12.11.2020 | The Future Forest

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Wuck

sarah’s father greg thinks it best the family not see each other this holiday season. he sends sarah and chris typed letters through the mail about how covid is our war to fight, our wwii. mary, on the other hand, is desperate to meet her first grandchild, covid or no. she’s willing to quarantine for however long, willing to take however many tests, willing to whatever; only get her that grandbaby. i imagine living alone during the pandemic has been difficult.

mary offered to come stay with us, but sarah and i think it’s a bad idea; we don’t have the room, especially with cooper around. mary also suggested using chris and taylor’s apartment in jersey, but this sounds even worse to me. better we all stay someplace that’s home to at least one of us.

sarah is overwhelmed by the notion of transplanting her daily routine with ben, but i assure her we can handle it. we figure out what to bring with us and what to order online to be delivered to virginia and tell mary we’ll come to her. we let greg know of our plans too, so he can properly quarantine if he likes.

with d-day drawing near, i brave a <quote-01>four-hour line for covid testing at a local clinic<quote-01>. then, when sarah’s mail-in test fails to arrive, i brave another line in her place the night before we leave. she waits in the car with ben a couple blocks away, ready to trade places with me. snow begins falling right around the time the rapid-test system shuts down, and the line stops moving. i give it another hour before calling it quits. sarah’s upset, but i assure her that if i ain’t got it, she ain’t got it. you literally don’t leave the house, babe, i tell her.

the next morning we head out, sarah in the backseat next to ben, cooper stretched out across her lap. it’s cramped back there, but she’s content. after traffic opens up somewhere in jersey, she suggests we put on some christmas tunes. i tell her i’ve got it covered and pull out your <quote-02>famed christmas playlist<quote-02>, murph. we start in from the top. what a sequence you’ve assembled! an obvious labor of love. i think the songs i enjoy the most are the original pop tunes: tom petty, elton john, john lennon, mariah carey, etc. <quote-03>i get bored with the more traditional stuff because the arrangements can be so banal. although, the voice on that andy williams, my goodness!<quote-03>

about halfway through the four-hour playlist, i notice sarah is asleep against the window, so i switch over to <quote-04>zizek<quote-04>. i downloaded a handful of his lectures before we left. i found the audio from an event he did with cornel west at princeton that is every bit as good as their appearance on the michael brooks podcast you turned me on to, hoke. i’ll forward it along to you. <quote-05>what a delicious combo, those two!<quote-05> thanks again.

when we arrive, sarah takes cooper around the yard for a pee. before i can even remove the carseat, mary is outside to greet us. once we’re inside and in the kitchen, i lift ben out and hand him to mary. they both cry. i pull out my phone to capture the moment: ben is in <quote-06>his mushroom pants<quote-06> and olive green shirt; mary still has her jacket on, a hot pink puffer; the sky in the window behind them is the rich blue of early dusk. i think of my mother before posting the image to the shared album sarah and i created for the family. my father tells me how she scrolls through the photos over and over again with grandma. she’ll be happy for mary.

as for me, i had planned to spend the majority of my down time in virginia working on my letter, but in sarah’s old room i find the jigsaw puzzle chris got me last christmas: an illustrated collage of popular cinema, one thousand pieces. happy early birthday to me, happy early birthday to me. sorry boys, mice and men.

on tuesday morning, i wake to a happy birthday gif from tisdale: a teenager leans in too closely to blow out her candles and her fake eyelashes catch fire. it’s uncomfortable to watch. i give it an exclamation mark then delete it so i don’t have to see it again. how’s your birthday? he asks later in the day. fantastic! my birthday’s friday, but i’m celebrating all week, i respond. damn it, he replies, i always think you share it with my grandma, but you share it with my niece.

andy has forever texted me happy birthday on the 10th instead of the 11th, god bless him. me, i don’t know anyone’s birthday. early in our relationship i forgot sarah’s, and that just about ended it between us.

greg ends up stopping by tuesday evening. i try and capture a moment worthy of ben’s first with mary, but it’s too cold outside for anything more than an introduction. we make plans to visit on the lawn the following afternoon. scrolling through the photos afterward, i realize they are all more christmassy than i’d anticipated. in the one i choose for the album, a wreath hangs prominently on mary’s front door, her porch lamps glowing warmly on either side; greg stands apart from sarah and ben like a respectful stranger; gift bags hang from his arms like groceries, his long santa hat draping down his chest; the mask he wears reveals a eagerness in his eyes i’ve never seen; ben looks back at him from sarah’s arms.

i finish the puzzle the night before we leave and break it down after everyone goes to bed. parts of iron man’s suit share pieces with the dude’s stolen rug; superman hovers just above indy swapping the idol with his bag of sand. is that dumbledore’s wand or miyagi's chopstick?

on the drive home sarah and i have a long discussion about <quote-07>the difficulties of staying with family<quote-07>. we are both drained. as ben gets older, i’m hopeful <quote-08>things will get easier<quote-08>. we’ll see, i suppose.

we stop to feed him on our drive back more than we did on our way down; we got a late start too because of a <quote-09>callback<quote-09> i had, so it’s long after dark by the time we get home. it’s funny, sarah says as we weave through the familiar streets, i feel oddly comforted returning to this neighborhood. / totally, i agree. i’m surprised to hear her name this, surprised by how fast i confirm the feeling. perhaps home is simply the place you know you have to leave.

casey calls me the next evening to wish me happy birthday, and we end up talking for a couple hours. he tells me about a recent <quote-10>zoom call<quote-10> he had with some friends he did a summer acting program with in high school. he’d been dreading the call, almost didn’t do it. i haven’t talked to these people in over twenty years, he complains. what the hell is the point? they’re not who they were back then; i’m not <quote-11>who i was<quote-11> back then. i can’t stopper the hegelian contradiction stuff that’s been flooding my headspace since that podcast on the drive down to virginia: well, you’re not who you are now either, i tell him.

he laughs. i don’t.

in the pause that follows, i recognize a sentiment alternate to the one i’d intended. perhaps i’m more like i was twenty years ago than i realize. maybe i’m just gonna have to stick this one out.

for years i’ve dreamed how work would take me back to california, how an acting gig would make the decision a no brainer. without that gig, though, i just can’t wrap my head around leaving. not now, not with so many unknowns. we’ll look upstate, maybe. or we’ll look in jersey. i don’t know. <quote-12>we’ll find something here that will do for now<quote-12>.

oh, ben. ben, ben, ben. to think how you might have come to us while i was working on orange--at a moment of arrival in my career--is as delightful as imagining the comings and goings of this year without the pandemic.

i will miss seeing all the guys this christmas. i’ll miss the break. i know you’ve expressed how guy night sometimes leaves you wanting, hoke, but that’s what guy night is for me: a break. it’s not hard for me to relax and enjoy my time with each of you: with tom and with pat, with andy and paul; with koontz, grapeshit, dave, and max. the night itself helps as well, the tradition. do anything over and over again and you’re bound to grow fond of it.

don’t you ever miss acting? <quote-13>i ask casey an hour or so into our conversation<quote-13>. not really, he replies. before i can press him for anything more, however, another call comes in: my commercial agent. if she’s calling from her cell, it’s likely good news. hey, let me hit you right back, i tell him. oh, ok, he says.

i click over. are you calling to wish me a happy birthday or to tell me i booked the gig? i answer. it’s too late in the day for a last-minute audition; i know which calls are what. well, first off, happy birthday! i didn’t know it was your birthday, she says.

yes! score!

but i’m not calling to book you either.

i hang up on her.

she immediately calls me back. what, i say. i love that you just hung up on me, she says through her laughter, this is maybe my favorite thing you’ve done. / well, let’s not forget that snickers spot. i was pretty good in that, i reply. her laughter culminates in an audible sigh. so they want you as a covid backup in case their first choice tests positive.

December 11th

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<pull-quote>four-hour line for covid testing at a local clinic<pull-quote>
<avatar-hoke><avatar-hoke><author-name>Hoke<author-name>
<p-comment>Holy shit. Four hours. Did you grind your teeth down?<p-comment>
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<avatar-wuck><avatar-wuck><author-name>Wuck<author-name>
<p-comment>i was chilled to the bone by the time i got in, couldn’t stand still. i read for an hour or so, then listened to some podcasts, then some bach. sarah had suggested i bring one of our beach chairs along so i could sit. i thought that i was leaving early enough in the morning to not need it, and i regretted it for the first couple hours, but then i became so cold i couldn’t have remained seated anyways, so i felt better about not bringing it.<p-comment>
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<pull-quote>famed christmas playlist<pull-quote>
<avatar-hoke><avatar-hoke><author-name>Hoke<author-name>
<p-comment>I've never listened to the "Merry Christmas, Ryan Murphy!" playlist in its entirety. Maybe I need a road trip.<p-comment>
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<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>It's actually called "Thee Definitive X-mas Mix." Tom titled it "Merry Christmas, Ryan Murphy!" when he converted it to Spotify. It's also why most people think it's Tom's playlist...<p-comment>
<p-comment>I'm gonna make him Venmo me $50.<p-comment>
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<pull-quote>i get bored with the more traditional stuff because the arrangements can be so banal. although, the voice on that andy williams, my goodness!<pull-quote>
<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>I'd go to bat hard for about 90% of the versions I chose. A few, though, have some serious contenders. Like, how narrowly did the Ronettes' "Winter Wonderland" edge out the Eurythmics'? Pretty damn narrowly.<p-comment>
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<pull-quote>zizek<pull-quote>
<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>Keeping Christmas in your own way, I see.<p-comment>
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<pull-quote>what a delicious combo, those two!<pull-quote>
<avatar-hoke><avatar-hoke><author-name>Hoke<author-name>
<p-comment>Murph and I were talking the other day about how some friendships can be such opposites, total foils to each other. Zizek and Cornel West are surely a wild pair, and their affinity is intellectually and morally satisfying.<p-comment>
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<avatar-wuck><avatar-wuck><author-name>Wuck<author-name>
<p-comment>zizek is almost always a but guy in conversation, but with cornel, he’s much more of an and man.<p-comment>
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<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>That's a good insight.<p-comment>
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<avatar-hoke><avatar-hoke><author-name>Hoke<author-name>
<p-comment>What I heard years ago that made me love Zizek (him being a "butt guy" brings this to mind): when he was invited to a roundtable with Harvard faculty, everyone went around and introduced themselves by name, department, and sexual orientation. He said, essentially, "You Americans are so interesting; for generations one's sexuality was a subject of total privacy. We are only private about what we value. What do American's hold precious? Ah yes, money. What would it be like to go around and say our names and our annual salaries?"<p-comment>
<p-comment>I swooned.<p-comment>
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<pull-quote>his mushroom pants<pull-quote>
<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>Like...bloomers?<p-comment>
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<avatar-wuck><avatar-wuck><author-name>Wuck<author-name>
<p-comment>ha! no, there's a bunch of little mushrooms on them.<p-comment>
<p-comment>come to think of it, he only has three pairs of pants, and they all have mushrooms on them. all his pants are mushroom pants!<p-comment>
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<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>Fun fact from a fun guy.<p-comment>
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<pull-quote>the difficulties of staying with family<pull-quote>
<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>Go on...<p-comment>
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<avatar-hoke><avatar-hoke><author-name>Hoke<author-name>
<p-comment>[GIF of Thriller MJ eating popcorn with rapt attention]<p-comment>
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<avatar-wuck><avatar-wuck><author-name>Wuck<author-name>
<p-comment>sarah’s parents compete for her attention; they offer their time in the insufferable way my mother offers snacks. she—sarah—finds navigating this terrain exhausting, and i—willingly—end up doing it for her. a frustrating aspect of brokering these engagements is that i feel no party ends up getting what they what out of them, least of all sarah; every interaction is a resigned form of settling for what one gets. interactions are generic and perfunctory. i end up retreating into the role of the husband, rather than joyfully embodying the part. that, and—with the addition of ben—being the caretaker of cooper, which i feel like i didn’t sign up for. i can quickly become resentful playing these parts and angry they are required more than the actor who plays them; then i hate myself as the performer who resists presence in the moment for the consuming frustration.<p-comment>
<p-comment>let’s just say, whatever the issues, they're entirely sarah’s fault. haha.<p-comment>
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<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>Even MVPs have off days.<p-comment>
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<pull-quote>things will get easier<pull-quote>
<avatar-hoke><avatar-hoke><author-name>Hoke<author-name>
<p-comment>Totally. It feels authentic, too. Sharing videos of Abram, now Robin. It brings the sweetest parts of Rachel and me, our parents, out immediately. A shared and meaningful passion. Like the Dodgers. But better.<p-comment>
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<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>To each his own, I guess.<p-comment>
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<pull-quote>callback<pull-quote>
<avatar-hoke><avatar-hoke><author-name>Hoke<author-name>
<p-comment>Heyo!<p-comment>
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<pull-quote>zoom call<pull-quote>
<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>Zoom call with old friends, huh? I've got one of those coming up.<p-comment>
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<avatar-hoke><avatar-hoke><author-name>Hoke<author-name>
<p-comment>I know I mentioned at the start of this year my discontents with Guy Night, yada yada.<p-comment>
<p-comment>But this year I miss it more than ever: mixing a whiskey-SantaCoke at Conch’s wet bar as guys knock on the door, one by one, and we hug and comment on each other’s nice ties or suits, longer hair or bigger beards or guts. And I’m not sure who to really lean into conversation with as Wuck racks the billiard table and Dave insults Wuck dryly and Paul asks me how the hell I am and laughs before I say anything and squeezes me in a football coach hug and I tuck my shirt back in nicely and maybe someone suggests a cigarette outside. Conch shuffles in and says hi to Tom and shoots a sideways remark at anyone drinking up her wet bar and I slip in that I bought a nice bottle of something to contribute this year but she’s off to the laundry room to iron Murph’s outfit. He’s yet to descend the stairs in his bowler hat and good cheer. Grapeshit is always late. The group photo by the tree where I’m in the back and get up on my tippy toes and wonder if I’m next to a guy I enjoy (I literally and happily lean into Max these recent years) as Tom makes us laugh with a cartoon voice for one of twenty-something shutter clicks. Dinner at a nice restaurant where the seat you land in at the long table shapes your next two hours ("Still no girlfriend, eh, Grapeshit?"). There's the divvy'd up bill that’s usually more than I can afford (at least the first 20 years, till I got an actual salary in 2018). I miss the streak of years where Pat and Andy wrestled in a public square downtown where they both end up tearing their nice clothes off and strangers clear the plaza with all the screaming and cheering. It’s always the deviations from the usual evening liturgy that I remember. Like when Pat got down to his skivvies and crawled up the mermaid and her spouting fish at the pinnacle of a fountain to become an overweight (and nude) angel atop the whole spotlit centerpiece. That was great. Or the year Koontz announced he was alrea<p-comment>
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<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>?<p-comment>
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<avatar-wuck><avatar-wuck><author-name>Wuck<author-name>
<p-comment>i’d imagine he typed more than the platform allowed and hit enter without checking what took. i too want to hear the rest!<p-comment>
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<avatar-hoke><avatar-hoke><author-name>Hoke<author-name>
<p-comment>Yeah, Google cut me off at the side bar: "This guy's done."<p-comment>
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<pull-quote>who i was<pull-quote>
<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>Proust and I just shaking our heads so hard at all of this.<p-comment>
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<avatar-hoke><avatar-hoke><author-name>Hoke<author-name>
<p-comment>Relationships change dramatically, sure. And I can relate to not finding in reunions the connections I desire. But to say we are completely different people? That just increases our sense of alienation and homelessness as we age.<p-comment>
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<pull-quote>we’ll find something here that will do for now<pull-quote>
<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>I realize--suddenly, shamefully--that I've been championing your move west all year, but I hope you don't mistake my frequent prodding as a vote of no confidence.<p-comment>
<p-comment>Honestly, something deep within me thrills at your vow here to dig in, even as sheepishly as you've expressed it. I've said it before, I think, but as one who begrudgingly abandoned his first dream, I root extra hard for you to achieve yours.<p-comment>
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<pull-quote>i ask casey an hour or so into our conversation<pull-quote>
<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>Trying to pick that third fight, I see. Nice.<p-comment>
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<pull-quote><pull-quote>
<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
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<avatar-hoke><avatar-hoke><author-name>Hoke<author-name>
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<avatar-wuck><avatar-wuck><author-name>Wuck<author-name>
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