i got there 40 minutes early. i wanted it to be an hour but shit got busy at work right at leaving time. i called ahead that morning to find out everything i could about the processes. i was told there were tickets. i was told you must buy one of his books there that night to get a ticket. i was told people with tickets were assured a spot, and that people without were not. i already had his new book, but i knew i couldn't take a chance, i'd have to buy another one with my last remaining $25. i called my friend D. i told him he needed to see this guy, i told him i'd buy the book for him for his birthday. he said Fuck Yeah! (too bad for him he didn't show).
of course i knew when i stepped out of my car and my skirt folded over onto itself several times, that i'd made a big fashion mistake. san francisco and swishy skirts do not mix. i forgot this detail. i also had no jacket. when i left work in marin it had been too hot for anything but a tshirt. naturally, it was freezing in the City and in order to control my skirt i had to forfeit warmth and wrap my way-thin sweater around my waist. i stood there. in the cold. and waited. i told myself as i began to lose patience after 30 minutes, "you will get in. and you will hear him. it will happen." and i focused on that.
to meet augusten burroughs and see him in person, hear him in person, feel him in person, and know he is real. i needed to know. focused.
several hundred people showed up for his reading at Books, Inc. in the castro. the line went seven stores down the block. when i got inside, i saw that i would not get a seat, but it didn't really matter because i had a view. many did not. what followed was unexpected. i felt like i was in kindergarten. as we all waited, fatigued from battling city elements, a song was played for us. when augusten came out, finally, he explained the song was by tegan and sara and had been written and recorded for his audio book. huh. sometimes listening to songs in public with no band to look at is very uncomfortable. like watching tv commercials in a movie theatre. i would not choose it.
then he began reading. his hands shook while he held the book. i couldn't tell if it was because he was nervous or just positioned funny in his hand. he had a trucker hat on, high on his head. a flashy earring in his left ear caught spotlights, he wore a circular pendant of silver on a black string around his neck. his white tshirt allowed nicely for it with a low dip in the front. a graphic of the sculpture david (?) sat on the lower left hip of the tee. a leather jacket and nicely worn jeans (diesel?) hung perfectly off his narrow hips. i could see a metal-studded belt underneath it. i love those belts. he had a strong jaw, but a slight redness under the stubble on his cheek that showed me he'd been rid. i couldn't stop looking at the contrast. healthy. rid. healthy. rid. he seemed to turn more and more rid as he read and red as he rid.
he read well. i so appreciate a good reader. it's not an easy task. especially in front of people. there is a rhythm of breathing that i always find difficult, even though i am a good reader. it's creative in that there has to be a letting go in order to act instinctively, which is omnipresent. must tap into instinct. you have to listen to the sound and trust yourself. there is a rhythm to the sound of the words and the layout of the sentences that can be hit perfectly, or awkwardly. he hit them perfectly. like jerry garcia playing stella blue in 1990.
lastly, some Q&A. questions ranged from the stupid, "what was it like living with the finches?"
well, that's a long story, maybe i'll write it down sometime. to the really interesting,
"you've talked a lot about recovery from loss, and the holes in your heart, but you haven't talked about how you learned to trust people."
writing and being published has helped me learn to trust people...it has taught me about people because for every reading i go to, there are people who come up to me and say, "this happened to me too." you know, you, there in the orange shirt with white stripes (points to guy) can say out loud the very worst thing that you've ever done, and i guarantee there is someone else in this room that has done the same thing, or knows exactly how it feels to do that thing.
one woman asked him how it could be possible, as he states, that in his father's 2nd marriage that lasted 25 years, that wife never knew the monster that augusten writes about in his new book. he answered her question by re-stating that his father was a sociopath. the woman then went on to say, "well, i've been married 20 years and i just can't imagine how that's possible." she was challenging him. it pissed me off. you just need to know one sociopath to understand how very possible that is. and i have known. and i can believe it.
i wanted to tell him that when i met him. when it was my turn for him to sign my book. i wanted to tell him that he is the reason i am no longer a poverty-stricken graphic designer; the reason i became a copywriter. i wanted to ask him if he thought they might
see some strings in switzerland this summer (he told us he loves particle physics). i wanted to say, what your brother said
about memory and emotions is really cool. i wanted to thank him for helping me learn how to be an honest writer. more than anything, i wanted to tell him that.
but all that came out, when i stepped up to him, was a tiny little voice, "hi." i didn't even recognize my voice, it was so small and timid and shy. he said,
hi. and then he read the little sticky note i was told to put on the page that i wanted him to sign. it said "louisiana."
are you louisiana? little tiny voice, "yes." and he looked at me. really looked at my face. i felt like he knew i was about to say something, but could not. he looked down and started writing and said,
thank you for coming tonight. and out came my tiny voice, "thank you for reading...and writing." doy. he looked back up at me, into my face and waited a beat. nothing came out. he smiled. he felt kind. he told me
have a good night. i told him, "take care." his last words,
ok. soft smile. while still looking at me, there was an undefined spacetime moment, and then i walked away. i felt like i just witnessed a me that exists in a parallel opposite-world. a shy me that's scared of people and can barely speak. i kept trying to put a face to the voice...
i walked away glad that i was finally moving through space rather than just standing in it. i looked at my cell phone clock. it had been 2.5 hours since my arrival. walking felt good.
i got in my car and lit a cigarette.
i love him.
