Aftermath of Dreaming(126)

Then suddenly Steve, who has been in line behind me, steps forward next to me and, I’m sure with loving-kindness, corrects my hands. It seems I was holding them in prayer, as if I were in line for communion where the priest can see all the way down to my heart, which is becoming a deeper and darker shade of gray with the onslaught of my sin on Monday, and suddenly I lose it. A sound is coming from me that I have never heard before and I am on the floor sobbing while fourteen Christian Buddhists and a Zen Master Jesuit priest all stare at me while standing silently still.

Somehow I manage to stumble mindfully out of the hall, grab my shoes, and get outside where I stand in the concrete courtyard thinking repeatedly, like a mantra with my tears, How in God’s name am I going to be able to do this?

And then suddenly I know that I can’t. I can’t stay at the retreat and give up Mary and the way I grew up. And I can’t see Andrew or be in touch with him ever again.

I walk silently to the dorm, get my stuff, and leave. My truck has never been such a refuge. I know the sound of the engine starting up is interrupting the retreatants’ meditation, but I have to leave in a way that I’ve never needed to do anything. As I drive out of the compound, I dial Andrew’s cell phone.

“Hi.”

“It’s me.”

“Are you okay?” Andrew’s voice in my ear gives my pulse a velocity I can’t slow down, then I wonder if it is a rush for this to be done, but to always remain in me.

“Yeah, I left the retreat, but I’m fine, I…Can I see you, like, immediately?”



I kill an hour at the counter of Jan’s Coffee Shop on Beverly. The bright fluorescent lights and garish noise are a relief from the semilit silence of the retreat. An unshaven man in the seat next to me is reading a worn copy of today’s paper—it looks as disconnected from the world as he is. I sit still and silent on the stool, a cup of coffee before me, but inside myself, I pace. Counting the minutes, counting my breath. A little bell sounds and I almost jump up, but it is signaling that an order is ready and a wide-hipped waitress goes to fetch it, walking a well-worn route.

I drive around the emptying and indifferent L.A. streets waiting for Andrew to call me. I could only nurse a cup of coffee for so long and I want to be close to his office when he calls.

As I turn onto the street that Andrew’s office is on, my cell phone rings and I tell him I’ll be right there. He is standing in the open door of the building when I pull into the parking lot, looking godlike in just a T-shirt and jeans. I want to hold this image of him in the palm of my hand, hold it and kiss it and all that has been.

“Hi,” Andrew says as I get out of my truck. His chest is large, his shoulders are back, and his height carries his body down to where I start. We don’t kiss because even though it’s the dark of night and no one is around, we are in public and that is never forgotten with him.

As I follow him into his office, it takes a moment for my eyes to adjust. The lights are on so low that the walls, carpet, and furniture all look the same dusty gray. I wonder if they are like that for atmosphere or as an inventive way to camouflage private papers on his desk. When I get my bearings, I sit down on a low, deep couch; Andrew is standing on the other side of the coffee table, looking ready to pace.

“I need to tell you goodbye, Andrew.”

He looks charmingly confused, then he smiles as he comes to sit next to me, and ruffles my hair. It is all I can do to not let my head meld with his hand, fall to his lap, and do what is so natural for us.

“You’ve been really wonderful to me. You’ve always been there for me and…” And as I say the words, they are true. That terrible time in New York after my art crash, our breakup out here, him acquiring a wife and two children; all of it falls to the ground like pieces in a sculpture that never belonged. Andrew was just being Andrew. “No matter what was happening, underneath it all, I always felt kindly toward you, but I need to tell you goodbye.”

Andrew is silent, looking at me. I feel like I am being wrenched up out of too-small skin and my breath has to move past the old barrier to get into this new body where there is more room.

“Don’t you think I understand what’s happening here?”

I look at him sitting next to me, but bathed in his own light from a spot recessed in the ceiling. A larger but lower sphere of light surrounds us, while the rest of the room recedes into darkness.

“You’re saying goodbye to your father figures, growing up. I bet you’re about to meet the man you’re going to marry, if you haven’t already.” His calm gaze appraises my face as if he can see a mark that will tell him if that has happened.

“I look at you and I think, I’ve known her for twelve years. I’ve loved her all that time; I love her now, and I start feeling romantic toward you and that’s not good. For either of us. This has been coming for a while.”

I have to fight an impulse to collapse on his chest to delay what he is confirming.

“I think back sometimes on a few of the women who were in my life before, the ones my mind naturally wanders to, the heavyweights, like you.” Andrew’s eyes are on mine in the way he has looked at me for so long, making sure his thoughts become my own. “I could have married any one of you and been happy. There isn’t just one true love for anyone; timing is everything.”

I listen as Andrew talks, weaving tales of his past about people and choices he made while time was rolling on, separating him from some, entwining him with others, and it all makes sense. He isn’t the only one for me. And never was. But what I had with him still meant something even though it couldn’t be defined the way I wanted it to be, thought it had to be, for my life to have a discernible effect on his. And his on mine.