dare to rise up from the ash

gratitude. we had another magical 50+ hours together, with only a fraction of them sleeping. but even that too, was wonderful. i want to reflect on this magical trip in a stream of consciousness – only because i have the memory of a goldfish and it feels like something i’d like to do. here i go (written in flight home):

the parking and meeting me at the airport. you, black shorts and black slip ons and a black shirt. walking up behind me from the escalator – us eager to embrace. the holding hands (through the airport, in the tesla, all the time). the latte you brought me in an insulated cup that i spilled on my white shirt. the slow, deliberate way i traced my fingers along your hand and forearm as you drove us home. relearning each other’s faces and hands and touch in the most delightful way. the hyper-attentiveness to each other’s needs – the checking in and the caretaking and the accommodating.  the back massage while you talked to your mom – excitement to hear about the new house. the intimacy i felt listening to you converse with your mom -- a blessing to see you through this new lens. your 90 minute meeting while i worked quietly in the living room of the house. the excitement knowing you were close while i enjoyed the solitude of the house.

your quiet attentiveness. like bringing over the fan when i am working out. the locking and unlocking of bike locks. refilling water bottles. carrying the backpack filled to the brim with sandwiches and snacks and muffins. leaving me a bowl filled with cantaloupe and a quick kiss. i am so lucky.

the excitement to get on the bikes. you teaching me about bike gears and calling out numbers back and forth of what gear we are on. the giddiness i felt of being on the bike path and in the river that you’ve come to love over the last few weeks. holding hands while riding bikes and trying to let go. slowly walking into the riv, holding your hand as i navigate the rocks. the dumb way we kept repeating the most trite things ever while soaking our bodies. isn’t this a dream? isn’t this so pretty? can you believe this? discussing our animal reincarnates. the eagle (or condor in peru) and the jelly fish (in the australian coral reef). humming songs to the BPM of the river. didn’t i take you to, higher places you can’t reach without me? our 360 river view. the way we separate and come back together again – gazing at each other with goofy smiles from across the river. pointing out robins and cotton trees and describing the house you’d build up at the top of the mountain. couch rock and feeling so grateful. the way we never ran out of conversation – eager to catch up on the last four decades of each other’s lives. teaching me how to properly ring the bike bell like a true musician.

lucille ball burgers and embarrassing stories about pooping in mallorca. the deliberate way in which we are so attuned to each other and our needs – including who pays for what. biking home and flipping the bird and the hurried rush to get in the tes and head to watch the sunset (or was it the moon rise?) at the golf course.

hole 15 and parkinson water. lying with your head in my lap on that well-manicured lawn. the “caw-cawwww” signal to alert each other when someone was coming. the adolescent way in which we can’t keep our hands off each other, even when one of us (me!) had pee drops on our pants from popping a squat at hole 14. lying back with our feet floating over our heads. walking back to our car in the dark, hand in hand, eager for the night between us. you are so special to me //  [inappropriate comment about body parts] back massages and your L7S1. the intimacy and the moaning and communication. then the quiet, muted hums our bodies exchange before we fall asleep. hours later stirred awake again only to fall back asleep.

our hyperfixated breakfast (eggs, tomato+avo salad, HEB tortillas). workout and morning meeting. soopers / supers and our efficient grocery shopping. the hunt for fresh pesto with the loudest cart imaginable. ditching the mediocre back-up pesto in the produce section. defining dating and situationships and relationships on the drive home. having meta conversations about things like this -- dancing around conversations about what we are doing and the relationship we are in. but with ease and playfulness and teasing (yes! i'm neurotic!).

double airpods and the deliberate way you curated the playlist for biking (including broken social scene!). back to the river, this time on a new path. the conversation we had at the river bank while you ate an apple and i ate a nectarine and we talked about our past relationships and explaining difficulty in the past and affirming that we are learning to understand that we are deserving. i loved that conversation. human couches and the 3-2-1 naming of river parts on google maps (shhhh!). the endless questions we ask each other and stories from the past four decades of our lives – the resetting of broken bones and high school loves and ben richards and ziggy quotes and jessica while we sit in each other’s laps in the river. talking about dream cars and mini vans and camper vans and four runners and all the stories in between. the sheer freedom we felt as we zip down the river path home. james blake and james blunt. the beautiful playlist with the four tet and instrumental remix. the endless silliness. the butt grabs. the goofy smiles as we pass each other on bikes. the way we dreamt about this for weeks.

the symbiotic way we cook – one person cooking while the other cleans and helps. can we sit outside? yes. eating pasta and salad on the outdoor table while we listen to “world” music – you sitting to the left of me, always. pasta before salad for the fiber digestion conveyor belt. a second helping of cavatappi. listening to herbie hancock as we plan the rest of our evening.

the joy of us driving in the white truck -- instant serotonin. playing horse (and horse: strict edition) with your new basketball. the high fives and encouragement of each other. your hook shot. the carnival rim. the “this must not be ten feet” hoop. your chest passes. auditions and tryouts. around the waist four times and backward dribble. granny shots. yeah, it’s a park. david byrne and the swings. spiderman meme + put it in the tumblr. getting through part 1 of 36 questions while we watch a lightning storm on a park bench. uncle richard as your dinner party guest. toni morrison as mine. our four minute life story and noticing what was and wasn’t emphasized. top one percent of teeth. our similar “perfect” days. the heaviness of telling you about my godfather and the instant silliness of starting up the truck and heading home. could heaven ever be like this.

the slow turning down for the evening. mango popsicle after we’ve brushed our teeth. the coming together, again, and then slumber. the middle of the night insatiable desire to find each other again. pretzels. dogs. hips. sharing anxiety about middle of the night texts. blasting i’ll cover you (reprise) at 1:00 a.m. then sleep.

the slight heaviness of our last day. perhaps mild mopiness? lying in bed next to each other – joking this won’t happen again until 2027. or 2035. honeysuckle lamb. our chafed bits. our saharan mouths. the tangled limbs. the mutual pleasure. breakfast and the side-by-side chatgpt planning of my upcoming roadtrip. the oppressively expensive mexico city planning with the decision to pivot. the quiet moments – perhaps reflecting – as i gathered my things and packed my bags. slipping my thank you card under your keyboard for you to find (perhaps at this very moment). the feeling of gratitude, overwhelming. the feeling of sadness, growing.  the final few minutes – lying on the couch listening to heaven + earth grocery store while we traced each others’ fingers. the verbal reassurance that we would see each other in a few weeks. mid-life blossoming // transition. 50th birthdays and anniversary ritual discussions. all the things i want to ask you but hold back. the kiss(es) goodbye at the airport curb. the heaviness of my heart as I wait at my gate to go home. what a gift these last three days have been. gratitude.

can I call you mine?

the blue dots on our shared locations inched toward each other, closing the 370-mile gap between two people who for the last six months have built a slow, steady friendship between the two of them. my bag was packed with snacks and vinyl and my bathing suit and pajamas. we’d always talked affectionally about meeting at the denny’s in blythe. in many ways, denny’s was a mecca of sorts – a pilgrimage to a place of what ifs and maybes. but denny’s was also a playground. we’d invented the name of our server (shirley), debated our shared dinner item (rooti tooti fresh n’ fruity), and decided we would share a milkshake – you insisting that i would choose the flavor. it reflected what i’ve come to love about our friendship: the simultaneous silly and serious that we so easily slalom through.

and after three hours of driving across california, there you were, walking out of the holiday inn express into the parking lot to meet me in the 112-degree heat. you were as beautiful as i imagined as you made your way toward me and soon our bodies were hugging, front to front, our lips meeting, eager with anticipation and comfort. it was everything i thought it may be: a balance between willing myself to get out of my head but also letting go and enjoying the moment. it felt like several minutes of bliss.

we had this clumsy, newlywed way of being with each other in those early moments. everything felt both new and familiar at the same time. it’s wild how easily we fell into synchroneity. our hands found each other, our lips found each other, our thoughts found each other. multiple times one person said something that the other person was thinking – the dude bros by the pool, asking karen for her recommended swimming spot, etc. – and it was as if we’d embodied the spiderman meme that has punctuated the last six months of our friendship.

those early moments also felt so comfortable. us working on our laptops side by side up in the hotel room, listening to sounds for plant lovers as our pinkies interlocked in a soft and gentle way. the way we stole glances at each other, stopping to kiss each other’s cheeks or rub each other’s legs. there was peace. there was ease.

within the hour our best-intentioned plans to get changed into our swimsuits and head to the pool was waylaid by our bodies’ desire for each other. you were on your front and i climbed on your back, closing my eyes and hugging you from behind – you feeling the full weight of me against you. that embrace turned into a massage and playful sharing of the same pillow. then, to sweet kisses and mouths panting. to pleasure and maneuvering and laughs and desire. it was wonderful to see you in that afternoon light – a person i had met only briefly months ago and slowly over time on the phone and through a screen. to see the contours of your face, to feel your rough hands, to smell your skin. gosh, the dozens of times i buried myself in the side nape of your neck. it felt like home.

we eventually made our way to the pool. and like two adolescent spring breakers unable to keep their hands and bodies away from each other, we swam. me, my legs around your waist. and you, parading me around the pool. i felt your body pressed up against mine and for that moment, nothing else mattered. we switched positions, now with your legs around my waist as i hoisted you up and paraded you around the pool, in a reverse-gender-role type of moment. you slowly laid on your back and closed your eyes to float with your legs still around my waist. i softly spun you around, like a scene out of the movie moonlight. you looked up to catch glimpses of me and when your eyes were closed i studied your profile, the hairs around your belly button, and the moles on your skin. i thought at that moment how much you needed this -- to feel unencumbered by stress and life and worry. i thought about how much you’ve been through the last several weeks and how much you are facing in the next few months. i thought about how i just wanted peace for you. and so i continued spinning you around slowly, despite the fact that i felt silly and slightly laugh-attacky as the group of people sitting by the pool stole glances at how silly we looked – you wrapped around me, me floating you like a child. you were so beautiful in that moment, so at peace.

perhaps from the drive and the intimacy and the pool we found ourselves hungry. you remarked that i was sassy when i was hungry, which was true. we headed back up to the hotel room as we prepared to eat at denny’s – a monument of sorts in my head given how much it was built up. there was a soft ritual that is often shared between two people in intimate spaces as they get unchanged and changed for an evening out – the busying of yourself, the pampering, the checking in on each other and then the agreement that both of you are ready. as we headed out the hotel room, i noticed that you had slipped the privacy sign on the doorknob and smiled. we wrapped our arms around each other’s waists and we headed down to your pickup truck for the quarter mile drive to the denny’s.

in many ways dennys was like everything and like nothing i had imagined in my head. it was somehow brighter and busier than i envisioned, and yet, perfect in its own way. we did the thing we joked about – asking the host for his most romantic table and he gestured to the dining room telling us to take our pick. naturally, you moved toward the one i was thinking about and we sat on the same side of the booth just like we had planned. i noticed you were more mellow than earlier – perhaps more relaxed, likely more tired and also maybe cautious? and yet our bodies still found each other in that booth, your hand on my thigh, my hand in your thigh, and we talked and joked and reflected on how grateful we are. it’s one of the things i appreciate most about you/us – our gratitude. we are constantly affirming each other, expressing our gratitude for each other in our lives, and making it known how much value the other brings to our life.

dinner was delightful and we laughed as we stopped at the restroom on the way out and smelled that poop smell that one reviewer had noted on google when he gave this specific denny’s a one-star review. i felt seen by you when on our way you out you tugged me back toward the restaurant, proclaiming that we should take a picture before leaving. it was something i wouldn’t have insisted on but i was so glad you suggested it. the sunlight from the setting sun was perfect as you wrapped your hands around my waist and we smiled for the photo. we looked so happy. golden hour at the denny’s. you remarked that no matter what city we found ourselves in in the future, we should always find a denny’s close to a highway to patron.

after denny’s was perhaps my favorite part of our 18 hour super-sonic lesbian date. we drove out to the colorado river – at first led astray by karen who sent us to a rather inaccessible part of the river – but then righted again once we found a beach-like area a mile or two down from the highway. it was a beautiful scene. the mountains purple, the moon rising and bright, dragonflies dancing around the water. we put down our blanket and like two teenagers we got naked and changed into our damp suits on the riverbed – slowly wading into the water as the current moved slow and steady around our bodies. we spent most of the time in the river in a deep, silent embrace. i learned quickly that i like being silent with you and just hearing your breath and kissing your cheek and being present. sometimes i think the connection between two people can grow even deeper in moments of silence, and i feel that with you. as the sun set, we slow danced right there in that river to chance the rapper and brittany howard and i quietly mouthed the words in your ear as i was determined to take it all in and enjoy the moment.

instead of hurrying back to the hotel, we got dressed, climbed the steps back up the river embankment, and stood in awe as dusk turned to night with those deep oranges and deep blues of the sky engulfed by the growing darkness. the moon hung overhead, oh so bright, and we decided to climb into the back of your truck and settle in to watch the last of the daylight. i asked you silly questions like when your body last felt scared or what was the favorite year of your life so far. we made up stories about the people driving by in their cars – where they were going and who they were. you pointed out a bat that was fluttering about and i realized how much i had to learn from you. that moment in the truckbed was wonderful, and as we crawled out to venture home, i gawked at the moon – its fullness and its brightness.

we took the eleven-minute drive home on a service road that ran parallel to the highway – now the night enveloping us as we cruised through blythe with the windows down and bad bunny loud on your truck’s speakers. it felt light and fun and right --- again that ease and simplicity surfacing again to assure me all would be okay. we parked back at the hotel, walking in hand in hand, eager for the remainder of the evening.

the next few hours were a blur in the best way. the low lighting of the hotel room. the grass and the pillaging of snacks. the massages and the playlist. the kissing and the intimacy. the sleepy two a.m. conversation about what happens next and then the soft noises we exchanged as we settled into slumber. sleeping next to you was my second favorite thing (after the colorado river dip) and i felt so lucky throughout the night as i turned and adjusted to know your body was there – right next to me. it’s odd as a forty-two-year-old to feel lucky. lucky is an emotion that in my head is reserved for children. but these past six months i’ve felt totally awash in feelings of gratitude and luck. i tell myself that if our friendship would cease to exist, i would be okay because i was lucky to have these six months with you and feel so seen and appreciated.  i feel so very lucky to know you.

all night i had that slightly panicky feeling i used to feel when i was young and in love. it’s that hint of dread as a clock flashes those passing early morning hours, and you know that the time between two young lovers is coming to an end as the sun starts to rise. the morning was itself wonderful. to see you in all your morning beauty – two humans now unadorned and wearing their utmost vulnerability as they lay in bed side by side, softly kissing and talking and reflecting. we had a rough plan for us – the grief rings and the promposal and the agreement to periodically see each other every month or so.

we often joke that we are the same person. 

the spiderman meme, pointing back at themselves -- seeing themselves entirely in the other. 

and because you are me and i am you, i can say that oftentimes we spiderman in the same neurotic way. that worst type of utilitarian moral fabric that lives in deep corners of our selves where everyone else's needs come before ours. unspoken needs or unrealized needs or even (the worst kind!) wrongfully-assumed needs. and here we are, emotional gymnasts making assumptions and accommodations to make sure folks around us are okay. our kingdom for their happiness. 

it is admittedly my belief (perhaps unfairly // wrongly) that people like us are not meant to be with people like us. we are both yings. both moons. both the same side of the coin. we fit with yangs. with suns. with others. if they say there is a hand for every glove, we are both gloves. 

it's a wrong dichotomy to even frame it as givers and takers // caring and cared for // lovers and beloveds. but that's often what it looks like for me in relationships, practically at least, and i am the one historically doing the caring and loving and accommodating. and inevitably my partner or lover or friend is doing the receiving and is being accommodated. 

which is not to say it's not lovely and fulfilling and that it feels good, at my core, to give love. it does.

but it is almost like a maxim encoded in my brain: people like us are not meant to be with people like us. what would that love even look like? it would explode! or boil over! combust! all the attention and the detail and the caretaking just showered on each other. it seems unfair to all other mortal relationships to have two people like us be together. it just doesn't happen that way.

and then i met you. 

a referendum on this belief.

a white guy from houston who has cats and drives a truck. 

a human with kind eyes, with maker's hands, and an inviting shoulder. 

back in february i remember holding your gaze for just a second too long as we sat at that conference table waiting to present, some unspoken connection slowly braiding between us in that moment.

and what first started out as piqued interest in shared music turned into a real curiosity and then yearning to know one another. and not just biographical information but feelings about death and the afterlife and trauma and relationships.

it felt almost comical at times -- us clawing each other out of the way to turn the mic back on the other, insisting that it was enough questions about me, now it's back to you -- an encyclopedia into a new world we both wanted to independently devour. 

in another life i could see us staying up all night asking each other questions until the sun came up. real adolescent type teenage yearning. but in the best way -- goofy smiles and earnest feelings and curated playlists and a no you hang up first type of energy.

and so i think this is why for both of us, we have this feeling that this thing we are experiencing at present is spilling out of a container that neither of us can name or keep tamed.

i mean, yes, it is dopamine and oxytocin and limerence and NRE.

but it also feels divine.

and i say that because talking to you feels like home.

it feels like i'm looking in the mirror. 

it feels safe.

because i know at my core that you wouldn't intentionally hurt me because of everything i said above ^^^ (that is, the utilitarian moral fabric and yadda yadda yadda).

and i suspect that is also why it feels good for you? because you know i just want to love on you and curate songs for you and listen to you speak beautifully about your mom and reflect about your dad and be vulnerable in ways that come so natural to you that are exquisitely beautiful to me.  

i want to be your home. your mirror. i want you to feel safe.

***

and yet, because of present circumstances i can't tell you any of this. or maybe i hint at it and bite my lip to stop. or start to text you and then delete it. will you with my mind to get in the car and drive to me, before dismissing the thought.

and as a result, when i tell you i need space to quite literally find my head floating somewhere up in the clouds to tether myself back to the reality that our situation is (to put it mildly) somewhat fucked -- you start to doubt. understandably! because you aren't privy to the way my heart bursts for you. 

for the way i smile when i receive a random song from you on text. 

for when i exhale when you ask the seventeenth question about my childhood or my travels or my mom when all i want to do is ask you eighteen questions about the same things.  

for when you remember my birthday or my address in ways that make me doubt if i even disclosed those things in the first place but reflect this incredible attention to detail for the biographical blueprint of who i am.

for the random phone calls on your bike rides or because you're thinking of me. 

for wearing your god damn helmet.

for vinyl that you sent me in the mail with a typed letter i must have read 20 times before quietly slipping it in the album sleeve because it felt too special to throw away. 

for that feeling where even when we are taking space and haven't talked in awhile that you know where i am (a hotel room, in the bay, etc.) and that makes me feel comforted. 

for that other, more sinking feeling when we've taken too much space and you're separately living your life and i'm separately living my life that i've lost sight of your day-to-day and i get slightly panicky not knowing what you're up to.

for when you ask me about and celebrate my kid, because you see me as not just an adult, but a mother too.

for our goofy, silent gazes at each other on facetime video--forcing me to break your stare because it feels too intense for me.

for the ways in which you talk about and love on your friends -- what a gift it is for them to be in your orbit. 

for when i am out in los angeles and visit record shops or cafes or parks and fantasize about lying with you in open spaces, your head in my lap, talking and laughing and being free.

for all the concert tickets i want to buy for us. and all the crates i want to dig in next to you.

for our shared love for bodies of water and to be in them or around them.

for the kind words you express in telling me how you feel about me or how special i am. gosh, don't ever stop those texts.

for how sexy you are, and how i can think about you and your voice and my body gets activated and electrified -- like some precocious adolescent. 

for how considerate you are, mindful of my time and attention and need for rest -- but still inviting and generous and welcoming to more conversation.

for the vulnerability you've shared with me about your childhood and your father and your uncle and your pain growing up. i want to hear it all and hold your hand through it. 

and speaking of that, for the ways in which you express feeling troubled or vulnerable or upset and i quite literally want to take your face in my hands and gently kiss your cheeks until you feel at ease and your jaw unclenches and your shoulders relax.

for the music, my god, the music. as a true window into each other's souls and a curated coda to many conversations we've shared.

for the certainty in which you tell me that us not being in each other's lives is not an option.

and so for these and many other reasons, i am grateful. 

***

on that last point, you seem to have some level of clarity that we will see each other again.

i guess i am less sure, absent a conference space where we pass each other on an escalator or spot each other from across the rows of chairs in some plenary session that neither of us are attending to.

and in the event that happens (because, and i speak only for myself, i am not sure how this all will go or end), know that i will only reflect on this relationship as an invaluable gift that's been cosmically bestowed on my life at present to show me what love can look like and what i deserve.

because at our core, i think what makes this so special -- what makes us so special -- is that people like us very rarely end up together. us, gloves. because i think that, deep down, we are also hands. we're hands, secretly desiring what we so often give to other people. or at least, learning to be hands. desiring to be hands.

and so there is this safety and simultaneous insatiable desire to show love to each other and be loved by each other individually existing in each of us. it's not one person showing love and the other person being loved. both of those universes exist within us individually. we are both hand and glove and hand and glove. does that make sense? we both want to experience and be experienced. we both want to love and are beloved. there is sun and moon within each of us that compliment each other's sun and moon.

magnets.

and my god, that feels so affirming and rare.