It was only a partial eclipse, but it was enough to cast a spell of shadow across my afternoon walk back to the dorm. Near the end of my first year at Brandeis, we were in the midst of a celebrated annual eclipse – I looked it up, and it happened on May 10, 1994. I remember it distinctly; I was under the newly-leafed-out maple trees near Hassenfeld – my dorm building – when the event was happening, and while I noticed a slight dimming of the day, what I saw more vividly were the shadows of crescents on the path before me. It struck me how frightening such a phenomenon might have appeared to centuries of people before me. Knowing what was happening rendered it more intriguing than frightening, and I took a few photos of the shadows. Somewhere those photos are in an old shoe box, waiting to be excavated on a day when there’s time for such boredom.
(Turn around)
Every now and then
I get a little bit lonely
And you’re never coming ’round
It would be a year later when a thumping dance cover of ‘Total Eclipse of the Heart’ by Nicki French would take the gay scene by spring storm, and it formed the soundtrack to the adventures with the second man I ever kissed. That’s the memory at work here, and it’s fitting that an actual eclipse kicked it off.
(Turn around)
Every now and then
I get a little bit tired
Of listening to the sound of my tears
At the tail end of my sophomore year at Brandeis, I’d mostly given up on men before I even really started. The first guy who ever kissed me had proven to be more damaging than I realized at the time; his harrowing and haunting hold on me, no matter how much I disputed and denied it, was dangerously informing all the kisses that followed. And maybe I was a little more reckless than I should have been. Whatever the case, it was a warm spring afternoon as I waited for the commuter rail at Porter Square, which would take me back to my dorm room at Brandeis.
I don’t recall what I’d done in Boston that day, but I do remember the tall, blonde-haired gentleman who stood across from me in pleated olive pants (two hapless strikes in one bad pair of trousers). He’d noticed me too – I was keenly aware of such things – and I saw he held his gaze a little longer than necessary. In an age before Grinder and social media, this was how gay men met. It was a veiled world of codes and subtle cadences – entire histories and desires could be read in a few furtive glances, interest gleaned from the slightest nod or hesitation.
(Turn around)
Every now and then
I get a little bit nervous
That the best of all the years have gone by
After Tom, I wasn’t really looking for men, in spite of how I talked and carried myself. It was easier to be saucy and sordid than genuine and vulnerable. Safer too. When he watched me my gaze was anywhere other than back at him. Nobody played aloof better than me and already it felt less like playing and more like the life I was actively and desperately carving out for myself. With practiced sighs of boredom, I wanted to appear as though I wanted to be anywhere other than where I was – mostly people left you alone that way.
(Whenever I indulge in looking back, the closest I come to regret is in thinking of how disdainful I could be to the world, and how much I pushed myself to being alone when it was the last thing I really wanted.)
(Turn around)
Every now and then
I get a little bit terrified
And then I see the look in your eyes
We were both early for the train, and there were only a few other people around, so this went on for some time. Feeling his eyes on me was a different sensation than the usual notice I would garner from my sartorial arsenal. It wasn’t interest in a coat or a bag or a pair of shoes – it was interest in my person, in the physical shell of my body. I felt him size up my hair and face, my chest, the spread of my thighs as I sat on a rigid bench across from him. I felt him notice every motion of my hands, every shuffle of my feet. A few times I would pause and deliberately catch him staring to which he averted his eyes, pretending it wasn’t happening. Such games we once played, such silly wastes of time.
The advance of commuters was upon us, and more people filled the little waiting area. I shifted my backpack onto my lap as people squeezed onto the bench beside me. He continued to stare and study, drinking me up as I drank up his interest, until it was finally apparent what was happening. At last I looked into his eyes for a moment, holding on a little longer than almost any other man would have done for another man. He broke first, and smiled broadly before a quick chuckle that shook his shoulders slightly. I smiled back, but briefly, not quite willing, or, quite frankly, knowing, what to do next, other than keep my distance.
… A flashback of the metallic taint of blood on my lips mingled in memory with the razor-like sharpness of the movement of a grown-man’s stubble across my face …
(Turn around, bright eyes)
Every now and then I fall apart
(Turn around, bright eyes)
Every now and then
I fall apart
Pushing the memory of that first kiss from my mind, I let the smile leave my face and took out a book. It struck me that the man had nothing with him – not a bag or briefcase, not a coat or jacket – only the billowy pockets of his pleated pants, and perhaps one on the front of his white baggy button-down shirt. What brought him to Boston on such a day, what had he done to land him at Porter Square, and where might he be going? Despite the fear, despite the past, I was suddenly interested, piqued by his surreptitious engagement with the college-age young man I was then.
The rumbling of the commuter rail left us scrambling up to the platform, and I followed him at a distance – keeping him just far enough away to not appear overly-zealous. He sat near the front of the car, and lots of seats were available for the taking. I took one a few rows back, where I could see him still but he couldn’t see me. I would be in control this time – if this ended up being a time.
(Turn around)
Every now and then
I get a little bit restless
And I dream of something wild
He turned around to look at me, then beyond me, just once. And then I saw him take out a scrap of paper from his pocket, and a pen, and scribble something down.
The conductor called out Belmont, as the train tilted to its side – the memorable mark of Belmont in my mind – then we righted and resumed our journey. Next stop was Waverley, then Waltham, and as we neared the Brandeis/Roberts stop I wondered if this was all in my mind. I would have to walk by the man on my way out, and my brain was scrambling how to play it – and whether to bother playing it at all. Equally enchanted and exhausted by how humans seemed to have to work to connect, I felt a flash of utter defeat and hopelessness, and a relief at a life of solitude. And then something came over me as I slung my backpack over my shoulder and marched down the aisle.
And I need you now tonight
And I need you more than ever
And if you only hold me tight
We’ll be holding on forever
And we’ll only be making it right
‘Cause we’ll never be wrong
I can’t describe what was happening as I walked toward the exit before the train had even come to its Brandeis/Roberts stop – whether it was a surge of adrenaline as I felt my heart thumping in my chest, or a last grasp at what might be something romantic. He was directly to my right, sitting by himself in a double-seat, and he looked up at me – the first time he would ever look up at me given his height – and I was about to let it all go when my body abruptly stopped. I turned to face him, and in one smooth, deft motion I unfurled the palm of my hand, into which he placed the piece of paper with his phone number on it. Closing my hand around it, I continued to the exit without saying a word. All these years later, it’s still probably the smoothest, scariest, and best-executed move of any of my romantic endeavors.
Clutching it madly, I walked away from the train platform without looking up at any of the passing windows, and only when it was gone entirely from view did I hurriedly open it up and gaze down upon his name and number.
Together we can take it to the end of the line
Your love is like a shadow on me all of the time (all of the time)
I don’t know what to do and I’m always in the dark
We’re living in a powder keg and giving off sparks
I really need you tonight
Forever’s gonna start tonight
(Forever’s gonna start tonight)
Once upon a time I was falling in love
But now I’m only falling apart
There’s nothing I can do
A total eclipse of the heart
Did I call him? That’s a story for another post, as this has gone entirely more moody than a Saturday blog post should ever be. I promise to tell the rest when the dander isn’t up…
