Hello, all. Hope your holiday season has been a pleasant one.
As I mentioned in my last post, this isn't my favorite time of year, as is the case for many of us. Last year was particularly difficult; I was dealing with a nastier-than-usual bout of depression, for reasons that still escape me. Fortunately, this year, while still not great, has at least been tolerable. That said, I'm glad it's nearly over for another year.
We had crazy weather here the past two days. We received well over two inches of precipitation, all told. I say "precipitation" because it ran the gamut, changing literally from minute to minute at some points. We had snow, sleet, ice, freezing rain, and (mostly/fortunately) plain old rain. Oh, and gale force winds (of course).
At one point last evening we were simultaneously experiencing sleet, hail, and - wait for it - thunder and lightning. That was a first, even for New England. We received over an inch of sleet in less than an hour; luckily it switched back over to a drenching rain, which washed nearly all of it away.
In spite of the less-than-hospitable conditions, my feet stayed dry and toasty as I made my way around - the result of a fortuitous, spur-of-the moment purchase I made while visiting my friends A and B up in Canada back in early November, as noted in a previous post:
They're almost cute enough to make winter worthwhile. Almost. :c) That being said, they also enable me to share one of Elvis Costello's most beloved songs, so there's that as well:
I'll end with two songs I play every New Year's Eve and pass along their sentiments to all of you good folk. First up - Big Country, recorded live at Barrowlands in Glasgow on December 31, 1983:
I'm not expecting to grow flowers in the desert
But I can live and breathe and see the sun in wintertime
In a big country, dreams stay with you
Like a lover's voice across a mountainside
Stay alive
And another hopeful song from the same show - "Wonderland":
And finally, Pearl Jam's ragged-but-right version of "Better Things," from The Kinks:
Really glad I found this tonight - one of of my favorite bands covering another of my favorite bands!
So, here's wishing all of you the bluest skies and the very best of choruses in 2020. And I hope tomorrow we all find better things. Happy New Year, everyone!
Hi all, and a Happy 2018. Apologies for the radio silence the past few months, especially to those of you who have kindly reached out to check in. It's much appreciated.
Everything is OK, I'm happy to say. I've been back at work since mid-November. My energy level isn't where it usually is, unsurprisingly, given that I'm not quite five months post-surgery. I saw my doctor last week for an exam, who told me I'm recovering nicely, other than some swelling and soreness.
That's likely due to a less-than-comfortable chair at work; I've found I can basically sit for 45-50 minutes at most before having to get up and go for a brief walk. Another factor: I'm still staying with my sister, which, while wonderful, means that I've been sleeping on a futon mattress, which is quite firm and very uncomfortable.
Because there's only has one bathroom, I get up at 4:30 every morning for my first round of dilating, to ensure that I'm finished before she gets up. I work from 6:30 to 3:30, then head home for round 2, followed by the usual weeknight activities (dinner, getting ready for the next day, etc.).
As the week progresses, the fatigue sets in; by Friday evening I'm wiped out, as my friend A can attest from watching the bags under my eyes grow during our Skype chats during the week. I wish I had enough time to exercise the way I usually do, which would help enormously, but between my schedule, the winter weather, and my annual holiday bout with the flu it simply isn't in the cards at the moment. I'm just walking as much as possible, as time, weather, and my energy on a particular day permit.
I have no complaints about any of this, of course; it is all totally worth it. On occasion, I will step out of the shower, catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, and be reminded: "You did it, Cass."
It's a great feeling, as you can imagine, especially knowing how far I've come and how hard I'be worked the past six-plus years. I know that I earned every bit of this. And in the weeks and months to come, as I continue to recover, and am able to resume my normal activities (and begin to have new experiences), I'll be doing so as myself, inside and out, at long last. I can't wait. :c)
I think that will do it for now. I'll do my best to write more, time and energy permitting. Ciao til then, everyone!
***
By the way, that's my sister's dog in the photo at the top of the post, in case anyone is wondering. As you can probably tell, he isn't a fan of winter either (or mornings). :D
***
As you may know, I'll use any excuse to include a track from Pearl Jam, one of my favorite bands. As soon as I started this post, I knew which song I should use. This is "In Hiding," from 1998's Yield album, at the final show of their Binaural tour in their hometown of Seattle, on November 6th, 2000 - a show I was lucky enough to attend. Enjoy!!!
A huge part of my transition has been learning to let myself truly feel for the first time in my life.
After spending a lifetime holding in my emotions (for a variety of reasons, not all trans-related), allowing myself to be vulnerable has been a challenge.
I haven't written a lot the past five or six months, beyond several humorous posts. Those posts did not, and do not, really reflect how challenging this time has been. I would prefer not to go into the reasons, or all that transpired during that time.
But I will say this: letting others get close to the real me has been a painful experience.
I have opened my heart completely.
And I have been hurt. Almost unbearably so.
There were very, very brief moments of happiness during this time... but that only led to even greater hurt when those moments ended.
"He" learned early on to closely guard his emotions and, particularly, his heart. It was how he survived all those years, years lived without love.
After starting my transition, I slowly began to lower those walls, bit by bit. Undoing a lifetime of well-earned caution and fear is not an easy process. But I did it.
And, unfortunately, I have been hurt. Again. Just like he was, each and every time he took that risk.
I've been in therapy for 17 years, with four exceptional therapists. Even the three therapists I worked with before finally realizing I had to transition were outstanding, given that I was never able to tell them the truth. As for M, my current therapist... she has been a lifesaver. Period.
But as grateful as I am to them - and I will be never be able to repay the debt I owe them - I can see that some things are beyond being fixed, even by the very best. And even with my very best effort.
And one of those things is to be loved - truly loved - by another. I want that more than anything in the world - even more than my surgery, if that is possible. I have yearned for it my entire life.
I had two very, very brief glimpses last fall - exceedingly brief - which were just enough to let me know how much I have missed in my life by being alone.
Those glimpses both ended almost as soon as they started, and represent the only occasions on which I have ever come remotely close to experiencing what it is like to be truly wanted by another. I almost wish I had never had those few moments, in all honesty. Knowing what I lost, even if I only possessed it for literally hours, makes the heartache that much more palpable.
But in spite of the pain, and without going into specifics, I still thought that, at long last, it might yet happen for me. So much so that I worked even harder to try not to give in to the darkness and to believe.
As a result, I let my defenses down completely over the past few months. I let someone into my heart, fully and completely.
But I have learned a harsh lesson over the past 4-6 weeks.
It is not going to happen.
Ever.
Sometimes you can do everything in your power, to the utmost of your ability, to make a dream come true.... and still fail, in spite of those efforts.
Finding that one special person was that dream for me.
But I know now that it was never to be.
I cannot, and do not, blame anyone else. They were simply being themselves, for better and for worse. (And it is both; otherwise I would never have allowed myself to take the risk again.)
The hard truth that I must face is that I was being myself as well.
And I did not measure up.
Just as "he" failed to measure up, over and over and over and over.
Transitioning means becoming your true self.
It does not, however, mean that you leave behind your shortcomings and weaknesses.
Some things are immutable, I have discovered.
I cannot put myself through experiences like those of the past month-plus ever again.
I just can't.
I do not for a moment regret transitioning.
I am finally living the life I was supposed to lead, and being the person I should have been, all along. It far exceeds what I could have ever hoped for before I stated my transition. If I had a dollar for every person who has told me how obvious it is to them now that I was always a girl... well, I could retire right now.
But living the life you should does not protect you from paying a steep price for being yourself.
I haven't spoken to my brother or his wife for nearly two years. (Or, more accurately, they haven't spoken to me, since that was their decision, not mine.)
Nor have I seen my nieces (my brother's children) during that time. To the best of my knowledge, they still have no idea I transitioned.
My parents... well, they are who they are. It is crystal clear that they will never accept the truth about who I am. (They still call me by his name, nearly a year and a half after I went full-time.)
And, similarly, I cannot come to terms with why I am incapable of being loved by that one special person.
It is something I lack, or perhaps something I possess that I wish I didn't, that explains why I am alone, rather than the shortcomings of others. The one common factor in every instance, after all, is me.
If I could, I would do whatever it took to make being loved possible.
But some things are beyond us, no matter how hard we work, or how much we long for them.
I do not say that in a self-pitying way. I am well aware that others face struggles far greater than mine.
It simply is what it is.
Learning to live with that fact is the challenge I face moving forward.
All I can do is try my very best to do so.
And I will.
I have no other choice.
***
Eddie Vedder and Jeff Tweedy say it with far greater eloquence than I ever could.
It's been an awful week, the latest in a string of them. There are various reasons, which I may go into at some point. But for now, suffice it to say that I have been feeling as low as I have felt in a long, long time.
I was meeting a friend for dinner tonight, and at the last possible second I noticed this dress in my closet and decided to try it on.
I'd bought it a year ago, but frankly I was too fat to wear it, thanks to the Biblical run of calamities the past two-plus years. But after three months of intensive running it fits... well, better than it did. (But not as well as it is going to fit with another three-six months of running.)
I was glad I tried it on. I still don't feel great, but I forced myself to go out and get relatively dressed up to do so. Just like I've forced myself to keep running during this tough stretch. More on that in another post.
Anyway, a few shots of my first Little Black Dress. And also my messy living room, provided at no additional cost to you, the reader.
That's right, boys and girls, it has been two years (!) since I beganHRT.
That is simply astonishing to me. It simultaneously feels as if it happened an eternity ago - and yesterday. How is that possible?
Follow along, below the fold, for more!
I think the biggest change in the past year has been internal. The single most important event in my transition, in retrospect, happened just before last Christmas, when I finally allowed myself to cry - to really cry.
I wish the circumstances could have been better, but it was absolutely necessary for me to let go. It is no coincidence, I think, that I was addressed as "she" in public - while in boy mode - for the first time not two days later.
That has become a common occurrence, something I still find remarkable. I don't think I look all that different; clearly, others think I do. Just last week my colleague RO told me he didn't recognize me in photos taken just before I started HRT. Given that I am addressed as "Miss," "she," "her," and so on more often than not while out and about - even in boy mode - I have to concede they are on to something I simply cannot see yet.
I suspect it is more than just my appearance, however. The moment I allowed myself to finally cry that day was the moment I think "he" began to let go, and allowed me to become myself. Not two weeks later I marched into a MAC store, unplanned - again, in boy mode - and calmly told a makeup artist I was transsexual, and hoped they could help me.
Two days later they did, giving me a full makeover - at dinner time, on a Friday evening, in the front of the store. I didn't realize it would be like that, but I remember thinking to myself that I have every right to be there; I'm a woman, and I should have been able to do this my entire life.
I sat there for over two hours, in full view of everyone, while the artist worked her magic. (Trust me - it was magic, given how pale and sick I was while recovering from the flu. She did *not* have much to work with. lol)
At one point the manager who had booked the appointment came over and told me she and the other staff members had been watching, and were amazed at how calm I seemed. I admitted I was amazed too. Her immediate reply: "It's because you belong here."
The other major tipping point this year was when I finally spent a day as myself outside my home as myself. Again, I was amazed to realize it felt… normal. Completely, utterly, normal. Even after I outed myself to the very first person I spoke to that day. :#) Cassidy Elizabeth, Mistress of Disguise, foiled again!
I am beyond fortunate that I seem to pass fairly well, given that I have barely begun to master makeup, or had my hair cut properly (it is an unruly mess right now), or learned much about style. I will hopefully improve on these, and other areas, the way I try to do with everything: hard work and practice.
To touch on the physical changes for a moment, the most visible change to me is how fast my hair is growing, particularly in the past few months. It seems to have gone into overdrive for some reason. My back and chest, meanwhile, are nearly clear now, which is pretty remarkable, considering where it was a year ago. (Sorta gross, I know, but there it is.)
I have also been startled by the progress we have made in my electrolysis sessions, especially the past month or two. I haven't shaved my face since last Thursday (sigh), but it was only today that it is noticeable. The discomfort is beginning to pay dividends - yea!!!
As I wrote yesterday, I cannot wait until I am full-time (24 days and counting!). I am wondering if lifting the constant strain of trying to pretend I am someone I am not will be noticeable. My therapist has said I have no idea what an enormous burden it is, and will not know it until it is gone.
I know I cannot wait to see what changes the next year brings, physically, emotionally, and otherwise. I am determined to get back on track to exercising regularly after nearly two years of assorted illnesses, injuries, and other woes. It is really important to me, and when I make up my mind to do something, I do not let anything stop me. On this date next year I am going to be in the best shape of my life. Book it. :c)
I will end with a huge thank you to everyone who has helped me in more ways than they can ever know, or I can ever repay. That includes both my dear online friends, those of you in my life offline, and of course my sister and nephew C.
Calie, Halle, Becca, Jenna, Leslie… you have been, and continue to be, an inspiration and a source of comfort. The same goes for Jen (from Jenesis), Debra, Faline, and others who are either no longer online or are living their lives as themselves.
A special shout out to Kelli, Stace, and, especially, April, for your unwavering support and friendship. I cannot imagine how I managed without you in my lives before this. (Or, to put it another way... where the hell were all of you before this?!?) ;-p OK, no more snark. I love you all more than I can ever express. :') Thank you SO, SO much!
Thank you for joining me on the ride so far! Cannot wait to see where it takes us next year!
***
Just wanted to post a brief note about the title. There is a story to it that involves (of course) April.
She decided earlier this year that she and I clearly merited our own sitcom, given our shared unique (read: weird) sense of humor and warped view of reality.
I have learned to humor her in situations like this, so I played along.
A: "This could be really great for both of us, Cass!"
C: "Um… okay. So, what's your plan?"
A: "Well, first we take the nation's TV screens by storm. Then, once you and I are America's sweethearts at the end of our first season, we use that as leverage."
C (confused): "Leverage for…?"
A (indignant): "Our boob jobs? What else?"
C: "Oh, of course."
A: "We get Victoria's Secret to sponsor it. And we show both of our surgeries on live television! I'm thinking one-hour special."
C: "One hour? Have you looked at either of our chests?!? We're both flatter than a Utah dessert, hon."
A (after a moment): "That's true, isn't it?"
C: "Better tell them to make it a mini-series."
So there it is. Let me say, here and now, for the record:
Fear not, for we shall both forever remember all of you little people once our inevitable rise to stardom begins.
Or... maybe not. (Hey, those all-night bacchanals at Brangelina's won't attend themselves, you know.) Perhaps we'll just hire someone to remember for us…
Anyway, that's the story behind it. (You're welcome.)
Oh, what was our second proposed title, by the way? Why, here it is:
The Bold & The Boobless
Send us you cards and letters to let us know what you think!
***
Just thought I would repost some pics, plus one new one, for easy reference in case anyone is interested.
June 2011:
November 19, 2011 (HRT day 1):
June 2012 (eight months):
November 19, 2012 (HRT, one year):
July 6, 2013:
July 20, 2013:
July 27, 2013:
August 3, 2013:
This is my favorite so far, which is why I put it at the top as well. This is how I wish I looked all the time! :c)
October 20, 2013:
November 19, 2013:
I deliberately took one the night before HRT, to show the difference between my beard now, after 14 months of electrolysis, and the day I began, above.
I had shaved *that* morning in the picture taken on 11.19.11, if you can believe it. And in this picture, I last shaved… five days ago. I find that encouraging. :c)
(For the record: I *am* not topless in this picture, nor am I any of the others that make me *look like* I am, er, unclad. :#) The "girls" are simply not yet up to the task of holding up some of my nighties. Honest! Guess I need to ask Santa for a bathrobe...)
Really looking forward to seeing how I look a year from now! Curious to see if the changes are mostly over, or if they still continue. Should be interesting either way...
***
As a full service blog, I wanted to post the following link, courtesy of The Onion, as a public service. It offers some useful tips for we girls in the workplace. I hope you find it as enlightening as yours truly did:
Watch and learn, girls, watch and learn. (I particularly like # 2, incidentally.)
***
I would be remiss not to include something from one of my long-standing favorites, so I shall go back to Pearl Jam, and a couple of deep cuts that I have always loved.
First, this gorgeous, haunted gem (and perhaps my favorite PJ song) from 1996's underrated No Code album:
Eddie Vedder has since admitted he wrote this about himself, detailing his struggles to deal with the massive fame thrust upon the band in general, and him in particular, after their first three albums. Happily, both he and the rest of the band seem to have survived - and prospered.
From 1998's Yield (also an underrated album, imho), here's "Wishlist." It began as a lark in the studio, but quickly became a favorite of both the band and their fan base.
I always liked the ambiguity of the song's final verse:
I wish I was your favorite song
The one that you can't turn off
I wish I wish I wish I wish
I guess it never stops
That last line could be taken several ways; is he saying he will never stop wishing (in a way that implies he will never be satisfied)? Or is he wishing that his/her favorite song goes on forever?
I suspect it is the former, since he made a small but telling change to the final line when I saw them at the final show on their 2000 tour in Seattle:
I wish I wish I wish I wish
I guess my list goes on
That always struck me as a more hopeful ending. He isn't resigned to feeling he can never be satisfied; instead, he is looking forward, hopeful about what is ahead that might bring joy. I have always preferred this ending. :-)
Something I've suspected for more than a few months now.
But I wasn't sure.
It's one of those things that gradually sneaks up on you while you aren't paying attention.
That gentle, insistent voice in your mind that never quite goes away, even when you might wish that it would.
Then, one day, out of the blue, it hits you like a thunderbolt.
And when that happens, there's no use denying the truth.
I told myself when I decided to transition that I wouldn't limit myself in any way. And that I would be completely open to new experiences. And that I would share them, instead of hiding out because of shame, or guilt, or fear.
Accordingly, I've decided it's time to finally acknowledge, publicly, to myself and to you, how I feel in my heart of hearts.
So… here goes:
I'm in love.
Yes.
It's true.
I've said it. In public. For all the world to see.
After a moment of silence, I realized I had hit Pause on my answering machine without thinking.
Senses suddenly heightened, I could hear the grandfather clock ticking on the second floor. I could see the dust motes dancing in the fading mid-October twilight that struggled to illuminate the living room where I stood, staring at the blinking red light.
Look what you made her have to do, I thought. You couldn't accept what she tried to tell you over and over for the past year-and-a-half, so now she has to be the grown-up and save you from making an even bigger fool of yourself. Again.
I shook my head.
How did it come to this?
***
"What was her name again?"
"E. Why do you sound so shocked a girl called you?"
My friend D, son of the owner of the company where we both worked, looked at me, bemused.
"No, it's not that (not completely, anyway, I thought). I have absolutely no idea who she is."
He handed me pink telephone message, grinning.
"Well, she obviously knows who you are if she called from ----."
Suddenly it came back to me.
I was on the upper deck of a water taxi the previous summer, watching the sun set over the harbor.
"L, come here!"
It was my friend N. Along with his wife T, we were returning from a daylong music festival. While nearly ten years older than me, we had become fast friends through a shared love of music.
I turned to see N and T standing across the deck, waving at me. In front of them, backs turned to me, stood two women. They looked to be about the same age as me.
"Oh, there he is," said T. "I guarantee you, you and your sister will definitely hit it off with him."
The two women turned to me as I approached, smiling.
"L, this is M," he said, gesturing to a tall, striking brunette, curls falling halfway down her back. She smiled shyly and nodded hello.
"And this," he said, "is E." Shorter than her sister, with a mass of curly blonde hair ending just below her ears, she smiled warmly and extended a hand.
"The pressure's on, just so you know. According to R and T, you're a walking music encyclopedia."
Shaking her hand, I shook my head mock-ruefully.
"That's just a polite way of saying I have no social life."
She nodded, poker face in place.
"Speaking as a salesperson, I'd recommend going with their version. Branding is important, you know."
"Encyclopedia it is, then."
Normally self-conscious when meeting anyone new, let alone two attractive women my own age, I realized I was enjoying myself. E certainly has a knack for putting you at ease, I thought.
As N predicted, E and I did, indeed, share almost identical musical taste as we discovered while comparing notes about our favorite acts at the festival. While M stood by, nodding in agreement from time to time, E and I chatted amiably for the remaining few minutes it took the water taxi to complete the short journey back to town where we were all parked. As a teetotaler, I was the designated driver, so I say my goodbyes to M and E as I left to pick up my car.
And that was the last I'd thought of them until D handed me the slip of paper with E's number.
***
I called her that night when I got home. As it turned out, she had exchanged numbers with R and T the previous summer, and had called them first to see if we would be attending the festival again. They had a conflicting event, but told her I was planning to attend with my friend V and gave her my number.
"I actually asked N and T for it last year, actually."
"Oh," I said, surprised. "You did?"
"Mm-hmm. But M threw it out by mistake on the way home."
"Oh, well."
"Yeah. I made her walk the rest of the way to teach her a lesson. So why do you sound so stunned?"
"No it's not that. I just…"
"Forgot about me?" she said lightly.
"No, no - "
"Oh, don't mind me. I'm just teasing you." She paused. "T told me on the phone that you were a little shy. I'm sorry if I'm making you uncomfortable."
"See? I knew I should've called collect, just in case."
She chuckled.
"Well, there's always next time. Live and learn."
I was intrigued; ordinarily I would be tongue-tied the instant I sensed even the mildest form of mockery, real or not, but not with her. She wasn't like any other girl I'd known.
We chatted for well over an hour about music and work and made plans to meet up at the festival. She mentioned that M would also be attending, and in fact had insisted that E call. After promising that she wouldn't force M to walk the entire way, we said our goodbyes until the festival.
***
As it turned out, that year was essentially a non-event. We never did manage to connect on Saturday for a variety of reasons. Sunday's show was wiped out by monsoon-like rains that literally forced the evacuation of town and knocked out telephone lines in the region. Our only conversation was a brief, sodden one huddled under rain gear. It was cut short when lightning struck several boats in the harbor, moored mere yards from where we stood.
We managed to connect by phone upon returning home, though, and over the course of the next year we spoke five or six times, nearly always when E would call, usually out of the blue, just to say hello. For some reason I felt none of the usual anxiety that typically overtook me when talking to a girl; with E, it just felt… nice. And that was enough.
Before we knew it, it was festival time again. We made plans to meet again. And again, we didn't really connect until the festival was nearly over. After M got them lost on the way on Friday afternoon, they wound up arriving in town well after midnight. Consequently they didn't make it to the festival until mid-way through the day, which in turn meant we never managed to find each other in the sea of humanity.
Exhausted from the driving and the sweltering temperatures, they opted to spend Saturday night resting up at their bed-and-breakfast and to come to the festival at some point on Sunday. To cover our bases, we agreed to at least meet up for dinner on Sunday evening.
While I'd mentioned E and M to V on the way down, it wasn't as if they were the sole focus of the weekend. We'd spent the previous two evenings with our friends B and R, who owned the bed and breakfast where we were staying. We'd met the previous year under memorable circumstances (a story for another time), and had become fast friends. Still, I wanted to at least salvage one evening.
And so V and I were seated across from E and M in a crowded downtown restaurant on Sunday evening. As soon as we met up, it was as if no time had passed from last year. We chatted amiably about who our favorite acts were. V and kidded M about how her questionable map-reading skills turned a leisurely five-hour drive into an epic eleven-hour gauntlet. ("No problem, M; I got to see parts of the Eastern seaboard I never thought I'd visit," E consoled her sister.)
At one point, while waiting for E and M to return from the ladies room, V turned to me.
"Man, you weren't kidding when you said they were really cool. Especially E. She's awesome!"
I nodded absently as E and M returned, stifling a yawn. It had been a long weekend, and we had to get up early the next morning to head back home.
And then it happened.
Who can explain how, or when, or why you suddenly realize you have a crush on someone? While I'd enjoyed chatting with E, and was having a good time at dinner that evening, she was a casual acquaintance. So casual that I had, in fact, essentially forgotten about her shortly after meeting twelve months prior. She was very pretty, and we had similar tastes and interests, but that was the extent of it.
Until the moment I looked across the table at E as she sat listening to V. Suddenly, I felt my stomach clench, and I felt dizzy. The entire room and the attending clamor faded instantly, as if E were the only other person in the room. How had it taken me so long to notice her?
Somehow I got through the rest of the evening without making a fool of myself. As V and I walked home through the soft summer rain after escorting E and M back to their B&B, I was lost in thought.
"Earth to L! Earth to L!"
V was laughing.
"Man, you haven't heard a word I've said the past ten minutes, have you?"
"Um… no. Sorry."
"So what has you so deep in thought?"
I hesitated.
"Oh, you know, I was just thinking about tonight…"
"I know! What a blast! I'm just bummed that we won't get to see them now for a whole year."
"Yeah, I was thinking the same thing."
"But you look like you lost your best friend, L. What's going on?"
"I think I have a crush on E."
He looked at me for a moment, his smile slowly widening.
"Seriously? Since when?"
"Tonight. It just hit me all at once… and now she's all I can think about. I just hope I didn't act like an idiot tonight."
"L, honest to God, I had absolutely no idea. Don't take this the wrong way, but… well, you don't give much away. You're always super-friendly, but I never know what you're really thinking. None of us do. So I'm pretty sure E has no idea how you feel."
"Really? So… what should I do?"
"Man… you *have* to go for it. You *have* to. I know you really just met her, and that she lives a long way away, but…" He shook his head. "She is so totally worth it. You *have* to do this."
He stopped and put his hands on my shoulder.
"And you'll always regret it if you don't at least try. Don't do that."
I stood in the rain, pondering. I could just let my past failures keep me in the same rut… or I could choose to open myself up and risk it. I took a deep breath.
"So… what kind of flowers do I send?"
V smiled.
"I grew up with five older brothers, so I'm clearly the wrong person to ask. But… I'll bet we can figure it out tomorrow."
***
Ten days later, I sat in my living room. On the coffee table was a letter. E's address was in the corner.
I had, in fact, sent her flowers after returning from the music festival, aided by a kindly florist who helped me pick something appropriate.
A day later, E called.
"Thank you so much for the flowers, L. They're beautiful. I'm looking at them right now. I have to say, you took me by surprise."
"Good surprise, or… not-so-good surprise?" I asked.
There was a pause.
"I guess… I guess I need time to think about this. Is that OK?"
I had been in this situation many times before. Too many. And I knew how it ended. But this felt different. She was genuinely uncertain.
"Of course. I understand. Take as much time as you need."
"Good. I'm glad. I don't want you to think I'm blowing you off."
"I haven't known you long, E, but it's enough that I know you wouldn't do that."
"Thank you. I promise I'll be in touch soon. Take care."
I picked up the letter. It was a card, but, judging from the weight and bulk, clearly held more. I took a breath, reached for my letter opener, and slit it open.
It was, in fact, a card, as well as a ten page handwritten letter. E had clearly spent a great deal of time both thinking and explaining her decision. Without betraying her confidence, it essentially explained her reasons - all of which were completely valid - why she was unable to reciprocate my feelings. It was well written and obviously from the heart. She concluded by saying she hoped we could remain friends, and that she would call in a few days.
I was extremely disappointed, but it wasn't the soul-crushing disappointment to which I'd become accustomed. Her sincerity and genuine desire to remain friends, while a reminder that my interest in her was well placed, also made her decision easier to live with. It wasn't what I wanted, but it was certainly miles ahead of the awkward silences usually I'd experienced in similar situations previously.
E, in her straightforward way, got right to the point when she called, and within moments it was clear that being friends was, in fact, entirely possible. We discussed my upcoming return to school to become a technical writer while also working full-time, which meant I would be working 80-90 hours a week for the next ten months.
"Well now what am I supposed to do when I have a music question?" she grumbled good-naturedly. "Keep a list for the next ten months? You need to let us know about these life decisions ahead of time from now on, buster."
"I apologize. But hey, there's always Thanksgiving and Christmas, you know. So it's really not ten straight months."
"Hey!" she said, excited. "I have a great idea! Why don't you and V come visit over Thanksgiving weekend? It would be a nice break for you, and you could check out my hometown. I think M might even be off from nursing school that weekend. What do you say?"
"I'm in if V is in."
"Then it's done! This will be great!"
***
And it was. V and I left before dawn the day after Thanksgiving, arriving in the crisp late fall sunshine six hours later. E and M's entire family treated us as if we were lifelong friends. Their mother and father insisted that we stay with them after we asked for a hotel recommendation.
We spent the entire weekend on the go, mostly in M's car, which was much less cramped than E's coupe. ("Sporty… yet impractical," as she noted.) M proved to be a surprisingly knowledgeable tour guide, once she overcame her shyness. She even seemed to enjoy our near-constant ribbing about being directionally challenged.
The three days flew by, and before we knew it V and I were back home, having promised to make it an annual pilgrimage. E, typically, called that night to make sure we arrived safely, and we laughed as we recounted the weekend's events.
A few days later, I arrived home from school at 10:30 PM, having been on the go non-stop since 5:00 AM. I grabbed the mail, noticing that one of the Christmas cards bore a postmark from E's hometown. Smiling to myself, I threw it and the Christmas cards in my backpack as I tumbled, exhausted, into bed, making a mental note to read it the following day when I had a spare moment.
During my lunch break the next day, I eschewed eating as I usually did, opting to continue work on my latest programming assignment for school. Suddenly I remembered the pile of cards in my backpack. Joking to myself that Bill Gates could rest easily as I stopped for a moment, I pushed assigned my rudimentary C program and began opening the cards, eventually reaching the card postmarked from E's hometown.
Distracted by a knotty programming glitch I was trying in vain to unravel, I distractedly read the card's contents. It mentioned how much fun she'd had hanging out with me the previous weekend, and went over the highlights.
Puzzled, I picked up the envelope and checked the cancellation date. Tuesday. Why was E rehashing all of this when we'd already discussed it in depth on the phone on Sunday night? I shrugged and picked up the card again.
It continued in a similar vein onto the back of the card and an accompanying sheet of paper. I reached the final paragraph. Again, in the interest of privacy, I'll paraphrase, but essentially it reiterated how much fun she had and concluded by asking if I would like to come back to visit sometime soon - alone this time - so she could get to know me better.
I put down the card, genuinely baffled. I had no idea what to make of this. This didn't sound like E at all. The card's tone was clearly sincere, but the contents completely contradicted the understanding we'd reached just a few months before.
I removed my glasses and rubbed my eyes. I'd have to think about this on the drive up to class tonight. I needed time to think.
I picked up the card and slid it back into the envelope. As I did, my eyes fell on the return address.
The card wasn't from E. It was from her sister M.
***
V shook his head in wonder.
"I don't know how you do it. It isn't enough to have one gorgeous girl invite you to visit her; now her even more gorgeous sister does the same thing! And by yourself, no less!"
We were sitting at V's desk, the card between us. I had just summarized M's invitation.
I spread my hands.
"No one is more surprised than I am, V. I mean, you were there; how do you interpret this?"
He shook his head again.
"She asked you to come up - alone - so she can get to know you better? I'm not exactly Mr. Smooth, but that seems pretty straightforward to me."
I thought about it for a moment.
"I don't know. I mean, I'm not the most confident person in the world either, I'll grant you, but… I really didn't notice any kind of vibe from her, or even pick up a hint while we were up there."
Neither did I," V admitted. "So… what are you going to do?"
"Well, I'm pretty swamped with school and work, not to mention completely broke. But…"
"But what?" V asked.
"I don't know, V. I'm just thinking about what you said last summer when I was interested in E."
"About going for it?"
"Mm-hmm. I mean, this is a pretty odd situation…"
"Yes, it is," V conceded.
"…But she *did* invite me up. That seems pretty straightforward…. I think I have to go."
V nodded.
"When do you think you might go?"
"I don't know; maybe Presidents Day weekend? We have no class that night, so I could leave after work on Friday."
"Wow. That's a long drive by yourself. Especially with the hours you've been keeping."
He tapped a pencil against his teeth.
"How about flying up there?"
"Well, that would be ideal, but… I'm completely broke. I'm barely able to pay my bills as it is."
"What if I gave you the ticket?"
"What? No, V. Thank you, but I couldn't do that."
"Sure you could. I fly all the time for work here; I have more miles than I could ever possibly use. This would barely put a dent in it." He smiled. "Consider it an early graduation present if you want."
I wavered.
"How about if I pay you back when I'm making more money?"
He extended his hand.
"Deal. Now… where's that airline schedule?"
***
Two months later, I looked out the airplane window as the lights of downtown --- shone crystal clear in the frosty mid-winter air as we taxied to the airport terminal.
Here goes nothing, I thought as I removed my bag from the overhead bin. My heart was beginning to pound, and my hands were damp in spite of the frigid temperature.
I was in the last row of the plane, so I was the final passenger to disembark. I looked around. The terminal was empty. M had told me she would pick me up after her shift at the hospital ended, which should have been an hour ago.
"Are you lost, hon?"
A flight attendant, about my mother's age, looked at me inquisitively.
"Oh, no. My… um, friend said she would meet me here."
"I see. The switched arrival gates just before we landed, so she's probably at the wrong end of the building." She pointed to the other end of the terminal. "Is that her?"
I peered in the distance just as the figure turned around. It was M. Spotting me, her expression brightened. She waved and headed in our direction.
"Yes, that's her. Thank you."
"You're welcome." She leaned closer. "She's a lovely girl, and I think you two would make a cute couple. Good luck, hon!"
M walked up. After a moment's hesitation, we embraced, then stood awkwardly. After a moment, M broke the silence.
"Sorry I'm late. We were having trouble with one of the dialysis machines at the hospital."
"Good thing I brought a spare with me, then."
"Be still my heart. A man who actually knows how to pack? I'm impressed."
"Well, I *did* have to check it in. My goal next time is to fit in into my overnight bag."
"Always good to aim for the stars."
She fished her car keys from her pocket as we approached the garage.
"So, are you all set? I'm guessing you're starved."
I dropped the bag into the trunk, climbed into.
"Yes on both counts, actually."
"It's probably too late to get downtown before everything closes, but if you don't mind burgers, there are a good pubs on the way home."
"Works for me."
"If you're not too tired, I was thinking that we could stop off at the heights first. There's a really great spot with an amazing view of downtown."
She smiled.
"It's where all the young kids go."
"Oh, really?"
"Yup. Or at least the young at heart."
Hmm...
***
Ten minutes later, we pulled into the parking lot at the heights. It was a small clearing nestled in the middle of a forest in a secluded spot off the highway. The view was, as promised, spectacular.
After a minute or so of silence, I cleared my throat.
"So, do you have any thoughts on the agenda for the weekend?"
"I do, in fact. There's a really cool exhibit at the art museum, and the new Kieslowski film opened at the Odeon today."
"Red? I've been trying to see it, but my schedule is just insane right now. I'm a *huge* Kieslowski fan."
"Me too! I loved Blue and White, but I've heard this is even better, if that's possible."
"That settles it, then; can we add it to the official agenda?"
"Will do. Do we need to get it notarized?"
"No need; I'm off the clock for the weekend. So, any other thoughts on what we can do?"
"Well, E has plans on Sunday and Monday, but she definitely wants to get together while you're in town, so I was thinking you guys could hang out tomorrow afternoon while I'm cooking."
"What are you cooking?"
Still staring straight ahead, she replied.
"Oh, my boyfriend is having a party tomorrow night."
My stomach clenched as if I'd been gut-punched. The sound of a thousand trumpets rang in my ears. My entire being almost instantly went numb.
This can't possibly be happening, I thought. It just can't. No one would believe it if you tried to make it up.
And then another thought, from deep within, that only crossed my mind on the darkest nights as I spent hour after hour staring at the minutes flip over on my digital alarm clock.
You deserve this.
And then instinct kicked in. I forced the black thoughts back into their box for the moment; I was certain I'd spend countless hours pondering how I could have wound up in this situation. No, the most important thing to do at the moment was to save face. No matter what, the facade had to stay in place. No matter the cost.
"Oh?" I said casually. "What does he do?"
"He's a resident at the hospital. I think you'll like him."
I can't believe I'm having this conversation.
"Have a lot in common, do we?"
"Hmm… no, not really," she said after a moment. "I guess what I mean is, you're so easy-going; I’ll bet you can talk to just about anyone."
Well… I guess we'll put that theory to the test, won't we?
***
The rest of that weekend is an indistinct blur, with one exception. As I stared at the ceiling late that Friday night, I made a conscious decision.
You CANNOT think about this now, I told myself. You have to get through this weekend, and then you have six weeks to finish your portfolio for school. You do NOT have time to feel sorry for yourself. Other people have *real* problems, ones they didn't bring on themselves, so suck it up.
And so I did.
I never once let on that there was anything remotely strange about that weekend. We did go to the party, and, as it turned out, I did like M's boyfriend, who was the consummate gentleman. He quite clearly had no idea who I was when M introduced us, and, to his great credit, he also acted as if there was nothing strange at all about having a conversation with a total stranger that his girlfriend had invited up to spend the weekend.
And I did, in fact, spend the afternoon before the party with E, having lunch at her favorite restaurant (she picked up the check, telling me my out-of-state money was no good). In her typically classy way, E never once alluded to the circumstances that brought me there that February weekend.
As for the rest of the weekend, M and I wound up going to the museum and to the movies, although it turned out that Red was sold out for the late show. Since we were already at the theatre, we decided to purchase tickets for the only other movie that hadn’t started yet: In a twist that I couldn’t possibly make up, the movie turned out to be Before Sunrise. It’s a testament to Richard Linklater’s skill as a writer and director that I not only forgot how odd it was to being seeing that film under those circumstances, but it has since become of my top five favorite movies. (The sequel, Before Sunset, is, miraculously, equally good, for anyone who hasn’t seen them.)
M wouldn’t hear of it when I tried to pay for anything. “Shush - you’re a starving student,” she joked when I protested once too often, adding “E did the same for me until I graduated.”
Similarly, she ignored me when she bypassed the drop-off area and instead pulled into the pay lot, saying no one should have to wait all alone in a strange city.
Moments before my flight began boarding, I excused myself to use the rest room. When I emerged, overnight bag over my shoulder, M was nowhere to be seen. Thinking that perhaps she was one of those people who is unable to say goodbye, I headed toward my gate to board.
“L, wait!”
I turned to see M hurry towards me, carrying a large paper bag and cup of coffee. Breathless, she handed them to me.
“I thought you might want something to nibble on during the flight,” she said.
I opened the bag. It was filled to bursting with Italian cookies, which I had mentioned months before that my father loved.
“M, I could fly to Australia every day for a week and not be able to eat all of these! Please, take this to your family.”
“No, I want you to have them,” she said, pressing them back into my hands. “And eat them all; you’re much too thin. Promise?”
I smiled in spite of myself. “I promise. Mom.”
I glanced at the gate.
“I’d better board. It’s a long walk home otherwise, and I forgot my scarf at home.”
“You’re right,” she said. After a moment’s hesitation, we embraced awkwardly.
“Thanks for your hospitality, M,” I said.
“You’re welcome. I’ll be working by the time you get home, so call E when you get home so we know you got back safely, OK?”
“Will do.”
“OK… well, I’m off.”
“See you.”
From my window seat, I had a clear view of M in the terminal. She waited, unmoving, as the plane backed away from the gate and the terminal receded in the distance.
***
If anyone asked about that weekend, I simply told them I'd enjoyed the sights - at least that much was true - and quickly changed the subject. In fact, I proved to be so adept at it that I could almost convince myself that it really *didn't* bother me that much and that it was business as usual. Almost.
In retrospect, there were clues that this was far from true, although it took me years to make the connection.
I threw myself back into school and work with a vengeance, pushing myself as hard as I possibly could, until I was putting in over 100 hours a week. I lost almost 15 pounds off my already scrawny frame in less than a month. It escaped my notice until I picked up the tux for my brother's wedding and the pants fell to my ankles when I tried them on.
"What do I have to do to be skinny like that?" my brother mock-chided me as the tailor scrambled to take them in.
"My lips are sealed," I told him. And they were.
His wedding, which took place several weeks after my return, was hazy because I wasn't feeling 100%. I typically get sick twice a year like clockwork - once between Thanksgiving and New Years Day and again in March. I couldn't allow myself to get sick with the schedule I had to maintain that year, and I didn't.
But when I went for my weekly allergy shots the week after the wedding, I mentioned in passing to the nurse about to administer the shots that I felt a little bit… off.
"How so?" she asked, needle poised.
"You know, just sort of blah. Oh, and my back feels a little itchy. But I have dry skin, so that’s probably it."
"Let me take a look," she said, lifting my shirt up. I heard her gasp, and then quickly pull down my shirt.
"Umm… I'm afraid we can't give you your shots this week."
"Oh," I said. "Okay."
"We need to call your doctor too."
"Um, okay. But I have to get home; I have to do some school work."
"No, we need to call *right now*," she said in a no-nonsense tone.
"I promise I'll call in a few days, okay? I really have a lot to do tonight."
She looked at me for a moment.
"I need you to see something, OK?"
I shrugged. "Okay."
She moved me to a chair in front of a mirror, picked up a small hand-mirror, and lifted my shirt again.
"I want you to look at your back."
It was covered from top to bottom with huge welts.
"Look at your chest," she said. It was also covered.
"What the heck is this?" I asked her.
"Shingles. You have shingles."
She shook her head.
"And judging from their appearance, you've had them for a while. How…" She shook her head. "Did you really not notice these at all?"
"No," I told her. How had I not seen these? I wondered.
"These are excruciatingly painful for most people," she said in wonder. "Your pain threshold must be off the charts. Have you been under any stress lately? That's the typical cause in young people."
"Well, I'm trying to finish a big project at school, and I'm working two jobs."
"That's a lot. Anything else going on?"
I thought for a moment and shrugged.
"No. That’s it."
And I wasn't lying. It took me years to consider that, just possibly, there might have been another reason my body quite literally took it upon itself to tell me: you need to face reality.
But I couldn't. Or wouldn't.
***
At this point, in light of the past year's events, you would think I would have come to the not-unreasonable conclusion that perhaps it was time to move on. Instead, in essence, I doubled down.
Looking back, I was so afraid to face the truth about myself that I convinced myself that perhaps I could somehow convince E to reconsider. I can think of no other rational explanation for what I decided to do: I would move to E's hometown.
It wasn't as if I lacked options closer to home. The program in which I was enrolled was, and is, considered nationally recognized as one of the best in the country. As proof, a board member's company agreed to perform practice job interviews with the entire class. No actual jobs were at stake; it was simply an exercise to give us experience. Nonetheless, I was one of two students offered a job upon graduation.
I turned it down.
I also turned down several other interviews in the months after graduation, all with prestigious firms in the area that typically did not consider entry-level writers; such was the esteem in which the program was held. But I would only consider companies near E's hometown, which was not a high-tech hot spot by any means.
I had told E of my intention to move there during one of our semi-regular phone calls. These calls, nearly always initiated by E, had stopped after M’s invitation, but resumed after my return from that ill-fated visit. (By contrast, I never once called M, nor did she call me.)
After informing E of my plans, and no doubt acting yet again against her better judgment, she offered to let me stay at her apartment if needed and promised to keep her eyes peeled for any job leads.
Through the program's alumni board, I was put in touch with the regional director for a professional organization that, again, typically did not accept inexperienced writers such as myself. The regional director, F, a woman my own age, was kind enough to make an exception for me, and worked tirelessly searching for a suitable opportunity for me.
Remarkably, she found one. It was with a small startup that was looking for a young writer willing to work hard and grow with the company. The three partners agreed to interview me. E was as good as her word, and let me stay at her apartment. Tellingly, though, in what should have been yet another clear signal to me, though, she said that she would be out of town after my first night in town.
The interview went extremely well. A few days after I returned home, I received a conference call from the three partners. They were not only willing to overlook my utter lack of professional experience and take me on as their first employee, but they offered to help pay my moving expenses and find a place to live. Even at the time, in a booming high-tech job market, this was unheard for a newly christened technical writer.
E's response was pleased but muted when I called to tell her the news. But characteristically, and without hesitation, she offered her help, suggesting suitable neighborhoods and even putting me in touch with her realtor.
I was less than two weeks from moving when I arrived home from work late one crisp October afternoon and noticed my answering machine was blinking. I walked over and pressed Play.
"Hi, L. It's E - "
***
I stared at the answering machine. The Pause button blinked.
Something in the tone of E's voice as I listened to those four words broke through the elaborate delusions in which I had wrapped myself for the past year and a half. Her tone didn't convey anger, or disgust, or even the cumulative weariness of eighteen months of indulging me; it was a quiet determination to finally get everything that had gone unsaid, finally, out in the open.
You put her in this position, I thought, considering for the first time what it must have been like for her to realize she would have to make this call. I closed my eyes, sighed, and hit Play.
"Hi, L. It's E. I hope you're well. I took today off and went out to lunch with my mother, then went shopping with her. We had a really nice time. I don't get to spend anywhere near as much time with her as I wish."
There were several seconds of silence.
"L… we need to talk. When you get this message, would you please call me? I'll be up late, so anytime tonight up until midnight is fine. But… please call. It's really important.
"I hope you're well. I'll talk to you soon. Goodbye."
It was over.
***
Still standing with my jacket on, I immediately picked up the phone and called the start-up. When they answered, too embarrassed to admit the real reason, I lied and told them that I'd unexpectedly received the proverbial offer I couldn't refuse from a local company and had accepted it. Having asked for my word that I wouldn't renege on my acceptance of their job offer, they were, with complete justification, irate. They let me know in no uncertain terms about how utterly unprofessional and selfish my actions were. I had no choice but to take it; they were 100% correct.
I next called F, the regional director who had helped me connect with the startup. I repeated the same lie to her and apologized profusely for wasting her time and expressed regret that my actions might unfairly reflect upon her. Perhaps sensing my discomfort – I was told several times in the past that I was a terrible liar - she assured me I had nothing to worry about, saying she knew several candidates who could ably fill the position from which I had just walked away. I thanked her and hung up.
Now came the hard part. I knew I couldn't possibly call E. I tried to convince myself that it was because I could more fully express my feelings in a letter, but the unvarnished truth is that I l was too much of a coward to call her.
I sat down at my desk, pulled out some stationary, and began to write. I was determined to say what I wanted to say as clearly as possible.
It was a long letter - nearly ten handwritten pages - written without interruption. Again, in the interest of honoring E's confidence, I'll summarize by saying it was essentially an apology for my behavior, and a promise that, having finally acknowledged reality, I would leave her alone.
Several hours later, sitting in total darkness, I finished the letter. I knew from experience that it was unwise to send anything written in the heat of the moment… but this was the exception. Calling upon all of my experience, I had expressed as best I could how I felt. I folded it neatly, placed it in an envelope, adding her address, and sealed it shut.
I glanced at the clock. 8:00 PM. Hoping some fresh air might help, I decided to walk the half-hour to the post office to mail the letter. With a little luck, she would get the letter the day after next; all the better to bring this fiasco to a merciful, long overdue close for her. I shrugged on my coat and headed out into the night.
***
As I walked the near empty streets, my thoughts wandered back several months to mid-summer when my Uncle N, my father's oldest living sibling, was back in the hospital.
Along with my Uncle H, N still lived in the house in which he grew up. Neither N nor H had ever married, nor, to my knowledge, had they ever had a girlfriend or as much as a date. No one in my large, extended family ever commented on this; it simply was.
Perhaps as a result of a life lived in solitude, N was a notorious hypochondriac, repeatedly winding up in the hospital for various, invariably benign ailments. It became a standing joke among the younger cousins. We would all indulge N by visiting him in the hospital, but the jokes certainly continued unabated as soon as we were out of earshot.
When he was diagnosed with an advanced, particularly aggressive form of leukemia and given less than two months to live, I confess that I agreed with the general (albeit unspoken) consensus: he would be gone in a matter of weeks, if not days.
Instead, something remarkable happened.
Faced with mortality for the first time, N rallied, finding a previously untapped will that no one, including, I suspect, N himself, knew existed. His entire outlook on life changed literally overnight. He not only rallied past the two-month death sentence imposed on him; he went into remission, and was sent home with no sign of the disease in his body.
Walking downtown while running errands for work, I ran into N many times over the next two years as he made his daily walk around town. When I would ask how his day was, his reply was invariably the same: "Every day is a good day." Then he would be off on his rounds, waving hello to the numerous passers-by shouting out greetings as they drove past.
So complete was his turnaround that the hospital asked him to come in to speak to patients struggling with their illness. He complied, his message always the same: I beat this; so can you. You just have to believe in yourself.
At the party my parents held for me after I graduated, N, typically one of the first to depart, instead lingered. He shook my hand and told me I should be proud of what I had accomplished. Believe in yourself, he said, and anything is possible.
As N left for the night, I stood at the door with my sister and watched him drive away. I mentioned again how remarkable his turnaround was.
"He's dying, you know," she said in her straightforward way.
"What are you talking about?" I said. "He's been in remission for over two years."
"Mom and Dad haven't said anything, and neither has he, but I'm telling you he's really sick. I can see it."
She was right. Within a few days, N was back in the hospital. His condition deteriorated rapidly, a virus rampaging through his weakened immune system.
Early on a Sunday morning, the phone rang. It was my father. It was the first time I could ever recall him phoning; my mother always called, then he would speak.
"The hospital just called; N isn't doing well at all. We have to go right now," he said. "Your sister is here; we'll come by to pick you up. Your brother and T (my sister-in-law) are going to meet us there."
We drove the half-hour to the hospital in silence. We were the first to arrive. As we stepped off the elevator, T, his critical-care nurse, who had become a de facto member of our family, was waiting for us, her eyes red.
"I'm so sorry," she said, her voice quavering. "N… he passed several minutes ago."
My father, typically reserved by nature, walked over to T and embraced her, whispering something in her ear. Wiping her tears away, she smiled and said, "Thank you."
After a few moments of silence, my sister, a former nursing student, spoke.
"Who was with him when he died?" she asked.
Eyes filling again, T looked down.
"No one. Another patient had coded just a few minutes before, and by the time we could get to N…" Her voice trailed off.
"It's not your fault," my sister said, rubbing T's arm. "He knew you loved him; that's what counts."
"I did." She looked to the nurses’ desk. "We all did."
She took a deep breath.
"N is still in his room. Take as much time as you want. We'll be outside whenever you're ready."
***
As I walked, letter in hand, I thought back to my memories of entering N's room.
He lay in his bed, a peaceful expression on his face.
But alone, I thought. He lived his entire life alone… and he died alone.
For whatever reason, whether by choice or not, N never found anyone to share his life with, even for a short time. Growing up, I vowed more than once that I would never be like N and H. I would do whatever it took to find someone, I promised myself. The prospect of simply… existing, as they had seemingly chosen to do, shook me to my core. Most likely because even at an early age I saw more of myself in them than I could admit.
That night, as I approached the post office, the image of N in his final moments filled my thoughts.
I looked back over my life; all of the futile, increasingly desperate attempts to find someone, anyone, to be with me. All of them leading me here, standing in front of the mailbox, sending a furtive letter of apology in the dark in an attempt to absolve myself of the consequences of my latest attempt.
Not my latest attempt, I thought. My last attempt.
I pictured Uncle N in his bed again. I closed my eyes.
It's time you faced reality, L.
I thought ahead 25, 30, however many years ahead. A light sweat formed on my brow as I summoned up all of my willpower. It was no longer the image of Uncle N, lying alone as he took his last breath.
It was me.
This is what you have to be ready for. Uncle N did it; you can do it too. No more false illusions; no more self-deception. This is reality.
My eyes opened. I grasped the handle of the mailbox and slid the letter inside. I closed the door, then re-opened it out of habit.
No sense taking any chances, I thought as I stared, unblinking, into the darkness. Make sure it's really gone.
***
If anyone asked, I told them that the job fell through at the last minute. Perhaps as a consequence of no longer deceiving myself, my skill at deceiving others improved; no one ever questioned me.
Several weeks after I mailed the letter, I was hired at a nationally known high-tech firm a few towns over from my childhood home. I started just before Christmas, and within months, had a reputation as a diligent, highly motivated employee, willing to work as many hours as necessary. Or even unnecessary.
"It's always a pleasure working on a project with you, L," the assistant project manager told me one day. "You never complain, and you're always smiling. How do you do it?"
“Practice,” I told her, then smiled.
I had concluded my letter to E by telling her that I had decided that the best way to honor her was, quite simply, by leaving her alone. If she wanted to call, I would answer any and every question she had, no matter the topic.
The following summer, on a Friday evening shortly before the music festival where we had met four years before, my phone rang. It was E. She thanked me on behalf of her parents for the Christmas card I had sent them and asked if I had found a job. I told her all about my exploits, noting that my new nickname was "Mr. Readme," which made her laugh.
After catching up on the goings-on of our families - M was still with her boyfriend, as it turned out - the conversation turned to the artists playing the festival. It was, we agreed, a stellar lineup.
"That's why I so bummed out that I won't be able to make it this year," E said. "My boss is getting married that weekend."
"Well, that was really inconsiderate of them," I said.
"I know!" she agreed. "These are the Indigo Girls we're talking about, people! Although they're baby-boomers, now that I think about it, so that probably means nothing to them."
"Tell them they're like Peter, Paul, and Mary," I suggested. "Except there are two of them. And they're both lesbians."
"Right. Other than that, they should have no trouble grasping it."
We both laughed, then lapsed into silence for a moment.
"Well," I said, "I should let you go."
There was a pause.
"Yes," she said.
Another pause.
"Have a great time, and be sure to send me the reviews, OK?"
"Will do," I promised. "Goodbye, E."
"Goodbye, L."
We never spoke again.
***
In the subsequent fifteen-plus years, I never spoke to another soul about these events, nor did I ever mention them, even in passing, in my daily journal. The memories were too raw.
After I decided to transition, I thought I would start a blog to work out how I felt about the many, many things I had spent a lifetime pushing away. I didn't really know what that really meant, or what I would actually write about; I just thought it was a good idea to take stock of the events that led me to where I am today: the early stages of HRT.
Much to my surprise, events that I had long stopped thinking about flooded back. More than once I found myself taken aback as these memories, seemingly of their volition, leapt from my thoughts onto the screen. I was amazed at the clarity of these long-ago events in my mind.
I soon realized I needed to write about A and, in particular, E.
While I had many other encounters similar to A, something about the events of those few spring days long ago retained a powerful hold over my psyche. Looking back, I've come to the conclusion that it wasn't A's actions that caused this; it was being forced to ask L for help. I had come to rely on myself, in part to prevent others from getting close but mostly because I didn't want to admit I needed anyone.
And this was exacerbated a hundred-fold with E, and, to a lesser extent, M.
Regarding M, I confess that for a number of years I felt exceedingly sorry for myself, although I honestly don’t think I really blamed M. I simply couldn’t get past beating myself up over the entire mess. It was only fairly recently that I faced the hard truth: M had simply invited me to visit; I chose to read into it what I wanted. Nothing stopped me from asking M before I visited exactly what her invitation meant. Nor did it stop me from immediately asking the same question as soon as she told me we were invited to her boyfriend's party. But I chose not to, for whatever reason, and responsibility for that falls on me, not her.
As for E, I hope that I managed to get across some semblance of her warmth, humor, and generosity. Even now, it helps me to somewhat understand why I fought so hard to retain the illusion that I could win her over. I can only hope she found someone who brought her the happiness she richly deserves. She is a special person.
I've discovered that after writing about other painful events, their power over me vanished. Nonetheless, I resisted writing about A and E for a long time; their hold on me remained undiminished all these years later. It wasn't until I concluded that these memories were blocking my progress that I knew I had to finally come face to face with them and put them where they belong: safely in the past. My hope is that having let them go, I can now achieve a semblance of peace as I move forward on my journey. I wish you the same.
.tiff)
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