Sammy was away. I gathered that this sacred time with Superbloom meant that I wouldn’t hear from her again until she returned home. I was wrong. In between moments, when they were within city limits and cell range, we continued our poetic exchange. Sammy inherited more details about my personal life, and I became the beneficiary of her discoveries, musings, and photos of the two of them in exploration mode.
One of these photos showed Superbloom sitting in a cafe grinning shyly while peering over The New Yorker. There was another of her standing on a city street in high heels and a short dress holding a 20-pound cabbage in front of her head. Sammy focused her camera mainly on the landscape and on her beautiful travel partner. Rare was the photo with a visible Sammy, but when she placed herself in one, adoration of Superbloom was the highlight.
Another of the pictures, taken after a hike, caught my attention. They had propped up their phone and set the timer to photograph themselves. It went off before they were ready, and what the camera caught was: the sexiest kiss on record. I suddenly had a front row seat to a very generous, but very private, performance. This was a secret club that only I knew about. Nevertheless, Sammy seemed amused by my expression of pleasure.
Offered to her in return were creative captures of my daughter in the midst of our moments. Bathtime was always fun…bubble beards and super curly hair poofed way, way up with suds. Not sexy, but adorable. Who could resist? Photo sent. At three years old, Leetl had just entered a phase of shimmying to the top of her closet and having midnight play sessions. Another photo, sent. I tried not to overdo it on kid photos, but I was happy that Sammy received them with apparent gladness. And I was relieved that she seemed eager, rather than bored, to know about my life in its much-different-than-hers presentation.
All along, I had been debriefing Anthony on my connection with Sammy…you know, to the extent of his interest. Little snippets were given here and there. With some of the exchanges Sammy and I were having lately, I wanted him to understand…. “I think,” I told him, “I mean…it might be that she’s kind of…interested…in me….” I wasn’t sure if I could trust my gut on this one, but my comment came after certain readings between the lines…the words she chose to use…”yearning to connect…sending you the fullest of what I have to offer”…. I showed him the texts of interest. He could scroll for himself to see the depth of our conversation, but he didn’t. I perceived the egoic equivalent of Anthony rolling his eyes. “There’s no way,” he said.
I was still standing there in the kitchen with him when Sammy texted to ask what wine I was drinking. I had mentioned having a glass (or two). The bottle was Menage a Trois. I laughed and showed Anthony the message. I playfully dared myself to send a photo of the label, against his better judgment. What was he scared of? He didn’t know her; I did. I was flirting. And just as importantly, while Anthony wanted me to pretend that I was drinking a different wine, that wouldn’t have been the truth. I sent the photo anyway.
And then, after minutes of no reply, I backtracked, quickly supporting my wine photo with copious detail…you know, the way people spout off unnecessary facts attempting to evade the truth. Ironically. Brutally. Anthony bought this wine at the store. I don’t even know much about wine. This could be any kind of wine, really. I think I just like reds. In general. You know. Nothin’ to see here.
The next day was Sammy’s birthday. After several days of energetic but sporadic messaging, I was grateful for her impending arrival back home. I sent her a message at 2:06 a.m., to be exact, saying happy birthday with a poem. What was I doing awake at that hour? And what was she doing awake at 2:10 to be able to send me a reply? And why did it seem like we were always on top of each other in the night?
I had also prepared a gift for her. I didn’t pretend to know what she could want materially…we had only known each other for a couple of weeks, and our connection was of a deeper realm. But there was this one thing. I had bought a necklace for a friend who had lost a daughter years before. The anniversary of her death was approaching, and I had inscribed on a silver circle a quote by Thomas Merton, a Catholic monk and author: “…the gate of heaven is everywhere.” It had a special significance to me, and I was sure the meaning would translate to my friend, but when the time rolled around to give it to her, it didn’t feel right. It wasn’t meant for her. I held onto the necklace and decided that I’d wear it every day until I knew who to give it to. Well………….
I wrapped up that necklace in plain paper, along with a note. It expressed how grateful I was to be in connection with Sammy. In vague terms, I made it known that she was very special to me. I included the entire Merton quote:
At the center of our being is a point of nothingness which is untouched by sin and by illusion, a point of pure truth, a point or spark which belongs entirely to God, which is never at our disposal, from which God disposes of our lives, which is inaccessible to the fantasies of our own mind or the brutalities of our own will. This little point of nothingness and of absolute poverty is the pure glory of God in us. It is so to speak His name written in us, as our poverty, as our indigence, as our dependence, as our sonship. It is like a pure diamond, blazing with the invisible light of heaven. It is in everybody, and if we could see it we would see these billions of points of light coming together in the face and blaze of a sun that would make all the darkness and cruelty of life vanish completely … I have no program for this seeing. It is only given. But the gate of heaven is everywhere.
Thomas Merton
In the note, I told Sammy to (of course) do whatever she wanted to with the necklace. It really wasn’t her style so I couldn’t imagine her wearing it but I could imagine her planting it in the ground or something symbolic like that.
I placed the gift in Sammy’s mailbox to be received later that day and waited for who knew what.
Meanwhile, on their way back home, I received a couple messages from her. She and Superbloom were listening to a podcast episode which she sent to me with a timestamp marker, telling me that this section reminded her of me and “helped her to place a sense she’d had” about me. She continued:
I have a little fear thought that I may be too forward, too much. And there is also a palpable sense of the great mystery and possibility which I would prefer to lean into with you. I know you will help guide me to a pace that feels good to you, even if it is in a parting. I only have gratitude…and a finger in a fun little electrical current…a little portal to God. Thank you.
Gate of heaven. Portal to God. Exactly.
I found Anthony in the kitchen again that evening. Again, I mentioned my conversation with Sammy. “But Anthony, what if she actually is interested?……I really think she is.”
“Well,” he answered, “Go for it.”
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