Remembering Dan

The fear of missed opportunities has finally dawned on me. I have been dedicating myself to my writing, a summer job helping children learn to read, and slowly getting back into running. Last night I discovered from Facebook that an old friend of mine passed away. How he died I do not know. About a month ago I learned that a boy, who grew up on the same block as me, died of cancer. Both these guys were my age. It’s unsettling to know both are gone. But Dan, whose death I learned about last night, played a more significant role in my life. He was my first boyfriend.

My mom/summer roommate told me she recently checked a list of people from her high school graduating class who have died, and the list went on and on. I can see how sobering scrolling down that list would be, but my mom is almost 71. I just turned 35. Perhaps this sounds naïve, but people my age shouldn’t be dying.

Last night, while picking up my race number at the Hawaiian Festival in Vancouver, Washington, I was so touched by the feeling of ohana (family). Islanders show so much love and support for each other, to both newcomers like me and old pals. I walked around, looked at jewelry for sale, ate shave ice with banana, cherry, and coconut flavoring, watched women dance hula onstage, and talked to warm, friendly people. A big fan of the “It takes a village” mentality, I realized it’s this kind of warmth and community I have been deprived of lately. I think because I am not the most socially proactive person (at least not right now), it would serve me well to be adopted into an inviting community. Then maybe I can shed some Haole (non-Hawaiian) cultural traits, like the selfishness and the divisive hate that is rampant in this country.

Anyway, I decided last night to reach out to some people. I messaged a few folks on Facebook and searched for Dan. I had not seen Dan for about nine years, but some memories of him had been flitting through my mind lately. Then I saw “Remembering” above his name.

I couldn’t sleep after that. I read Dan’s obituary, which told me everything I already knew. He was curious, kind, intelligent, all traits that were apparent when first meeting him. I tried to recall some details about him, like someone desperately trying to hold a hand that was slipping from my grasp. I lay awake all night thinking about him.

A page from my scrapbook from 15 years ago. The decorations are random.

I met Dan at a Dave Eggers reading at the First Unitarian Church in Portland when we were both 19. I showed up thirty minutes before the reading, taking my place right next to Dan in line. I asked a woman what the M on her necklace stood for and she said “Michelle.” I said, “I’m Meriwether. I should get an M necklace too, because, have you ever noticed, the coolest people all have M names?” That’s when Dan stuck his hand out for me to shake. “And I’m Mark.” I laughed and then laughed again when he admitted, “Actually, I’m Dan. I just didn’t want to feel left out.” He told Michelle and me that he had been in line for six hours because he wanted to be first. I thought this was strange and hilarious because Michelle and I stood behind him in line and we had only arrived thirty minutes before the doors were opened. Most people came 5 or 10 minutes before the reading. When I asked him what he had been doing for six hours, he said, “Reading,” and held up his book. I admired his dedication to literary culture and his ability to focus on a book for six hours, both rare qualities. We sat next to each other during the reading and talked about books afterward. Then he asked, “Can I call you sometime?”

He called and said he wanted to “do something arbitrary, like coffee.” I had never heard arbitrary used in reference to coffee. I was impressed by his vocabulary. He suggested we meet at Coffee Time, a restaurant in Northwest Portland that I had never been to.

I didn’t realize this, but Coffee Time had several adjoining rooms. I arrived on time, sat in the front, and read my book. Dan arrived early, sat in one of the back rooms, and read his book. We both sat there reading our books, oblivious to the other’s presence in the next room, each thinking the other had stood us up. Two hours later, when I looked up from my book, I noticed Dan standing there, just looking at me. I yelled at him, “Late!” to which he calmly responded, “No, actually I was early. I’ve been in the back.” He sat down across from me, looking very sad. I was irritated with him for not finding me earlier, for just assuming I had stood him up when we had made plans to meet just a few hours earlier on the phone. (I think this was before cell phones.) I didn’t think I wanted to see him again, but then we started talking about books and I changed my mind. I discovered that Dan liked the same authors as me. In particular, Jonathan Lethem and Jose Saramago.

Dan was one of the most well-read people I ever met. He introduced me to Yukio Mishima, Haruki Murakami, Victor Pelevin, and Mikhail Bulgakov. Our taste in literature was similar, but we often disagreed about films. I loved "Ghost Dog," which he said was horrible because “rappers can’t act,” a statement I found offensive. My favorite film at the time was “When Harry Met Sally,” which he kindly agreed to watch with me on New Year’s Eve, 2002, even though he didn’t glean as much pleasure from that film as I did.

At 19, I had no idea what to make of “Secretary,” a movie about a woman who willingly chooses to be subjugated and beaten for pleasure by her boss. My feminist identity hadn’t been fully developed. Still, I wasn’t wild about the film. Dan loved it.

We saw “Punch Drunk Love” and during the scene when the characters get into a car accident and Emily Watson’s character is injured, Dan grabbed my hand and held it for the rest of the film. I took that to mean he had been imagining me as the Emily Watson character and didn’t want any harm to come to me. I felt that he loved me long before he ever said it. I could see a twinkle in his eyes and a tenderness that could only be interpreted as love.

For years I’ve looked for that same twinkle in other men’s eyes. The last two men who said they loved me had cold, unemotional eyes, so I took them for green card hunters and told them I didn’t believe them. With Dan there was no doubt that he loved me. Dan had a huge capacity for love. He would people-watch and empathize with the pain and unhappiness he imagined complete strangers were going through. He told me about a lesbian couple he knew and how he found it sad that they were afraid to show affection in public.

I was an aspiring novelist and told Dan that my reward for finishing my novel would be a red leather jacket. He took that to mean he should buy me a red leather jacket, a gift that took me by total surprise. The idea had been that I would by it for myself to celebrate my greatest accomplishment, but it was such a beautiful jacket. It was a dark red and it fit me perfectly, so I didn’t say anything about his gift infringing on my independence.

He could be moody, competitive, and classist. I remember one time he inquired about my family, “What do you people eat, canned food?” I don’t think he was trying to insult me or my family. He was just oblivious as to how class-conscious I was, and the class shame felt by those who didn’t come from backgrounds as privileged as his. I’m sure I made unintentionally hurtful comments as well, but I can’t remember what they were.

Dan grew distant. Instead of talking about books, a subject we saw eye-to-eye on, he talked a lot about court cases and computers. He decided I wasn’t knowledgeable enough in these areas and broke up with me for that reason. It was heartbreaking. His love for me dwindled as my love for him grew.

For a long time I missed his cologne (I wish I could remember what line it was) We went out one more time years later and discovered we had the same favorite beer, Black Butte Porter, but the connection we had before couldn’t be restored.

The most brilliant film I’ve seen in ages is “First Reformed,” starring Ethan Hawke. It’s an important film about a priest who wants to be spiritual, but he is too wrapped up in the world and all its problems. The struggle of the characters reminded me of Dan and how sometimes the world was too much for him. When Dan talked about the Holocaust, he appeared to be enduring real pain. He said he didn’t care for the film, “The Pianist,” because Roman Polanski did not make the Holocaust look as terrifying as it really was. I told him that’s how I felt about “Life is Beautiful,” but honestly, I found “The Pianist” to be adequately terrifying and heartbreaking. I suppose Dan’s imagination for the scope of terror was broader than mine. I wish Dan could see “First Reformed.” I don’t know if he would have liked it, since we disagreed about a lot of films, but I have a feeling we’d agree on this one.

This morning I ran my 5k race in Vancouver. A Hawaiian pastor called on all the runners to hold hands. He led us in prayer and afterward, the man next to me told me, “Your hand felt nice and warm. Thank you.” In any other situation, I might have been creeped out, but I guess I’m not called upon very often to hold hands with strangers. I cried a little while I ran, even though I was listening to fun songs like “Whip it” and “Take on Me.” I just kept thinking about Dan. I thought about how Dan bore a slight resemblance to the lead singer of A-ha, and an even stronger resemblance to Joseph Gordon Levitt. 

I hope Dan felt at peace when he passed away.

After the race, I bought flowers. I chose a bouquet with sunflowers. I’m not sure what kind Dan would have liked. Although I don’t have a grave to put them on, I thought I would put them in a vase and enjoy them for as long as I can.