Okay, I realize this is the second picture of predominantly Love-in-a-Mist that I have put up recently, but the flowers are having a great year here and the majority of these are pink…
It also has a special significance as Mr. Boulder, and I were walking to the garden a couple of weeks ago and we went by this stunning display of a bunch of blue ones in just the right light with raindrops sprinkled all round. It was gorgeous and we both remarked on it.
Context. Walt loves the poet Walt Whitman, that is why his diary name is Walt. Yesterday was Whitman’s 207th birthday. Every year he does some sort of recitation or reading of big chunks of the poem Song of Myself.
This year he tapped Mr. Boulder to be his reading partner. Walt is a trained, gifted and experienced actor. They scheduled a reading out where we have the dialogue group for yesterday afternoon. The big draw was that there would be cake. And there was, a handsome cake with the poet’s picture on it. The group actually sang happy birthday as well, mid-way through the reading when there was a break for the cake.
I am not a fan of this poem. I have read it, I have heard it declaimed but no not a fan. But because it was a big deal for Walt but mostly because it was a thing Mr. Boulder was doing, I asked him if he wanted me to be there. I had laughed with him about how I wasn’t a fan of the poem, but I don’t think he remembered.
He has so much coming at him right now. The plan was I was going to meet him downtown; we were going to have lunch and go out on the bus together.
Walt had other ideas. Because Walt has been very careful to keep his private life separate from his prison work and based on what I knew, Mr. Boulder had not been to his place before. Just mine, and a couple of other places where he was getting paid to do garden maintenance. I got a text about an hour before I was supposed to leave to meet him saying that he and Walt wanted to come get me. Shortly. I was barely ready when they got here.
And I get in the car, Mr. Boulder in the back and ask so what are we doing. It was hours before the performance. Walt said I am taking you both over to my place and you are going to be the first audience for a full read through, I will make you sandwiches and then we are going to go get the cake and do this thing. So…Mr. Boulder was going to Walt’s. We went out on the deck. Walt’s partner has created a gorgeous garden, and I was sitting next to a jasmine bush, and it was a beautiful day.
When we got out of the car before we went in, I said something to Mr. B., like… so we are not being trusted to be alone together. He laughed and bapped me on the arm but as the day progressed it was very clear that this is exactly what was going on. The lengths Walt and his partner went to so we wouldn’t have a chance to have a private conversation would have been comical if I wasn’t getting more and more clear about what was going on.
By the time the cake was devoured, and the event was over I was having feelings. To say I was angry would be an understatement. I suspect I was glowing incandescent, discreetly, of course. The minute I could, I grabbed my bag which was across the room and on the floor and was out of there.
I walked the 4 miles home. It took me half those miles to calm down. It was beautiful out, dragon boats on the river, the gardens all green including the one above.
I don’t know how much Mr. Boulder was involved in what was going on. But I do know that these two people way overstepped any kind of reasonable bounds of interference.
This morning after class I got a text from Mr. Bolder saying he couldn’t do this thing, whatever this thing between us is.
In his precarious position he can’t handle the stigma, his word, of people knowing our age difference. His parole officer, his boys. He says he wants to come over and talk it through.
I doubt he will.
But I tell you, I am not speaking to Walt until I can cool down. Mr. Boulder, I get, Walt I have no excuse for.
I have no regrets. It’s been fun and flattering and so unexpected. He made me realize I still have some unsung depths and a preference to be fully and completely myself that I didn’t know was in here. He gave me that gift. He woke me up out of an extended period of grief and I kind of like it.
Who the heck knows what comes next. Not me.
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