Happy birthday, David!

In honor of his birthday today. Just glimpses, fragments.

A glimpse:
— David, bandana round head, no shirt on, shorts, hot bod with big sculpted arms … standing in his living room and repeatedly punching a helium balloon – which was tethered on a string – attached to something immovable – and David kept punching it like a punching bag, saying over and over – as though the helium balloon was giving him some lip: “Whose fuckin’ birthday is it? Huh? HUH? WHOSE FUCKIN’ BIRTHDAY IS IT?”

— “And you know the courtesans will burn.”

— “I looove the feelin’ of that ROCK in my NOSE in the MORNIN’ – BING!!!”

— The plate dance. It has to be seen to be believed.

— “I’m all talk no action!”

— David standing in the parking lot at Ed Debevacs in Chicago and mooning the passing cars

— Carving pumpkins at David and Maria’s apartment. It was me, Mitchell, Jackie, David, Maria, and Bobby. Jackie had some problems while carving. She had some good ideas … but then – disaster – she cut out too much and the eye-hole caved into into the lid-top. This was no good. Jackie got upset. David pretended to scorn her horrible pumpkin carving capabilities and started shouting at her, making it into one word: “LIDEYE – LIDEYE – LIDEYE!” I kind of can’t put into words WHY this was so funny … but we still say, on occasion, “lideye” whenever we are talking about any kind of disaster. “Lideye, lideye.”

— Mitchell and David, pretending to be announcers at the Tony Awards: “Ladies and gentlemen …………………………….. CHITA.” Which then morphed into: “A womannnnnnnn … a performer … a singer … a dancer ………… a pudendum extraordinaire ……….. CHITA.” Seriously. It makes total sense. The funny thing was that Maria, Jackie and I had left the apartment to … go shopping? Do errands? We left Mitchell and David there, and they were relatively normal – we came back half an hour later… and THAT was what they were doing when we walked back in.

— Pictionary on Saturdays at David and Maria’s. Those were the wildest games EVER. Mitchell, Jackie and I looked at David and Maria’s apartment on Greenview as a total haven. They had big thick water glasses, and nice china. There was always something yummy that Maria had cooked. Everything was cozy and beautiful. There was also the famous couch. You walked into that apartment – and maybe James Taylor was playing – or Marc Cohn – or Des’ree – and Maria had made a pot of coffee, and the light outside was wintry and chill – and you just felt safe, and happy to be there. The two of them have always created such spaces. It’s a joint effort. You walk into their house – and you just sink into the couch thinking, “Ahhhhhhhhh”.

— M. (one of the many M. posts here) called me at David and Maria’s to ask me out. This was way at the beginning, I think I had gone out with him one or two times, and I was out of my mind about him. My friends will remember it well. I have no idea why this night, of all nights, stays so vivid in my mind – it’s not even a big deal – but David and I still laugh about it. After the crazy cosmic-tumbler night – and then meeting him again months later when he finally got my phone number. And I was much younger then – meaning: hopeful, positive, etc. – I would never be this hopeful now, that’s what time does – so I was blabbing about M. to eeeeeeeeeeeveryone. M. tracked me down at David and Maria’s. I was playing Pictionary – hooooooooping he would call. Hoping so hard that it actually was unpleasant. That was how much I was into him. David LOVES stuff like this and lives it vicariously. M. called – and we spoke, and made plans to meet at Southport Lanes. Meanwhile, David and Brian were both screaming in the background, all testosterone – and M. said, tentatively, “Who are they?” I hung up the phone and scurried about the apartment like a crazy person, putting on makeup, involving everyone there in my love life. David and Brian drove me to Southport Lanes so I could meet M. David and Brian actually escorted me into the bowling lanes, my two big brothers I never had. M. wasn’t there yet (thankfully – although i still think it would have been hilarious to see how he would have handled it). For some reason, David and I still talk about that night. And Brian – (who was already dating the girl he would end up marrying a couple years later – they now have 3 kids) – who didn’t know me all that well had the impression that my life was ALWAYS as crazy as it was that summer. Anyway – David’s total support and non-judgment of me during the entire M. relationship – which went on for YEARS – has always meant the world to me. And I still laugh when I think of the three of us parading our way through those old-time bowling lanes, me in my derby, the two of them – big guys, football players – escorting me to my crazy date … beautiful.

— David and I met when I was 16. He was 19.

— During a show once in college – he came up through a trap door into the middle of a scene that he wasn’t a part of. During a performance. He did it on a dare. Just stood there grinning at the other cast members who were stunned into baffled and terrified silence, like … “Uhm … what the hell are you doing here?” He got into trouble but he didn’t care.

— Once at a party in college – at around 5 am – David and I wrote down a vow that we would always be friends, and there was even a pricking-of-the-finger thing that happened – I still have that vow. With an ancient blood-stain on the piece of looseleaf.

— Every day with David is a journey. I see him once every couple of weeks – and he is always living, learning, growing, struggling. He is one of my dearest and most cherished friends. He knows how to listen.

— David, Maria and I were all together on October 27, 2004. It’s a memory that will remain vivid for me forever.

— Another vivid memory: David, Maria, Me, Mitchell and Jackie all going to see James Taylor the last summer we were all together in Chicago. David and Maria were moving to New York in September. I have pictures of that night – Taylor played outside, it was a glowing summer twilight … and we took all these pictures in the parking lot – that totally capture the beautiful vibe not only of our collective friendship – but of that particular moment in time – because it was July, and everything was about to change … some good change, some horrible … and it was coming … and coming quick. In that parking lot, the sunset glow on our laughing faces, we tiptoed on the precipice. A magical night – made no less magical because so much sadness followed.

— I stood up in the Barnes & Noble on Diversey, in Chicago. I had been sitting in the same position for a couple of hours, so when I stood up, I had no feeling in my foot. My ankle twisted beneath me and I collapsed onto the floor, coffee flying up out of my cup. Employees rushed over. This is before we all had cell phones. I didn’t know what to do – One look at my ankle – and how huge it got – it was like a blowfish – terrified me. I couldn’t walk. I also was unemployed and had no health insurance. The Barnes & Noble employees helped me over to the payphone – and I couldn’t think of what to do. So I called David. “David??? Uhm …. my ankle is …. I really hurt myself ….” You could HEAR the focus in his voice immediately. He’s like a fireman that way. “Where are you. I’m coming to get you.” He arrived 10 minutes later, with Mitchell. By that point my ankle was so huge I was afraid to take my shoe off. He got me into his car, I wasn’t hysterical or anything like that – just kind of pissed at myself. Mitchell and I lived on the third-floor of an apartment building. Once in the lobby, supported by both my friends, I stared up the stairs silently. Thinking, “Okay. Not sure how I’m gonna get up to my floor.” Before I even put one foot on the first stair, David scooped me up in his arms, as though I weighed nothing, and carried me all the way up to the apartment. Even to this day I get a little choked up remembering his take-charge manner.

— “In you In you In you In you In you” …

— David and I spent a year working on the play Summer and Smoke with our mentor. It was one of the most intense and awesome acting experiences I have ever had. And nobody, except the people in that class, saw our work. I talk about it a bit here. He’s an amazing actor and working on that play, in particular, with him – was truly one of the greatest gifts of my life. It was a time of major soul-growth for me, and in many ways, Alma Winemiller led the way. Tough stuff. But the play kept me anchored. I kept a detailed journal of the whole process – which I’ve thought of posting here. Acting with David is one of those things where it never feels like acting. It’s real. You listen, you talk – he’s unpredictable, I’m unpredictable – it’s not LITERAL … It’s marvelous and exciting. I STILL would love to do that play with him. Even if only 20 people saw it.

— The relationship that he and Mitchell have is truly hysterical. They are like Long Lost Brothers, seriously. Sometimes they get so out of control that you almost want to say, “Boys. Time for bed.”

— Oh God, and then there was that morning after the craziest college party ever (all my college friends will know EXACTLY the one I am talking about) – and it was a “formal” party, so we all were dressed to the nines. David wore a tux. I wore a black lace flapper dress. We all ended up sleeping over the house, but of course nobody had pajamas or anything, so we all slept in our formal clothes: people lying in pull-out couches here and there, dressed in tuxedos and gowns. Tthen we woke up the next morning – and a core group of us – Mitchell, Jackie, David – still dressed like that – went out to breakfast at a local diner – and then drove to the Showcase to see Seventh Sign. David looked like a gigolo. His bowtie was bright red, he had loosened his white shirt, opened the collar – but he kept the bowtie on like a Chippendale – he had on mirrored sunglasses – I could not even look at him without bursting into laughter – and we all walked into the Showcase Cinema for a matinee movie dressed in last night’s formal wear …

— He talked to me until my train came.

— “Clip it or cloak it, Chloe.”

— He ran into M. at an audition for something. It was a couple of years into my relationship with M. – so David knew WAY too much about him because I was a blabber-mouth and found M. to be the most fascinating person ever born of woman on this planet. So. M. walked into the waiting room, signed in – and David observed his behavior for a while – like a spy – it was like he was watching a rare bird in his natural habitat. So finally David went over and said, “Hi … I’m David …” M., awkward at all times, kind of winced at David – like: “Oh God. What did I do and why don’t I remember it?” David said, “Yeah … we’ve met once or twice before – we have a friend in common …. Sheila.” At the sound of my name – M. visibly relaxed – his whole tense demeanor changed, it was like this sudden softness and fondness came over his face – David saw the whole thing (and of course I made him do an imitation of the facial expressions a gazillion times. “Do it again.”) – and – awkwardly – M. said, “Sheila? Yeah …. yeah … Sheila …. She’s ….” (Long agonizing pause, as he tried to think of what to say. His heart was full but his mind was a blank.) Then out came: “She’s a good girl.” Okay – so if you don’t know me or him, this might not sound very amusing – but … to those of you who DO know M., and you know me – and you know us together, you will know how ridiculous this moment is. What are you SAYING, man? “Yeah … yeah … she’s … she’s a good girl.” Like who says that??? A grandfather maybe, but not a crazy boyfriend! He was a tough gruff kind of guy, completely insane, brilliant, funny, a jock – and … well. He truly had feelings for me – but instead of saying it in a normal way, like, “Oh, you know Sheila? Yeah, she’s great!” or whatever … he fumbled for words, said my name a couple of times (pointlessly)… and then summed it all up with, “She’s a good girl.” And the second it came out – David said he saw the mortification flicker through M.’s eyes – I’m laughing out loud – like he KNEW: “Oh shit. Did I just refer to her as a ‘good girl’? Did I just say, ‘Sheila … she’s a good girl’ to one of her best friends? Who is a guy? Can a hole open up in the ground right now for me??” But funny thing: the stories about M. were always kind of wild, involving pool halls, and towed cars, and crawling thru windows, etc. – and my friends had to kind of just let go and say, “Okay – well, Sheila knows what she’s doing … ” But after that moment with M. – the shy awkward wince, the “she’s a good girl”, etc. (because the thing about it is, and I know I wasn’t even there – but M. MEANT it!! He meant it! He said exACTLY what he meant – it just came out in a goofiness beyond belief. But he spoke the truth.) – anyway, in that moment, David, with his intuition, completely got it. Totally saw what I saw. The wince in the eyes behind the wild behavior. It was important to me that David “get it”. It always is, I guess.

— The sun hurt my eyes that day. We sat outside at Cafe Avanti. I was so heartsick that I had become physically sick. It was right after this. I couldn’t eat, sleep. I called in sick to work. It was one of the worst and loneliest days of my life. David came and got me and we spent the day drinking coffee, talking. I remember hunching over the table, protectively, nibbling on toast, or whatever, no taste buds, nothing. Heartsick. And at one point, he said these words: “Just because something is meant to be, Sheila, doesn’t mean that it will be.” Hard to hear. It’s STILL hard to hear. But in raw moments like that … his big strong presence was (is) healing.

— “I ain’t proud of it mind you…but I ain’t above it neither!”

— He’s one of my “ideal readers”. By that I mean – I feel totally comfortable showing him first drafts of things. Not only do I feel comfortable – but his input has always been invaluable. It’s not about praise – it’s that sometimes he has this way of seeing what I’m TRYING to say before I even can see it … He’s a deep reader. His insights have helped me figure out what I’m trying to express.

— He helps me to be soft. I can be a pretty hard and rigid person. Talking with him helps me to keep open, stay receptive … I fight him sometimes, I insist on my rigidity, I insist … but it is never a bad thing to question, to listen, to be open to others. David helps me with that.

He has a way of expressing things – about me, and my life – that helps me remember who I am. Like this. He gives me back parts of myself that I thought I had lost along the way.

So David:

Whose fuckin’ birthday is it?

Yours, my dear friend.

Below: a related diary entry from college.

DECEMBER 29
Susan had a party. At first I didn’t want to go. Haven’t been feeling very rowdy or social lately. But I went. All the way up to Pawtucket. I think it was so nice of her to ask me. I like her a lot. She has the cutest place. Fell totally in love. It was Mitchell, Jackie, David W., David S., Tony, a guy named Russell, Susan and me.

Cheeses galore, veggies, crackers, bread, Brie, wine.

Great music. Looked at Edwin Drood slides.

Then -on a whim – we all bundled up and went bowling. And had THE BEST TIME. We went to this Bowlarama in scary Pawtucket. Someone was murdered in Pawtucket this very morning. It’s a tough place.

Let me paint the picture for you. I cannot believe that we were not mugged.

It was League night. There were also a lot of tough teenagers, being sullen and hostile. There’s nothing more hostile than a teenager from Pawtucket. Then, the 8 of us arrive. Theatre geeks. Loud. Flamboyant. And INTO bowling, no matter how much we sucked.

Susan – in a bright red dress with little black dogs over it, and shiny black spandex tights. She got gutter ball after gutter ball after gutter ball. It was extremely funny.

We are not normal people. We don’t just bowl. We don’t just do anything. We throw our hearts into it. After every spin, there would be a production number of some kind. Screams. Hugs. Sobs. (Jackie cried once.) Susan kept standing up there, stock still, for at least a minute, after her 10th straight gutter ball. She was struck dumb. Immovable. Susan finally got a spare, and the resulting celebration – she had a FIT. David W. raced up there to whirl her around.

Jackie – wearing silky grey pants, and a sweater. Glamorous as always. Offhandedly tossing the ball into the lane. Her pattern? Her first try? gutter. Second try? she would knock down about 8. And her last try? Gutter. She had no set up, no carry thru. She just stood up there and whipped the ball down wildly. And she would get really sullen after gutter balls. Didn’t want to talk about it, or discuss it. She also cried for real when she got a spare.

Me – I had my hair pulled back. I had on huge hoop earrings, a silky white shirt, tight jeans. My setup would be: I would shake my ass in everyone’s face and then I would very very seductively toss the ball down the lane. Such a jackass. And after all that, I would basically seductively toss the ball straight into the gutter. It took me 2 strings to warm up. I, too, got frustrated after gutters and would stomp back to my seat. Quite bratty. I also flirted madly with the guy in charge. He loved me and came over to keep score for me and Jackie. I strolled around like I owned the place.

Mitchell – totally in black, with a Joan Crawford-like jacket with shoulder pads bigger than mine. He is so handsome. It kills me. Especially with his hair short. His face is fantastic. It makes me laugh. He is also a FUNNY bowler. I now want to go bowling with him every day. Cigarette hanging out of his mouth, seriously tallying up the scores, barking funny comments out of the side of his mouth. He is a serious bowler too. He would do many wild Carlton Fisk-like gesticulations to try to change the direction of the ball. Then, he’d invariably realize how ridiculous he looked, glance around to see if anyone had noticed. And of course we ALL had noticed, because we were all looking at him. We laughed explosively. “I was trying to make it turn,” Mitchell would say … like he really had to explain.

David S – Pretty normal. (Looking, anyway.)

Russell – also pretty normal as a bowler. These two seemed tame to me.

And then … there was:

Tony. Tony. Tony. Okay. Tony had on a white tuxedo shirt, black tuxedo pants with a black satin stripe down the side, matching purple and blue paisley cummerbund and bowtie, and then – a shimmering purple velvety velour smoking jacket with black satin lapels. And bowling shoes. I didn’t even realize how hilarious he looked until halfway thru our time there. They had a bar and Tony went up and ordered us all beers, and he came back with a loaded-down tray, and in the blazer, and tuxedo pants, he looked like a bizarre Bowlarama waiter.

God, I love my friends. “We might be laughing a bit too loud … but that never hurt no one…”

Tony was a wild bowler. Sometimes right on the money, and sometimes he would whip it, with total conviction, right into the gutter. He took none of it seriously. He would laugh after every gutter ball. Hysterically. Something about gutter balls (other people’s gutter balls) are extremely funny. So there we all were, holding our beers, and pointing at Tony, laughing uproariously.

Then – David W. What a creature. What a piece of work. He is the most riotous person I know. First of all, he looked like a guido from hell: gold chains, flashy open shirt, pleated pants … I just cannot laugh hard enough to satisfy how funny he is. He would walk up there ultra-confident and arrogant, with that funny deadpan TOTALLY serious look on his face, picking up a ball jauntily as though he were Mr. Pro, doing this magnificent sweeping setup, sliding to his knees as he let the ball go, and then the ball would careen right into the gutter. It happened to him so many times. And his face! It was all Mr. Macho! Yeah, I meant to do that … big deal … When he would get a strike or a spare, he would do a mad Solid Gold dancer dance routine, or he would whirl around to face us, leaping and bounding, like it was the World Series. He busted up Susan mercilessly about her gutter balls, making fun of her, and then he would go up there and immediately get one himself. Every time the two of us would end up up there together, he would try to distract me. “Hey baby … what are you doin’ later? How you doin’, baby? Come here often??”

We were two very noisy lanes, and the League kept giving us dirty looks. We had become their enemies.

The punks next to us were 15-year-old tough guys … and they just did not know what to do with David W. They could not take their eyes off of him. They could not believe what they were seeing. They were dumbfounded.

David was dressed like a Cranston guido, with the pinkie rings, and the open shirt – he looked like one of them – but he was behaving like a MANIAC. At one point, he was DISCO dancing at the end of his lane as though he were an extra in Saturday Night Fever.

So these kids were gaping at him, literally slack-jawed, and they kept muttering to each other, “Faggot. That guy is such a faggot. Look at that guy. What a fag.” It was all “fag fag fag fag”. That word makes me see red.

The funniest thing, though, is that David is the most heterosexual guy in our group – and they called HIM a “fag”! Meanwhile, there was Tony strolling around in purple velour and paisley, and Mitchell strolling around in shoulder pads and penny loafers. But no. DAVID is the one who gets picked on. Genius!

After they left, I told Mitchell and David what had gone on, how they had kept calling David a “fag”. Mitchell automatically assumed (poor thing) that the dudes had been harassing him. For some reason, he has been harassed constantly this year. It makes me see red. But I said, reassuringly, “No! They were calling David a fag!”

And the three of us exploded. David just LOVED it. “Me?? I love it!”

It was just so ironic. Tony sashays by in velour, speaking in a faux British accent, and the kids don’t say a word.

Tonight there was a roaring wind, and shaggy clouds in the night sky, with bright crystal-clear starry sky, in all the rifts between the clouds … a moon that seems to half-fade into darkness. I loved the sky tonight. All of us went outside to pile into cars to go bowling, and we had to stop, and stare up at the sky. It demanded our attention. Susan was so cute, and Parisian, in her black coat, red scarf, and black beret, gasping up at the sky in admiration and awe. It was shiveringly cold. Because of the amazingly strong wind, and all of those clouds … it’s a very uncanny sight to see white clouds at night. It was a spectacle. And the clouds seemed low to me … torn apart, and hurrying by … and behind them, actually overwhelming them, was the vast brilliant wintry cosmos.

We all were struck quite dumb by it, there on the freezing scary Pawtucket sidewalk.

Years Later: backstage at the worst show ever. We cared more about our Uno game than our performances.

Happy birthday, dear dear David.