The path between the different falls is a long one- plenty
of time to have conversations, plenty of time to have the beginning kind. Behind
me, in pair, are Wenzl and Jacob. They are at that stage in their relationship where
each conversation forms a building block for the future, though today is tenuous.
Jacob is still unemployed and there is air of uncertainty for what that might
mean in the long run. I am not worried, but then again I am not in their
relationship. I am happy to see her
happy. They may not know it now, but this is healthy for them, and will lay a
strong foundation for their future. Their conversational probes are gentle
ones, but not idle, and some are followed by long silences. They talk of
houses, places to travel, roommates, employment, and paint colors, and circle
around, and circle around. I purposely
keep a few practiced steps ahead of them with an unashamed curious ear open. It
is refreshing for me to be surrounded by the beginnings of a relationship- one
that seems so fortuitous and filled with care. For me though, this place is not
about a beginning, not today, this place is where a conversation ended years
ago. This is a place where plans had been made when another one of my we's had it's beginnings.
I don’t write about him often or ever now that I think about
it. I am still tender, though time heals. But before you all judge, there are
few items you should know. He was aware of me, before anyone else was. He knew
what I wanted and said no. I didn't listen to him until it was too late for us
both and I hurt him. This is not easy to write, nor easy to feel, but nowhere
else in the world, is there a place that speaks of him more. I first met Greg
as a sophomore in high school. He was a funny, angry, sensitive, quiet, six
foot two, blue-eyed straight man. We liked the same films- Willow, toys-
Legos but more importantly we shared a love of the outdoors- swimming in Folsom
Lake, or walking out at Rattlesnake Hill. Eventually day hikes turned into
barely manageable grandiose trips to
different national and state parks with our friends, but always with the we, the us at the core. The trips
became a staple of our friendship. Early on, we started plan broadly, we talked
about Alaska but not till we had explored the Cascades, starting the long tour first
with a detour to Silver Falls State Park. Greg had a passion for waterfalls and
it was always worth the detour to hear him laugh like they roar. This park promised to be the pinnacle of water
fall experiences for him, and us.
Those who lived this story would say that the end came about
because of a girl, but they are wrong. Yeah, there was a girl, who loved us
both and it almost tore us apart. But neither of us, understood then why I reacted
the way I did. As I got older and I recognized myself for whom I was and what I
wanted, I imagined my life with him and said so. He said no. I said okay, which meant I will wait. I did, for years. The trip to the falls kept being put
off and became something we only talked about once in a long while, as life
intervened with parties, unemployment, and tons of movies. When I was 26 I
realized he would never say yes, he didn’t know how, or the heart physically couldn't. So, I did what I do best, I
ran and left for Tahoe promising to come back after the end of the summer. But
I never did. It broke my heart and I know
his. He is everywhere here. I am overwhelmed at being here, and surprised that
the feeling still lingers however faintly.
Wenzl and Jacob are
now sitting on the stone ridge outside one of the waterfalls, exchanging foods.
I open, decadent mint chocolates from Alma’s, and share them- a hiking
tradition left over from my days with Greg. The chocolates are a welcome, sinful
delight.
There is a place at the park where the river runs over, at
the first approach to the falls. There you can lean close and see the power of
the water and wind roar and fall, turbulent, chaotic to a thousand or so feet
below to a calm pool. There is a bench there at the top, which I highly recommend
you take a few moments to sit down. The roar drowns out the tense beating of
the heart. The mist on the face hides the sting in your eye. And when you put
your head in your hands, visitors think you’re at prayer.
Drops from the roof splattered the sky into liquid glass. My hiking boots seemed small on the edge of the porch, where I sat, exhausted and watching the water. I am inside a wooden shelter built by volunteers and donors to the Audubon Society's Pittock Sanctuary Pond. The steps of the shelter, like a temple, lead into the water. This morning it is sunny, and quiet. The sound of the drops falling drown out the quiet hush of the nearby freeway. I breathe in. It is a cold morning as well, as stifle a cough. I breathe out. The clouds of mud part, and a mini- leviathan swirls and swims between the pond weed. The epiphytic chorus continues to drip and I watch the salamander hover in the sun. His tiny pink fists curl in and out. I am reminded of my niece Emily's hands when she squeezed my pinky for the first time- in, out. Skaters skip over the images, threading the clouds and weeds into the ripples. The sun is a sometimes friend. It is hard to breathe, but it feels good to be outside and slowing down. I think about what I want in my future garden. The light shifts again. The salamander is gone in a puff of brown, but the sky still remains. I listen for the next drops to fall from the roof. I breathe in.
