I. D.C.'s Potomac River reminds me of what the Ganges must be like in India-- worn, sulky as a rough-kneed urchin, and ancient. The area under Key Bridge used as a starting point for kayaks and canoes has been around long before WW II. Jack's Boathouse is now in operation there, where Dane and I and eleven of our good friends rejoined to kayak. Most of us arrived there around 3:00 PM after having met at our house before. M, a very good friend, and also a very natural weirdo, went back to his house in Woodbridge, VA after discovering that his MP3 player was not on his person. He was irrevocably fixated on listening to appropriate song tracks as he kayaked. We waited for him for at least an hour.
Let me make this clear: This is all about M.
How does one describe M? Most of us have probably met someone with ADHD or someone with OCD. Imagine these two disorders at full-swing together, combined with an exceedingly high intelligence and complete egocentricity. That would be M. His parents left him with an unfulfilled need for guidance and natural affection and as a result, his entire childhood was spent in the way he saw fit. As an adult, his narrow comfort zone is limited to guitars, select music, his computer, and unending attempts to self-medicate. Almost everyone who might begin to get to know him find him selfish, awkward, disgustingly messy (a friend of ours once went to sit in M's car for a moment only to find chicken bones scattered on his dashboard and a seat plastered and piled high with trash and other slowly rotting foods), and even intolerable.
But Dane and I learned that comparing M's behavior to even semi-normal behavior is useless altogether. It's difficult for most of us to wrap our minds around what it's like to not have the ability to focus on the simplest of tasks, to bear the frustration of knowing that the more you attempted to concentrate on any one thing, the more your brain would erratically and very literally shut down. The inability to effectively communicate with others, especially your own mate, must be excruciatingly painful. To top it all off, he suffers from a rare inoperable corneal disease. He has limited vision with only one eye - the other is legally blind - and every day it worsens. When he eventually loses all sight, I know that we'll do whatever we can to help him and his wife. Dane has been his best friend for years, one of the very few that M will actually listen to and take advice from because he appeals first to M's complicated sense of reason-- the key to get M to do whatever it is that is actually best for him.
I was very surprised and happy to hear that he agreed to join us for kayaking, especially since it took only an invite sent over Facebook for him to respond. M is definitely not one for nature, water, or people, so I appreciated it all the more.
But after an hour of waiting, I was admittedly irritated. All for an MP3 player! Because it would KILL him to enjoy human company and the loveliness of water without buds in his ears. When he finally arrived and we all finally were in our individual kayaks, Dane and I still had to wait to lead the group in part because a few of the girls were having substantial difficulty adjusting to the water and what to do with an oar, and in part because M decided to go back-- his oar was not up to par (as if he would know).
As he went to climb into his kayak the second time, he fumbled, fell head-first into the murky water, and somehow DROP-KICKED the guide's face who was helping him into the boat in the process. Classic. He emerged from the water only concerned about his MP3 player. Amazingly, he had the sense to zip it up in a plastic baggy. It remained intact. After succesfully getting in the next time, he paddled a few strokes, asked himself exactly WHY was he exerting energy so NEEDLESSLY and just chilled out on the water, his eyes probably closed the entire time while rocking his head in time to his music.
When we found him again, exhausted after having kayaked all around Theodore Roosevelt Island, passing the monuments and kayaking upstream half the time, he was chilling in his boat right off the dock.
Where's your wife? we asked, almost in unison.
You know, I really don't know.
I directed my kayak right next to him. It smelled like rain, and well, Potomac. But the clouds were pleasantly dark and burgeoning, the sun still high and very yellow. A rainbow appeared like a dream- blurred, but undeniable and I pointed this out to M. He took his impenetrable sunglasses off in an awkward rush and blinked painstakingly, once, twice, three and four times before he spoke.
That's... nice.
The pinched look in his face made me turn away, my eyes burning. It was the look of realization, as he may never see another again.
II. One of the fastest routes to Manassas from where we live involves many narrow and twisting roads through dense flora. Dane and I were running a little late for a meeting in Tagalog. I was behind the wheel. Dane was studying. My newly cropped hair flew in my face and in all directions from the wind, not helping the fact that I was already driving recklessly a little bit because I hate being late. Dane became visibly tense, it was as if he wanted to push himself up from his seat and through the sun roof to catch some low hanging, sturdy branch to escape from an untimely and violent death caused by his wife, the woman who was currently reliving her
Initial D phase in her girlhood. Feeling sorry for him, I slowed down.
On one particular street, there seemed to be more traffic than usual and poking my head out my window, I saw why. A large snapping turtle (
Chelydra serpentina) was slowly making its way across the road from my left side. My way was clear, but the car coming the opposite direction of me had to stop and wait for me to pass in order to continue. Dane and I were excited to see it-- it was longer than a foot and brave, after all, but I continued on, regrettably confident that it would not be hurt after witnessing the way everyone cooperated to allow it to pass.
Less than a minute passed after I continued before Dane told me to turn around so that we (read: he) could save it. And for a minute, I unfortunately tried to persuade him that it wouldn't be the best thing for us to do. I was momentarily selfishly wanting to not be as late as we would be if we were to turn around. Then after a second I realized, who cares? We were already late and how often do you get a chance to save a Snapping Turtle from almost certain death?
I made a U-turn. Impressively, the turtle made it to the side I was before. So then he was on my left side yet again. I pulled over to a grassy spot and I watched as a middle-aged woman got out of her truck in the middle of the street and yelled "Shoo! SHOO!" while throwing her arms and hands out in the most disgustingly idiotic way. What did she think the thing was going to do? Pick up its skirts and make a beeline for the side of the street?
It didn't move. Dane ran over to him and grabbed his shell on either side and judging from the look on his face, I knew that the turtle was heavier than expected. Almost instantly the turtle snapped its head and beak back towards Dane in an attempt to bite his face off, but Dane only ran until he came close to the small creek running by the small house whose driveway was right off the road. Several drivers were staring at me as soon as he was out of eyesight. I looked at everyone calmly and made a movement with my palm facing skyward as if to say "Well, you guys weren't going to do anything about it, right?"
The owner of the house, a good-natured looking older man with an earring and ball cap came out to see the fuss and he yelled appreciatively at Dane. From my vantage point I only saw Dane bend down as if depositing the turtle, but then I saw him tumble like a ninja and then disappear in foliage. Groaning, I waited until the road was clear so that I could turn the car around and park in the man's driveway. He reappeared and beckoned for me to drive further up, right next to his house.
Uncertain, I got out of the car in my dress and heels, hating the fact that I was hating the fact I was there since his driveway of stone and pebbles would do some damage on my pretty shoes. He called for me to come over to his yard of overgrown grass and small trees. He and a little girl were watching the turtle, amused. I was confused. I thought I had just seen Dane place the turtle clear on the other side of the house near the creek.
"Have you seen my husband?" I asked the man.
"He's in my house cleaning up." He smiled crookedly.
"Cleaning up? What from?"
"Oh you know, turtles can be pretty messy!!"
Again, I was confused.
Dane came out, sweat beading on his forehead and forming a Fibonacci pattern (it was incredible), breathless, and triumphant.
The gentleman explained to us that snapping turtles cross the road every year at this time of year and most of them die. He thanked Dane for saving the turtle, and I explained how we almost didn't turn around had it not been for his insistence... I was so happy to have listened to him. We left him on his driveway, watching Dane leave with an impressed and pleased expression on his face.
In the car, Dane explained how the turtle peed all over him. On his pin-striped dress pants, his dress shirt, and some on his silk tie. Laughing, I asked him what it felt to be peed on by a Snapping Turtle. He said that he wouldn't know, he was so preoccupied with not getting bit.
Hey, do I smell? he asked. Leaning over, I hovered above the crotch of his pants as soon as we parked the car in front of the Hall, sniffing. Fortunately, no, he didn't smell. Even if he reeked of Snapping Turtle urine, I would have been proud to show him off to everyone at the meeting: Have you met my husband? The Saviour of Turtles? The Rescuer of Things That Go Pee? Yes, that's him! The man I married.
This event has renewed my faith that my husband will love me still, even after I lose all bladder control.
III. One night not long ago my heart constricted. My family, many miles away, is going through some very hard times. I'm here. Not there. Helplessness was never an emotion I could completely come to terms with. It was never a thing that I could bridle and channel into more useful avenues for emotional duress.
That night, Dane put Marvin Gaye on, swept me in his arms and led me to dance with him, his face buried in my neck, his hands spread evenly on my back, emitting a warmth that felt like glowing embers in the bed of a winter night that eventually groped into every corner of my chest. Reaching out to the hourglass on top of our piano as we danced, I turned it over to let the sand run, a millisecond of a whim, a quick fancy. He never noticed.
We danced until I cried silently in his chest, not from sadness, no, but from the awareness that I will always have this with him. My gratefulness for that, for
him, is fierce and it burns steady.
The music stopped. We danced, still. Glancing over his shoulder at the hourglass, I had to smile.
The sand, for some reason, is suspended.
I suspect I'll keep it the way it is.
