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Friday, Jul 04, 2008
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What I mean to say is.... |
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| The man who came to dinner | ||
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by Beau Burriola -
SGN Foreign Correspondent "Let me tell you another story about a typical Tom moment," Tom said for the third time since he started talking, gesturing with his hands to set the scene for his latest story. It seemed like an eternity since he started speaking, enough time for us all to eat our food and still have time to move the crumbs from one end of the plate to the other a few dozen laps. His newest story was yet another tale about some remarkable situation he found himself in after some amazing twist of fate, and how - with his wit, charm and humor - he managed to sum the whole thing up or solve the big problem with one memorable quip or heroic act, of which everyone talks about to this day. "And that," he finished a mind-numbing amount of time after he began," is why people always say 'Weren't you the guy who said that thing?' and I just smile." Even ice ages eventually end or take a break, so as he paused to take a sip of wine, I quickly excused myself to the washroom before he could start up again. As I shut the door behind me, I leaned against it, completely exhausted by the sheer size of his personality. I was amazed that such a person left any oxygen in the world for the rest of us to breathe. Through the closed door, I could hear him laughing loudly - no doubt at something he just said. Since coming out of the closet, I've come across my share of too-big Gay personalities that seem to smother all life around them. Most of the time I just move on, happy to have the gentle reminder of the type of person I don't want to become. But in this particular case, it's more complicated than that. I can't just move on. For years, my best friend Simi has been telling me all about this amazing actor, Tom, a guy that has completely altered the course of his life for the better. "He's really one of the most kind and caring people you could ever meet," Simi said every time we spoke for months, "so full of love and so wise. You will just love him." Could this be the same black hole of a human personality in the living room, sucking the life out of the universe? "I have to go back in there eventually," I thought to myself, glancing with a look of sympathy in the mirror. From the other room, I could hear a new story beginning in a louder voice than before, perhaps for my benefit. I rolled my eyes. "This one is another typical Tom moment," Tom began, "I was auditioning for this part in a play and the director had just told me to ..." "To what?" I thought, washing my hands. "To get out of the way so they could film other people, too? To quit talking so other people can say their lines?" "And do you know what I said back to ?the director?" That you'll have diamond-shaped ice cubes or you'll quit the show right there? That you want an oompa-loompa now? I turned the water up to tune out as much of the story as I could. There wasn't enough water to tune out much. When I got back to the table and sat down, I noticed Simi watching Tom's story with all the attention of a child listening to the Irish tales of old from his grandfather. Of all of us at the table, he was the most transfixed, moving with each word and laughing when Tom did, even egging him on with "Tell them about the time that you..." His look of admiration for Tom was genuine, unmistakable. For all I couldn't see in Tom, he clearly saw someone else. At that moment, it stopped being about my discomfort. It stopped being about how I saw the big egoist at the head of the table with all his extraordinary stories. It stopped being about me at all. It was about Simi. If Simi saw so much in this guy, I could sit through a dinner and bear it for him. There wasn't much else to it. What seemed like a few decades later, when dinner had finished and the guests had gone, I helped Simi clean up in the kitchen. "So," Simi asked me, "what did you think of Tom? Isn't he great?" What could I say? That he had one hell of a resilient voice to do all that talking without stopping? That love of oneself isn't necessarily always admirable? That wisdom isn't always about speaking? "Yeah," I said looking down into the soapy water, "he's great." Wisdom isn't always about speaking. "I'm glad you think so, because I'm going to start having him over for dinners regularly so that you two can get closer. I really want all my friends to be closer. We'll do it again next week." In the suds of the dishwater, I tried to find some sort of lesson or encouragement. Maybe there was something deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deeeeep below the stories and ego that I could learn to like about Tom. Maybe I had been too lucky in my interactions with people and it was my turn for something more challenging. Or, maybe, you've just got to accept that no matter how much you feel like you can tell your closest friends anything, there are still some things you can't say because they won't help. In the great complicated way that we are all connected, you just have to know that you aren't going to get along with everyone and that, in fact, you will have to regularly see a great deal of people you don't like at all. In that situation, maybe it's just better not to remind yourself of how many "typical Tom moments" you'll have to endure, but rather to remember who you endure them for. And, of course, to learn all the ways you can for entertaining yourself by playing with your food. Beau Burriola is a Queer writer weighing and measuring the complicated formulas for how many times you can escape a dinner without appearing rude. E-mail him at beaubrent@gmail.com. |
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visit Beau at www.beaubrent.com
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