4:13 p.m. - 2005-07-07
Moving In Rant
I felt my very being conform to the soft contours of his presence. Everything between us was simply understood. Unspoken. As the clay seemed to fly off the screen in the famous potter's wheel scene, I surrendered to the momentum of dreaming. The texture of wishing. Returning home, I felt strangely alone in my castle of sand. I longed to trade my clarity for one more day of pretending. It was that good. Rick loved my new place. He saw the way that, taking down all that useless wicker, speakers could be installed that would pipe his classic rock into the entire building. Queen, Journey, Aerosmith. In the living room, he envisioned recycled movie posters from the theater. A lifesize standup of Chucky, the maniacal doll gone bad. The kitchen took on appliances. Coffee makers. An electrical wok. An ironing board was set up so that I could prepare the six dress shirts he needed for his promotion. I wanted to. I had never ironed, even when I was married. Still, everything done for Rick had the special significance of an offering. I idolized him, literally. The windchimes I had hung all across the wide bedroom windows were removed. He needed to sleep in the daytime, as he worked the late night shift. Holding their breath, they lay in neat heaps in various corners of the room. I sent bags of my clothes to the Goodwill to make room for his. Gladly. I awaited him in the evenings with a Tangueray and tonic, twist of lime. We would talk and laugh and sometimes he would ask me to rub his legs, which hurt from standing. We bought a boat together. A sixteen foot motor boat with a crack in the engine. We rented a slip at Marina del Rey. Rick was a nut for the boat. He would take it out every chance he could. He was such a reckless driver, I would pray the whole trip out to sea. Still, it was exhilerating being with him on the water. The speed against the waves, the salty sting on my cheeks, the laughter tinged with fear. The daring that gripped my reserve like a strong hand. Commanding and uncompromising. We named the boat "Kauai Baby", partly because of our adventures on the island, partly because I was his "cry baby" every time out. He would steer us too close to the rocks and sadistically watch me blanch. The mysterious alchemy of terror and love. Ridiculous trust. Rick as God. Joy ride to hell. Oblivion's slave. We lived as brother and sister, with a tension that was tangibly electric. The only safety was the distance that loomed between us. The fact that we couldn't be and yet, for the time being, were. The perilous comfort of never.
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