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The Unicyclist, Walden Pond, and Me
In the woods, there is a paved fire road that licks straight up the west side of a steep hill. It leads to a flat grassy meadow with views—-when the leaves are down, as they are now—-of the pond and in the distance a prison. And a hospital. The first time we met it was summer. Five seasons ago. I was doing hill repeats—running, running, running—up and down, up and down, up and down that silent beast of a hill. He, wiggling back and forth upon his unicycle, on the curb of all places! Arms flat out like the wings of a hawk, then abruptly pulled in by his sides. Then out again. Back and forth, strut and bobble. Drunk with balance and proportion. I know nothing about balance. My appetites are large, consuming whatever it is I am after—-sometimes, if I’m not paying attention, consuming even myself. We spoke that day, he and I, about focus and balance and breath. I’ve seen him since, now and again.
I saw him today. A chill 32 degree morning. Ours, the only two cars in the lot. I ran around the pond, watching the mist lift, like a sleepy child waking from still waters. As I rounded the far end of the pond, I kept an eye out for the heron spotted just last week. I remembered to be grateful (just a word?). I trotted back to the base of the hill where still, he teetered. Then headed onto the frosty trail and into the woods and after awhile came to the road that splices the wide blank field. I saw three snakes on the road—-flat and squished. I stopped and looked very closely: each one black with yellow stripes. I’ve seen so many snakes this year!—usually alive—-often quite large—even two rattlers that shook and shook. None of the snakes today made me squirm or screech. Has fear lifted out of me the way that the mist lifted out of the pond? Silently, nearly mysteriously. Or has the weight of all that has happened, merely snuffed even fear from my bones?
I returned to the hill but my cyclist was gone. I wanted to tell him I was no longer afraid of snakes. I wanted to tell him that I still no nothing about balance—-absolutely nothing. I wanted to tell him that although I question everything, I still no nothing at all. I used to think suffering was too big a word for ordinary people.
Anne O’Regan
11/18/09
Newton, MA
The first time I saw him I didn’t know if I could let myself become that vulnerable again. How will he react to my friends? What will coming out to my father entail? Could he sense that its sometimes difficult for me to be inside my own skin? Would he know that behind my broad Irish smile was a life mirroring the Rolling Stones song “Paint It Black”? To top things off I had some suspicions that I was trying to rule out during our first date. The month earlier he responded to my on-line profile. We then spent the subsequent four weeks exchanging e-mails leading up to our talking over the phone. Talking over the phone more and more where I was starting to get distracted at work.
The reasons for not being sure if I could trust him were that I’d been burned by both men and women after a dishonest period of trying not to be totally gay. After some radical acceptance I was overcome by a sense of pureness. Not in any virgin sense but on these different moral and ethical levels. However, Brian knew some interesting things about me from the years – it turned out – we were both at the same college. I then spent our first date with me asking whom he remembered, whom his professors and academic adviser’s were, and where were some of his ‘haunts’ around campus. After Brian listed something in the vain of 45 people (students, faculty, administrators) I felt satisfied. My suspicions were triggered by the fact I used to be close to someone who has had a long battle with mental illness. After parting company with this person for my own sanity I was starting to wonder if Brian’s interest in my on-line profile and knowing all these facts about our college in the mid 1990s was all part of some sick joke by my mentally ill friend as if this were some bizarre form of retribution for that estrangement I’d mentioned. A month after our first date I asked Brian if he was interested in taking in taking things to the next level. And am glad ever since that he said yes. After Brian’s answer in the affirmative I said I had to make amends with him. During that first date – per it being so full of positive feelings for each other – part of my self doubt got projected by these bizarre questions. I told him who I thought was trying to get back at me and Brian burst out laughing and said that his friends had a few choice words for the mentally ill student.
Just short of six years I think about that first date. I was walking down Francis Street in Providence. It was the weekend before Christmas and the Providence Place Mall was bedlam. I got there early so I could get a good parking space. Brian was standing out in front of the restaurant in his brown leather jacket and looking his usual handsome, well groomed, and obviously from very good stock self. He was hiding a chuckle because he saw me take off my winter hat as I walked down the street and straightened out my hair in the reflective shop windows. That first time we laughed together. That first date we walked around the mall and made full of all the mid ’00s trends. And all the styles of clothing that we did agree upon. I’d never felt so close to someone so quickly before. Or was it Brian’s nice way about himself that let me trust myself so I could trust him. It was also his patience – rivaling only Job – while I worked through that its okay to be in a healthy, functional gay relationship. That having one was such a pipe dream and was non existent as far as I was concerned. Up until the morning I met Brian. If only I could wish these first times on the rest of the world.
There is the first time for everything, people say. Not quite true. Of the many first times in my life, worth writing about, my mind keeps on wondering about the very first time I experienced anything. I do not remember it. I cannot not think about it. I cannot write about it.
Was it the moment of my birth? What was my first glimpse of the world? Was it a face of a doctor or a nurse who pulled me out, turned me upside down and spanked me? Not a very pleasant introduction to life, beginning of things to come.
My head is buzzing with multiple first time memories. Which one to choose? I should take Freud’s Free Association Test and write about the first one that comes to mind. Good idea. It would not work. I’ve been blessed or cursed with having more than one thought at the time.
There is one First Time that I had to make a decision which would crucially change my life and the life of my family. Our future was in my hands. The most difficult decision of my young adulthood demanded immediate action.
I am standing in a long line at the Port of Le Havre in Normandy, France. I am about to embark on the ocean liner SS United States. I am so anxious and excited that I feel my whole body trembling. Few hours ago I left my country by plane to Paris. To cover up for my excitement of flying abroad for the first time, I had two glasses of champagne. That may or may not have helped me to board the train in Paris for Le Havre.
There are only few people ahead of me. With or without champagne I am still trembling. I feel like turning around and going back. Back where? There is no back to go back to. I accept steward’s help to get hold of a railing to climb up the gangway leading to the ship. Watching my step I see a gap between the ground and the first step. This s it. I cannot go back. My decision is final. Sudden panic does not let me move.
I am standing frozen. One foot is on the ground and the other one is on the step. The steward gently taps my shoulder and offers to get somebody to help me carry my bag. With this one step I am leaving Europe, maybe forever.
Will I ever see my family, my country, my life, ever again? It is my emotional vertigo, not a bag that I must carry, no matter how heavy. Inertia plunges me forward. The known and the unknown become one life experience.
The first experience of being on an ocean voyage brought me into the world which I could have only imagined or seen in the movies. Everybody is dressed as if they are going to the theater. There are restaurants, cocktail lounges, game rooms, libraries, movie theaters, dancing.
Five days on the luxurious ocean liner was the First Time I was given a new identity: a foreigner. Those days on SS United States were the most unreal real world I had ever known.
Alone on the ship’s top deck I am swinging with the stars. In the total darkness. There is only the sound of the ocean waves. Up above the earth there are billions and billions of sparkling stars. Ecstatic and humble I become a tiny spec in the universe.
