balance within the extreme temperatures of emotion and emotional healing. It is only life, a life that is teething and I am its chew thing! And if it's teething it can't be all that big, can it?
Tariq is the embodiment of the many threads of my million insecurities, all the moments in the earliest hours of my sexual and emotional development, the early experiences, false expectations, broken promises, all the nights I wistfully waited for 'him' to call, but he didn't. I have fostered all the failures within me, smuggled them into the present, and they have over time become a mythological creature that possesses an umbilical cord that originates in my womb.
There are no signs, no instructions, no guides in the safari of the soul, the desert landscape of the heart. I may go mad at any given moment, but I'm not willing to take a shortcut and miss the meaning. I have to face myself- whoever this self may have been, may be, may yet become. Just know that I refuse to lose!
And how lucky I am to have most of my insecurities laid out neatly before me so that I may identify them, attempt to annihilate them. It is truly remarkable how perfect all of it really is. It is heart-boggling! We have the rest of our lives...
I'm on Mount Tamalpais, here to celebrate my hundredth birthday. It's just after three in the afternoon and there isn't a person in sight, no cars passing on the winding road above. I'm sitting on the edge of a cliff, the sun is warm and welcoming, I can hear the Pacific Ocean roaring below, birds fly by in front of me. It's breathtaking. I can't believe I am here. The trees seem to be in the same mood as I. Quiet. I hiked for an hour along narrow dirt trails that would not allow clamorous thought, introspection. The silence simply demands serenity. My tears were warm like the sun, salty like the waves on the shore below. I could not escape the peace that was all around me, permeating my body, massaging my palpitating human heart. The wind spoke in my ear, whispered precious secrets, reminding me that I am indeed on top of the world, that I am and have everything, that my insecurities, sorrow, and pain are just as essential and beautiful as my health, my body, my sense of humor, my courage, my love, my instinct and intuition. That there is always an invisible balance to my life, to all life, which we cannot see, but must acknowledge. That I have not failed in this continuum of love and turmoil. That amidst the intellectual chaos there is spiritual order.
Now I've taken off my shirt. The sun kisses my body. The wind caresses my body.
I envy the animals that live here. I already miss certain details like I miss Tariq's certain details.
In comparison to love, to the universe, I am a corpuscle, a single blade of grass on the side of a mountain, a pebble with a human heart. Somewhere deep inside I know that there's more to my life than me, my needs, my struggle. That my biggest fears are the smallest mechanisms. Life does not begin or end with me. There are no finite interpretations to one's life and relationships. One lifetime is not enough. I may fall from the lips of comprehension but I am not an orphan in the womb of life. I am accounted for, though just a single cell.
So, I will fear, I will lash out, I will question, I will doubt, and I will regret, but these are my children. And though they may fail me, how can I not love them, their eyes so hopeful?
Just because I have no wings and hollow bones it doesn't mean I can't imagine flight! A large bird of prey glides past as I write this...
Night. Home. Though in my mind's landscape I am still up on the mountain, somewhere, experimenting with life from my seat at the precipice of interpretation, following a trail of words. I face the darkness that's alive and kicking inside me. I accept that the people we love are fallible and have permission to hurt us; that loving, tender, gentle Tariq may have abusive tendencies; and that his inability to commit to one person, one place, one thing does not make him a bad person. Tariq lives in limbo. He lives a life that is tortured. Everything is a dream, a possibility, an experiment, yet undefined. Palestine. The plot of land in Austin. All his friendships around the world. Everything is symbolic and symptomatic of his search, his hunger. Everything else pales in comparison to this search. Yes, even I.
And where am I going with this glimpse into the man who is my first love, but who was never quite real? I have decided that I cannot be one of Tariq's dreams, a rich possibility, land that he may or may not build, another friend in the world he may or may not visit.
I am now a centipede. Feet here, feet there. Love and pain. Pain and life.
Now Jackie is finished decorating the tree. Its flickering white lights flick funny moving shadows on the page. The words, the silences between the words, throw a different kind of shadow. Shadows of love and surrender, change and revolution, acceptance and tenderness. I feel, despite the pain, enriched, able to surmount the madness of goodbye.
I soak it all in. Nothing around me is wasted. I am a beautiful young man- passionate, intelligent, talented. I have loved and been loved. Loss cannot influence me. I influence loss, give it my light, make it laugh from the belly. Laughter lessens the heart's painful pangs. Pain sabotages laughter and halts its new song. This is not a war, but an inevitable, natural exchange. And I am not about to run from these new breaths of life that have been introduced to me. I may not understand the language of life, but my heart translates what is universal. Nothing is certain and I am thrown from Tariq's kisses to the wolves of solitude- endangered wolves in a disenchanted forest, drinking from a lake of wine, howling my name. I do not answer.
When I met Tariq more than a year ago I was a tree ready to be cut down, willing to be carved into a new shape, initiated. And no one will ever know. Even I don't know the whole story.
Walking with him the other day in Oakland felt like a different country. I had no possessions, no family, a face of my own, a home, and I had no need for these. We made love.
My heart is a letter, written with kisses, stamped with hope, carried by the wind to the open sea. I will love him for the rest of my life, well into death... Tariq.
Influenza of the heart is cured! Tariq is human again, flesh and fallible. The dream is extinguished like all delicate flames, like a sweet-scented candle.
I am not a wall, an impasse, but a gate that is always open to those who wish to arrive and those who choose to depart.
Some want to live life. I want life to live me!
Now my grandmother and I dance around the living room, laughing at ourselves. Then we chat reflectively, pausing regularly. She wonders aloud if there's something medically wrong with Jackie, then searches my face for clues, but I turn subtly to the dangling ornaments on the tree- a dazzling theme of pearl white and gold, and say, 'She's just bored and depressed.' Not entirely a lie.
And all the while- seasons, traffic, oceans, empires... Life's whisper and cuss.
Fear is nothing but a paper boat fashioned by an innocent child, gently lowered to the cool surface of a gushing stream where it is carried away, light and hapless, away, away.
Fold fear into a paper airplane, throw it to the wind so that it may fly away, crashing into other places.
Now I drink a martini. Flickering white light penetrates the martini, making the two luscious olives glisten beautifully. Glass distortions. Revolving reflections. A heart with streets smelling of rain and swelling with anticipation. The past a cabaret. Love murdered. Love resurrected. Bury your face in my silhouette and taste my shadow. Dance in my storm. Fall. Streets littered with associations. A village. A drum in my mouth. An olive soaked in gin.
All I wanted was to let him go, with my own heart still innocent in love. I feel I have accomplished this.
Twice he has said I am too hard on myself.
Yes, I push myself.
All avenues meet at one circle- all lights flickering toward the same destination, so that my heart beats with one purpose only.
All my life I have migrated from one setting to another, one world to another. The chasms were deep. No bridges existed. I traveled by night through valleys, across borders, breaking laws, smuggling, running. Now, finally everything feels connected, intertwined. Family, friends, law, work, hurt, greed, money, love, science. Gay vied with straight. Music with silence. Laughter with tears. Male with female. Up with down. But no more. These supposed contradictions now occupy the same space, possess equal significance. Life is a dream that has become real. I fasten all my lives together and fasten myself to them so that we move together.
I'll never write about that last night with Tariq, our whispers, the tender things we admitted; of my quiet tears, his arms, his eyes. I'd go crazy.
Customers say I should be on TV. I say I should be in love.
Eupnea. Letting life lead this romantic dance in an unromantic era.
Even to feel unloved is an aspect of love.
Let all emotions live side by side, in peace, in you.
Spending the night with Tariq exorcised him, the image and ideal of him, out of my consciousness. I am freed of him. I felt there was everything to feel- ecstasy, sadness, strength, heartbreak, jealousy, protectiveness, alienation, solidarity, brotherhood, arousal, attraction, loss. Forgiveness. I am finished with it.
I remain an open window, though broken, my edges jagged, dangerous, open to everything, prepared for any surprise, any disappointment. I lay my new body down before life's kiss, flames, and blades. Passion cuts me down to bite-size pieces so that the smallest moments may consume me. I am delicious. No one may have me again, not so freely and intimately. For now, for a long time to come. Alone I can be anyone, anywhere. Free to laugh, free to sway to the music whose diaphanous body leads mine in a room thrown in shadows, where life bleeds around me, light explodes, walls melt. The past becomes hysterical, its various moments- whimsically linked- crashing, no longer demanding polarized talents of me, dictating that I loath and love.
When there is no God become God. Where there is no love begin love. Don't succumb to the joke, surrender to laughter. Don't rely on friends, depend on friendship. Don't seek power, cultivate strength to accept your weaknesses. And martinis. In December.