The Beginning Kind

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. 

Here There Be Monsters

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Here there be monsters. I have seen them lying naked in my bathtub. As the water runs cold and my claws cling a crumpled plea to the sides of the tub while the last of the lukewarm overflow from the river drains away, I am exposed to their teeth and their needs. They will be with me always. It is not defeatist but acceptance. Do not mis-understand me. I know it is not the romantic picture of a younger man thriving, laughing, eating, and loving...

In the absence of summer Raven left his imprints on my eyes and they bleed black with blood. At times I am blinded. But with his curses comes the gifts of light and flight. I have been given wings and I threaded them silver onto my back. I flex them in the night when I need dreams, and fold them in when the nightmares find me. Once in the beginning my wings were pale white pounded into dust by the bones of the soldiers that marched before me. Now when I turn my head in anger they are black. When I wear my crown they drip with gold. When I bow my head, listen for the drums that play the deep dark heartbeats of these woods. This is not your world. But this is how it is. Here there are monsters.

But where there are monsters there are angels. In this city that breathes of roses and champagne men I found song. In a cathedral built upon tolerance, pain, and beauty there is a melody that rises above the balding assembly and reaches for the heavens. It is a cadence of sanctuary even though, there are monsters here too. But they are familiar and they are ours and we protect our own. In their shadows I can see my face; I can see my hands; and I know my voice.

In the company of my friends and my others I am a light, a hungry, wavering light, an unexpected arrival, a long overdue invitation answered. How long will I stay? Where will I go? What will I eat? They are the ground beneath my feet. They are the path through these woods. I listen to them. I try. But the heartbeats, the wingbeats, are louder than my footsteps on the path. And somewhere in the depths of these woods, I swear I can hear a sparrow singing. So I fly.

In my cottage I dream. There is an image in my head of a room with with half-filled champagne glasses, white-raspberry wedding cake crumbs on bone-china, jackets, over turned chairs, and a man with undone bow-tie  Somehow the music starts. Somehow we dance. The song screams out of me. The roar betrays the shake in my hands. I no longer know how to hold the music in. Who is this dancing with that man?

I tell you all of this because I want you to know before you accept my invitation to come in. I have wandered far down the path from where I began. I am no longer halfway through the wood. I know the monsters are here, but I am here too and I can see them now. This is my beautiful tomorrow. This is my enchanted glade where I choose to rest. This is my cottage. You have been warned. Please come in.