Chasing Rainbows

The Mormon had disappeared. I hadn't heard from him in days. Calls went unanswered. Texts ignored. Finally, a 3am email seemed to stir something in him and I received a reply.

He warned me that this might happen. That a symptom of his Sexual Compulsion was to cut off. From everyone. That when "intimacy" got to be too much, he turned off. I, however, was reeling. I was caught in a free fall and I didn't know how to stop. I was a step short of going to his apartment and letting myself in and finding out what the fuck was going on. But I didn't. Why? I knew he was out there. I knew he was hearing me. He just wasn't responding. And wasn't there a part of me that was getting off on the drama of it all? Wasn't there that part of me that wanted him even more BECAUSE of the fact that he was pulling away? Didn't I need to win his love and attention? Surely, it couldn't be freely given and accepted at all times; otherwise, I wouldn't appreciate it.

But I wasn't sleeping. I wasn't eating. I was going to the gym a lot. I went to Crunch on 13th between University and Broadway. I had specifically chosen a gym in the city so that I would have an excuse to go into the city and not waste away in Brooklyn, disconnected.

Crunch had two punching bags in the front window. I would get there at 7am and I would wrap my hands, not putting on gloves, and I would hit the bags. I would pound them until my fingers cut. The cuts would widen and deepen. The blood would begin to seep through the wrap. But I kept on hitting. I hit for half an hour. And then I ran. I ran until I couldn't feel my legs anymore and I had no sense of time or place.

This went on for three days. Finally an email came.

And then a strained meeting in which a half-hearted apology was given.

And a distance had settled into his clear, icy blue eyes. He wasn't seeing me. He was somewhere I couldn't reach. And I walked away from that meeting convinced I wouldn't see him again.

But then the calls began again. And the texts. And the workday emails. And the storm had passed. Then another invitation to join him, once again, in Cold Spring for the weekend. And I, like a trained pup, jumped without blinking.

And as the train slowly made it's way along the Hudson I knew that everything was going to be alright. I knew that I needed to give the Mormon room from time-to-time. I knew that I had pushed too hard, asked for too much, been too intense, too needy. I had been too much myself. I needed to make room for him. More room.

And as I walked from the train station, up the hill, my thighs hurting from working out so much, around the corner, my boots crunching on the gravel driveway, into the garage, my heart pounding at the sight of his back to me, my eyes watering as he turned around and smiled a smile that forgave everything. He came over and picked me up in his bearlike arms, swung me around, whispered "I missed you" in my ear. And I accepted it all.

"Let's go for a ride," he said.

We dove into the truck, glad to be free of the world. There was no need to talk or think on the road. Just his arm around my shoulder as we drove higher and higher, up to Bear Mountain.

From seemingly out of nowhere, a storm cloud appeared and rolled over the mountain turning the world grey. Large drops pounded the windshield and the narrow road up became slick and black. The Mormon slowed down and drove carefully. I wasn't scared. I knew it would all be fine. And as the road twisted and turned it's way up, the sky began to clear. The new spring leaves on the trees, glistened and winked at us as he parked the truck. We waited a few moments for the rain the slowly subsiding rain to stop. And then we got out.

"I want to get my camera," he said and ran back to the truck.

I, mesmerized, walked to the edge of the mountain because there, in the sky, was a double rainbow. The top one -- bold and bright and strong -- loomed large over the Hudson valley. People around me gasped at its size and its splendor. The little one -- like a baby pony finding its legs -- directly below its mother not as strong but vivid and shimmering in the early evening light.

The Mormon appeared next to me and started taking pictures. I didn't need a picture. It was forever in my mind. There were rocks in front of us, stretching further out, closer to the rainbows. They were slick with water but I needed to walk out there. I needed to be closer to those beacons in the sky. I wanted to touch them. I carefully walked out onto the rocks. But the rainbows seemed to move further and further away. Finally I was out some two hundred feet from where I started and no closer to them. So I stood there and looked up at their beauty, letting them wash over me. They were began to fade as the evening sky began to wash away to dusk.

I turned and caught the Mormon snapping a picture and then turning away. Reluctantly, I made me way back up the rocks and to terra firma. The Mormon had wandered onto a path at the entrance to the woods. I was still lost in the beauty of the rainbows and wanted to be on my own for a while so I wandered over to a different path a few feet away.

I was about to enter the woods when a movement on a branch caught my attention. I walked closer to the bare tree and watched a caterpillar inch it's way across the wood, slow and steady. I was transfixed by its movement. So much so that I didn't notice the Mormon coming up behind me. He blew on my ear and I jumped.

"What are you doing?"

I pointed at the caterpillar and we both stared. It made its way so determined, as if nothing could stop it.

I wonder what it's thinking, I said.

"I wonder what it's doing," the Mormon replied.

And therein lay the difference between us.