warm welcomes

One of the greatest things about New Orleans is that if you leave for a few days or for a few years, when you come back people say "welcome home". Everybody is from someplace else, but that's what New Orleans is to them and that's what it will always feel like to me.

circles

I'm on my way back to Las Vegas for a few days for business. I have some things I need to sort out, some work I need to catch up on and I've put it off for as long as I could. I'm photographing familiar models for a project that I've had in mind for a while now and working on transitioning into the next stage of my career, which is something I feel is important for me right now.

I was in a holding pattern for a while before all of my recent concerns made me change course. It was one of those moments in life where you can't make a decision because none of the options were more desirable than the others, nothing seemed like a step forward, more like a lateral move or a move away from what I wanted, but toward what I thought I should be doing.

Then something desirable came along and changed everything...

I've had several discussions with people lately about signs, particularly how I don't believe in them and think they are reserved for people with a faith in fate or divine forces that I don't possess. However, even I have to say that there's been enough doors opening at just the right moment lately to make me at least reluctant to look a gift horse in the mouth if there are such things as 'signs'.

If you asked me to paint my night last night, this is what I'd paint

The longest day

I dressed and looked out the window. The dark clouds had lingered long enough that I shouldn't have been surprised when they opened up. Eight blocks to the streetcar; I would still do it as long as the rain let up just a little.

I picked out music, arranged a play list as I laced my shoes, buttoned my shirt, slipped my keys and wallet into my pockets. I watched myself in the full length mirror as I put the ear buds into my ears, behind my long, dark hair.

The weekend before. the doctor had invited me out to dinner and I'd been hoping I'd get the biopsy results (he said he might give them personally if they came in sooner than expected). I've always enjoyed his company though, having known him personally, so either way, it'd be nice to spend time in a different atmosphere than the insular one that I keep to so frequently. When we were finished, he invited me to his house to show me the new line of skin products he had developed, which he was very proud of. As I told him it was time to say goodnight, he made his move. He tried to kiss me and when I backed away, he told me it was alright and then he tried again.

I thought about about what signs I might have given him that this was alright. Had I eluded to something that would lead him to believe that I was interested? I'd been to his house before with his boyfriend, with my ex wife and certainly under circumstances that were less complicated personally and medically.

As I was leaving the house, he made mention of my shirt. It was a white button down that I wear often. "Cute" he said at he tugged at the snaps over the breast pockets. He asked if this would mean that I'd be afraid of him after and I'd told him no. I didn't make any promises about being comfortable though.

The last week I've been considering all of this. The test results, the doctor that would be giving them to me, what both of it meant and what I needed to do about all of it. I tried to remain calm in the face of all of it and I think I was a success for the most part, at least outwardly. Inwardly I felt it affecting my patience. I tried to tell a few people but it came out as a joke with a dark undertone more than anything.

I walked down the stairs, grabbed my umbrella and walked out into the sprinkling rain. I walked the eight blocks to the streetcar and noticed my reflection in the window of the jewelry shop nearby; I was wearing the same shirt the doctor had complimented me on and I suddenly wished that I wasn't. I'd chosen it for it's accessibility for the tattoo I'd planned on getting later in the day. I lamented it's choice as I climbed the streetcar and Clint Mansell's "Together we will live forever" came to life in my headset.

I took my seat halfway down the line, the music calming me, bringing me peace. I sat and watched trees and houses pass by outside of my windows. I thought of the last few things that people had said to me and noticed the absence of a few things I'd hoped to hear. They weren't all related to where I was going or what I was doing, they were just the last distractions I let go of as I lost myself in the music, in the scenery of New Orleans, in the clicking of the rails as we stopped and started, the chime of the little bell and the sound of the streetcar steps made when folding up and down as new people got on and others got off.

I got lost in it all and was at Napoleon avenue before I knew it. I walked the few blocks to the tall office building where the doctor waited and I tucked my umbrella into a plastic sleeve when I got inside the lobby. I pressed the button, rode the few floors up by myself, looking into my own reflection in the brassy mirrored doors in front of me. When they parted, I went inside and wrote down my name, took the key for the bathroom but only made it to the fountain where I couldn't get seem to get enough of the cold water that arched it's way through the air to my lips.

I went back into the waiting room and I was called before I could be seated. I left the key at the counter as the woman behind the glass smiled at me in a way that seemed out of character. I was asked to take a seat on the exam table and I did, palms sweating a little;one ear bud still piping music into my ear as I looked out at the New Orleans skyline from a view over the tops of houses and trees on Napoleon ave. I sat, quietly for some time, eying the things in the room and then finally the doctor came in with the results and I stopped the music.

He smiled as though nothing had happened and so did I. He read out loud that the biopsy had come back negative of what he suspected and the other areas that he had been concerned about would be treated with some form of topical chemo which would give them a better idea if or how they needed to be further treated before he continued the invasive, scarring treatment they had started. I was out of the office in a matter of moments, a hug before parting and the woman at the desk told me that the visit was free of charge for the day.

I made my way out and called my tattoo artist, gave him an idea as to where to meet me and he did. I called my mother on the walk there and my father as well. I shot off a few text messages and was relieved that the most threatening of the list of concerns had been stricken from the list. I carried with me an envelope of variations and paraphrasing of a Kurt Vonnegut quote that I wanted tattooed on the inside of my arm and after the news, I knew which one it would be. I slide it from the envelope and an hour later the sentiment was etched into my skin:

"Everything is Beautiful"

My new tattoo

So it goes

Today I'm going in for my results for the biopsies. I'm having a little trouble sleeping, which isn't unusual for me and should be expected given the circumstances.

Directly following the appointment, I'm going to go get some tattoo work down. I'm getting a Kurt Vonnegut tattoo on my bicep from his book Slaughterhouse Five. The original quote refers to the epitaph that the character Billy Pilgrim has picked out (borrowed) for himself : “Everything was beautiful, and nothing hurt”.

I'm on the fence about the tense I should use and if I should use the complete quote. I'm thinking also of having simply "Everything is beautiful" inscribed. I suppose I'll have a greater inclination when I get my results back. I'll post photos either way. All input is welcome.

Today will be a strange day for me. I don't expect to be myself and I'll apologize in advance if I'm not. I think I'm a pretty open person and that I'm usually pretty available to friends and family, but every now and then you just need a moment to yourself. If I take that moment today, I hope you'll understand.

I need more sundays like this

M. played the piano while K. and I watched, entranced as her fingers made their way effortlessly across the keys. She apologized for playing sloppily, blaming the champagne and the lack of recent practice, but all we saw was perfection. When she mentioned that she'd been in a metal band, we listened to recordings of that, impressed by her talent there as well.

I sat nearby, my eye's drifting between my two beautiful friends appreciating their similarities and their differences. I thought about the men in both of their lives that had recently caused them grief and labeled those men fools in my head.

The daytime adventure had drawn to a close and it was time to catch the streetcar back. K. and I walked the few blocks to the place where it would stop and she commented on the stars, on how she used to know the names of all of them. It made me adore her just a little more; this admission, this little insight into who she was when she was younger. There were no benches at the stop so she reclined on the sidewalk, her black dress carefully laid beneath her, her pale skin shinning from the heat of the night, a bright yellow flower in her hair. She talked about the moon and it took great effort to turn away from her to appreciate it.

When the streetcar finally came we revelled in the breeze that came in through the open windows, reversing the seats in front of us so we could stretch our legs out in front of us. The lights flickered as the guide wires above us changed lines when we took corners and those were our favorite moments. Finally we reached Canal street, which was the end of the line.

"Want to take it all the way around again, just for the hell of it?" she asked.

Less than three minutes

I excused myself for a moment after showing the amazingly sweet message that a friend had sent me to Jenny and I walked out into the streets. It was hot and sticky, but I needed a moment alone and so I cut a path through the New Orleans night with the sentiments I'd just read making my eyes a little glassy.

I passed the cathedral on my way around the block, but I didn't look up, I looked at my shoes, at the well-worn, uneven stones beneath my feet and I listened to the noise fade a little behind me. A taxi rounded the corner without stopping for the sign and so I paused on the street corner and lifted my eyes past the driver and up at the windows that were lit. For a moment I imagined a new life for myself on the other side of one of them and then continued back to where I'd started.

I came back to the bar and sat down where my bottled water was still waiting, dripping onto the copper top of the long bar. I took a drink of it, wiped away the condensation and rolled the bottle across the back of my neck for a moment. I smiled a little at Jenny and rejoined the conversation, but my mind wandered back to a single, simple, beautiful line that had been added as post-script to the message..."I know that waiting sucks, I will make it a point to wait with you.". I smiled because it was true on all counts.