The day

The clock was ticking. It had been ticking for months. The anticipation was enormous. As the day approached, it was as though the upcoming event washed away all other thoughts and concerns in my mind, and in the collective mind of my whole family. We flat out could not wait. We could not talk of anything else.

The baby was coming! The baby was coming! We didn’t know if it was a boy or a girl … but we knew that it was coming, and we loved it to death already.

This is a post about what I remember about that day. And it involves the day before (it always does, doesn’t it?) But it’s really about that day. THE day. Certainly one of the most important days of my life, because it was the day that Cashel was born. Cashel, whose birthday is tomorrow.

I was in my third year of grad school. It was a vigorous and energetic time. I was living in Hoboken with my dear friend Jen. It was the late 1990s and my sister-in-law, the one who was carrying the most IMPORTANT BABY WHO WOULD EVER BE BORN, had gotten me a freelance gig my first year in New York, to make extra cash while I was slogging away in grad school. This was the dot com era, and there was major money to be made for doing … basically ridiculous meaningless things. She got me a freelance gig, doing Rainman programming for AOL, and it paid 30 bucks an hour. I made friends doing that insane gig that I still have today.

Our dot com was somehow affiliated with New Line Cinema so we had our insane offices (with mannequins dressed in school girl slut clothes, and no overhead lights, and dart boards, and beanbag chairs) attached to New Line corporate. You would walk up the spiral staircase into New Line proper, and there you were surrounded by cubicles, and fluorescent lights, and white boards, and perky girls in form-fitting suits and alligator pumps. But down that spiral staircase? You were full-on in wacko dot com world. We were barely presentable. If “corporate” was coming down to visit, we’d really have to clean up the joint, and take the cigarette out of the mannequin’s hand, etc., so the place would look presentable.

I used to work beside a guy named Pat, who was a surfer, a writer, a music-lover, and kind of brilliant in a very chaotic way. He was an online personality. He was born to be an online personality. He had nutso hair that was a different color each week, and he was doing literally MEANINGLESS things online on a daily basis, hosting chats, writing articles about stuff that he found interesting, and he made shitloads of money. He was a crazy Irishman. He’s now married to a no-nonsense tough Irish chick who grew up with 8 older brothers. Imagine. 8 older brothers. She’s hot, too. Her brothers were always beating guys up because they felt the dude had fucked with their little sister. She finally had to be like, “Guys, STOP BEATING UP MY BOYFRIENDS.” hahahaha She is PERFECT for Pat, because she knows how to handle men. No gamey shit with that one. No nagging gamey shit. She’s straight up cool. The two of them together are hysterical. When I knew him, though, during the dot com mania, he was single.

Pat and I were friends. We sat side by side, at our respective computers, and he would reach out with his left hand and play with my ear lobe as we worked. He never asked permission. It was just something we did.

Upstairs was corporate America. Downstairs was Pat, with jet black hair standing up straight, or blonde streaked surfer dude locks, or totally bald having shaved it all off in a drunken frenzy. Downstairs was Pat touching my ear lobe as he typed with his other hand. I never said, “Uhm … what’s up with my ear lobe?” I can’t remember the first day he did it, but I didn’t slap him away, and so the ear lobe play went on for months, as darts flew towards the dartboard behind our head, as people sat around us working at their computers, with huge headphones on listening to music, as people lay in the beanbag chairs eating Krispy Kremes and having “integration meetings” … and we all were working on … what, exactly?

None of the companies I originally worked for are in existence today. What a crazy time.

I told you this would be a post about what I remember.

When I think about “that day” – all of this stuff surrounds it. Dim lights, crazy offices, free-spirited funky dot com people, and Pat playing with my earlobe as he ran online chats. I worked 20 hours a week, I think … taking the subway to 59th Street from my school in the Village. And I had a full course load.

I would spend my weekends out in Park Slope with my brother and his wife … and her belly was growing … and we would feel the baby kicking … and the baby was so REAL to us … I had a relationship with the baby from the moment they told us she was pregnant, of course. It was real. I didn’t know who it was in there, but I couldn’t WAIT to find out. But meanwhile … during the pregnancy … I had a huge huge love for the creature in there. I loved it so much.

The C-section was scheduled, finally, for October 31. Calendars were marked throughout the O’Malley and Sullivan family. That was THE day.

Maybe 4 or 5 days before Halloween, I was at my freelance job, getting my earlobe stroked by Pat the surfer, doing my work. hahaha I called my voice mail service on this particular day to get my messages.

And – like a bolt from the blue – I heard an all-too-familiar voice. A voice that made my heart burst out of my chest. A man I once loved. I still loved him. But it was over. We were across the country from one another. He had my number, but never called it. It was over. It was over in the biggest way possible. But there he was calling me, telling me that he would be in New York for one day only to do a show … I could barely understand the message because I was out of my mind at the sound of his voice. The earlobe-stroking stopped as Pat looked over at me, curious as to my response. I was saying into the phone as I listened, “Oh my God. Oh my God.” Surfer Pat mouthing at me, “What? Who is it?” All I heard was that HE would be in town for one day. And he was calling me to let me know that and to let me know the hotel he would be staying in. I was a wreck. I was instantly a wreck. I had to listen to the message again because I had barely understood a word. I wrote down the address of the hotel. He also gave me his itinerary, he had to be here at this time, and there at that time, he would be checking in at that time … and his voice was so jaunty and cheerful (I am sure he knew I would freak out, but he wanted to just make it sound friendly and cheerful, and A-okay … he was always great with me that way) … “So … I know you’re … like, a really busy ACTRESS and everything …” (making fun of me) “but … if you’re around … well … that’s where I’ll be …”

I made Pat the surfer listen to the message. He listened to it with no response, and then flatly said, “The dude’s in love with you,” as he turned back to his computer screen.

So.

October 30. HE would be in town on October 30.

It was so bewildering to me, so emotional, so intense … because my main focus of that autumn had been the upcoming birth. I had not heard from HIM in months. I didn’t expect to. It was over. But now … he would be here. In only a couple of days.

I had class the morning of October 30. Classics. Shakespeare, Marlowe, yadda yadda. My outfit had been painstakingly chosen, with much help from my roommate. I wore a tight houndstooth skirt, and high brown heels – very retro – a fitted brown sweater. The outfit was very 1940s leading lady.

No man has ever had such an effect on me as this man had. Once I’m actually WITH him I am always relaxed – but the anticipation has always driven me insane. I would forget about it for a second, and then remember and feel this swooshing vertigo take over. Literally vertigo. I couldn’t eat. I drank water like it was going out of style. HE was coming!

I went to my class on October 30. I had a great class. And then I walked out into the blinding autumn morning, and headed uptown to go meet him at his hotel.

I walked into the hotel lobby. It was a very chi-chi small hotel, with deathly slippery marble floors … and I remember this perfectly; they must have been having a Halloween party in a private room or something … because I remember I walked into the lobby, and I was having cardiac arrest … we had no meeting place … I didn’t know where he would be, he didn’t know if I would show up, I hadn’t responded because he hadn’t given me a phone number (and I didn’t have his number, long story) … so it was either going to happen or it wasn’t … so I walked into the lobby, and he could have been ANYWHERE … and I remember these workmen walked by, carrying this enormous Halloween decoration … it was so big it took 3 guys to carry it … and it was all silvery and covered in pearls, and there were long streaming silver ribbons, and sparkley gems covering it … It was completely psychedelic. It didn’t look like a Halloween decoration at all. Random. And once the workmen passed by, there he was. He had entered the room somehow shielded by the massive pearl-encrusted extravaganza, and once it was gone – there he was. It was as though the silver-glitter thingamabob was a curtain or something – going up – signifying the start of the theatrical event that would obviously be our day together.

He saw me. I saw him. And it was as dramatic a moment as you would imagine. We were never sentimental, we were never gushy – I don’t think we ever had a gushy moment together … we’re both too Irish and wise-cracky for that … but it was full. A full moment of greeting after a long long time apart.

Within 10 minutes it was as though we had never been apart. However, everything was different now. We knew that. We didn’t speak of it, we didn’t have to.

He was up for anything. He had hours free until he had to his show. He said, “I kinda wanna see your school. I want to see where you spend all your time. Show me the coffee shops where you go. So I can picture it.”

And so that’s what we did.

I took him downtown and I “showed him my school”. I took him into my classrooms, I introduced him to my acting teacher, I showed him my coffee shop … It was ridiculous. He walked into the coffee shop which was completely generic – you would find such a coffee shop in any town anywhere … and he walked into it, stared around him, taking it in, and then nodded, to himself. Like: “Okay. Got it.” Like he had memorized it for safe keeping.

We walked and walked and walked. We talked. He made me laugh so hard I cried. Some things I won’t share. They’re too precious. The sun was shining, it was Indian summer, everyone was out, the NYU students, the locals … it was a day when you suddenly were happy to be alive. It was also as though New York City put on its best outfit … just for my guest. So he could see it in all its glory.

I remember we went to Washington Square Park. We watched the street performers. We sat on a stone bench, and soaked up the atmosphere. Time stood still with him. It stretched out. It couldn’t have only been 5 hours that I was with him. That CANNOT be right.

We had no deep conversations. We didn’t have to. We talked about books and music and stuff. Beautiful.

A drug dealer wearing a Rasta hat came up to us. He was stoned out of his mind and very friendly. “Smokes, smokes?” he offered.

The two of us smiled at him regretfully. “No thanks.” we said together.

He shrugged, sadly, then took another look at us. He stated, “You two are in love.”

We froze. Neither of us knew what to say or do. We didn’t respond. We sat there, consumed with awkwardness. It was weird. He was like this wise Rasta sage who came over and spoke the SUBTEXT of what was happening. He saw it.

We both kind of awkwardly said, “Oh … well … you know ….”

Rasta guy said, seriously, not looking at me, but looking at my companion, “She’s the only woman for you, my friend.”

We both laughed (so awkwardly, though – very fake) and my friend kind of awkwardly put his arm around me. It was an act. We didn’t, obviously, feel like going into our situation, and why we actually were NOT the only ones for each other … but we kind of put on the act … so he would go away. His arm around me was like a stiff automaton.

Rasta guy walked away, and then called back at us, “Today is a day for lovers, you know!”

And he was gone.

And my friend and I didn’t speak to each other for 5 minutes after that. We ALWAYS know how to talk to each other. But suddenly, in the wake of the Rasta truth, we were awkward, quiet, and kind of … itchy and restless … We sat there silently, we didn’t know where to look (certainly not at each other), we drank our sodas, looking around us, nibbling on pretzels … It was a cliche. We both might as well have started whistling, staring up at the sky “nonchalantly”. Suddenly, for the first time the whole day, I tried to think of something to say. We were like awkward teenagers.

The Rasta’s words sort of sat there with us for a good 5 minutes until …

“Wanna go see The Bottom Line?” I asked.

He leapt up, all excited and not awkward anymore. “Yes!!”

We walked around the city for a couple more hours. I showed him stuff. We staggered around laughing. He asked quesitons. I answered. I asked questions. He answered.

It was exquisite. I had missed him so much. I didn’t realize until that gold and blue October day how much.

We said goodbye on a corner near his hotel. We were suddenly very formal with each other. We had a stiff hug (we’re not huggers. We can’t touch casually, AT ALL. Still can’t. Even now when we see each other, we can’t just have a friendly normal hug. Nope. No way. Not because of animosity but … well, you’ll just have to figure it out yourselves, people.) – “Good to see you!” “Oh, it was so great to see you in your element!” “Have a great show!” blah blah blah.

And he was off. And I was off.

I walked back to school, and it was as though I had this anvil, or anchor, suddenly pulling me down into the deep, into the cold blue deep. Literally, the second I turned away from him I could feel myself fall. And it was a far fall. My heart. My heart was heavy.

I couldn’t bear it.

My love for him. My love for him was something else, I’ll tell ya.

I came back to Hoboken that night … the day before THE DAY … and cried myself to sleep. I lay in bed, howling to the moon. How hard it was to let him go … how much I love that man … how much I love that man … how much I love that man … how hard it was to let him go …

I was proud of myself, though, that I had kept it together during our time that day. There were no meltdowns. He didn’t have any either. We kept it together. We had a nice time. We enjoyed each other’s company. We kept it light. We made jokes. We laughed, we didn’t ruin it. I was proud of both of us for that.

I woke up the next morning. It was THE DAY. That was all that was in my mind.

My eyes were puffed out of my head, and my heart still felt like a leaden anvil in my chest … a sick and dead feeling in my stomach … the whole world gone grey now that he is gone again … and yet … today is the day. The day I have been waiting for for NINE MONTHS.

I made my way to the crazy New Line office, with its mannequins wearing kilts and biker boots … and the constant dart games going on … and all the nutso talented people working there … I sat at my computer, wearing my sunglasses INSIDE because my eyes were so messed up from crying. I had a couple of hours there before I headed down to the hospital where I would be there for the birth.

I do remember (weird what you remember) going to work that morning and looking forward to Pat playing with my earlobe. I had taken the earlobe thing for granted, it was a normal part of my everyday life (please, don’t ask me why. You think Surfer Pat was crazy? I’m crazy, too.) I needed a nice tender friendly touch that day. And there he was. Why it was cool – now that I’m thinking about it – (and i have never sat down to analyze the Surfer Pat earlobe thing): it wasn’t sexual. It wasn’t a come-on. It started as an affectionate joke thing, and it kind of just stayed in that realm. We were buddies. He’s the kind of guy I get along with really well. Big, loud, politically incorrect, funny, unselfconscious, kind of nuts, loves women, would kick the ass of ANYONE who messed with his sister or his girlfriend, goofy, not afraid to be a goofball … He was that guy. He liked me. We made each other laugh.

So I sat there, on THE DAY, with my heart somewhere down around Houston Street, doing my Rainman programming for 30 bucks an hour, drinking up the touch of Pat’s hand on my earlobe, with tears rolling down my face. Pat never mentioned the tears. He was too much of a gentleman for that.

Then.

It was time.

The moment we all had been waiting for. For nine months.

I left the office. It was 5 o’clock at night. I was kind of hysterical, truth be told. I hadn’t fully segued yet. I was still crying about the man. I would stop and get out of the line of foot traffic, and just do some deep breathing, and try to calm down.

Believe it or not, I had completely forgotten it was Halloween. The REALLY important event of that day was the birth. So I emerged onto the street, and I remember watching a witch walk by me, with a tall pointed hat, and then I remember watching a guy walk by me, fully dressed as an Oompa Loompa, with bright orange face. I was so out of it, so hysterical, that I didn’t know what was going on for a second. Why is there a witch on the sidewalk … oh my God, why is there an Oompa Loompa?

I remember, too, that it was sunset, and the sky was a bright PINK. A crayola pink. With no other colors blended in, no soft wash of lavenders or lilacs … no. Just a flat Pepto Bismol pink sky. With witches and Oompa Loompas coming at me.

Of course I remembered in a second that it was Halloween, but I didn’t really get into it. I was too self-consumed, too upset. I started walking down one of the Avenues – I had time to walk – I didn’t feel fit to get onto the subway. I was too hysterical. And the sky was a glaring pink, and goblins and ghouls filled the streets. It was truly fantastic. Everything was so WEIRD. NOTHING was normal. People in masks, ghosts, wizards, warlocks, vampires, Medusas … strolling up 6th Avenue under the pink sky.

Truth be told, I kind of felt like I was losing my mind for about 20 minutes.

By the time I reached Beth Israel Hospital, the segue was finished. I was out of tragic mode, and into celebration mode. The goblins and ghouls had helped, turns out. Nothing was normal. And so it was COMPLETLEY fine that I was crying as I walked down the street. I cried as I walked. And the goblins passed me by, not noticing. I was in public. But I was totally in private.

It wasn’t ALL out by the time I reached the hospital, but let’s just say the first wave was out. I was completely wrung dry by the time I reached Beth Israel … but I had no idea … I had no idea how much feeling I would eventually have when that child arrived. I mean, I was excited, and I had SOME idea, but until it happens … you just can’t know what that joy will feel like. It’s not even like joy. It’s so BIG.

I made my way to the maternity ward, and … slowly … as I took the elevator up … I shed the day before like an old snake skin … I let it go … and I accepted the day I was actually in. It was the day.

The substance of things hoped for.

My heart was no longer an anvil sitting on the corner of Houston and Sullivan Street. It pounded against my rib cage, adrenaline, impatient, excited … It was time … it was time …

My parents were there in the waiting room. Maria’s parents were there in the waiting room. I joined them. There were other families waiting there, too. We got very involved in their stories. We shared our stories. We waited. We paced. We talked about nothing. We made chit-chat. We were completely in the moment. ALL we were doing was WAITING.

I’m very emotional right now. Tears are in my eyes.

We loved this baby so much. We couldn’t wait to meet … him? Her?

I feel so so blessed that I was able to be there.

The other family, whose daughter had had a labor of 24 hours or something and then had to have an emergency C-section, was anxious and exhausted … and I think it rubbed off on us. I held onto my dad’s hand as we waited. The anticipation was unbelievable.

And then …

The moment came.

Brendan, in his doctor’s scrubs, came out of the delivery room wheeling a little tub … We all LEAPT to our feet. The moment was indescribable. I can’t do it justice.

In the tub … was a small cocoon. A white cocoon of a human being. With HUGE eyeballs staring out of it. HUGE STARING EYEBALLS.

Brendan whispered, excitedly, “It’s a boy!”

Oh, we had never heard such miraculous words. Never! The burst of emotion that followed … it was operatic. I saw Maria’s mother turn to Maria’s father and throw her arms around him in a total abandonment of joy. My parents hugged each other, hugged my brother, hugged Maria’s parents, I was hugging Brendan, with tears streaming down my face … different tears now … glad tears … The joy I felt was fierce. It was a stabbing knife of life-affirming joy. The anxious family, waiting for word of their daughter, got caught up in our joy, and hugged each other, hugged us. And we all just kept peeking at the small white cocoon … this PERSON … this person we had all been waiting for, and loving so hard for 9 months …

this wee still white-swaddled being with HUGE STARING EYEBALLS …

who was now … undeniably …

HERE.