SOMEONE
TO PERFORM WITH
I was
12 and frighteningly brittle. Nearly breakable. So afraid the world would snap
me in two.
It was
summer and I had already spent most of June in our backyard pool. My
brown hair was bleached blonde by the sun and chlorine.
It was
a massive pool. 50 feet long and 15 feet deep, with a diving board, a slide,
and a Jacuzzi. It was a world and a wonderland unto itself.
It was
the 4th of July. And it was a scorcher in Orinda, California. The Beatles
were playing on the outdoor speakers. The relatives were talking, drinking, and
eating hors d'oeuvres in the shade, under the lattice.
Dad was
at the Webber in his huge sombrero and swimming trunks, smoking a big fat
cigar. The smell of grilled chicken was in the air. Mom was bustling about in
her orange bikini, prepping the outdoor table for dinner. And I was
waiting. Hoping my athlete-uncle would cease with all the niceties and turn his
attention to me.
I don't
recall how it started. Maybe I asked him: Would you...? Could you...? Will
you...? Maybe it happened because of a glance, from one of us to the other.
Because of a recognition.
But
somehow the ball - rubber, round and glazed, with splashes of green, red and
white - was in his hands. And then I was running. Running down the diving board
and bounding into the air. And then the ball was in my hands.
That
was how it began.
And for
what seemed like hours it continued. My uncle throwing effortlessly with
precision. Me catching. And every catch was like a minor miracle plucked from
mid-air.
I
gyrated and contorted. Nearly grew feathers. To make the ball mine. It was all in
the reach - and the knowing. The knowing that the ball was meant to be in my
hands.
Everything, that day, depended on it. Everything!
Gone
was my little mind. I was all instinct. All animal. Fish and fowl. And like the
dog who will chase the Frisbee until its heart stops.
And
because time had become elastic, all the pleasure and the play seemed to occur,
somehow, inside the song, Hey Jude:
So let it out and let it in, hey Jude,
begin,
You're waiting for someone to perform
with.
And don't you know that it's just you,
hey Jude, you'll do,
The movement you need is on your
shoulder.
And so
I ran and I leapt. I dove and I splashed. Pushed myself up and out of the
water. Sprinted to the board. Ran down its length. Was in the air once more.
The whole sequence was like a circle tracing itself over and over and over again. Until I was
vibrating with life. Until I was no longer breakable. Until no part of me was
lacking or longing. Until I was nimble and lithe like a sprite. Like an Ariel.
Nearly ethereal. Elemental.
Until
there was just me, my uncle and the ball. The air, the water, and the fire of
the sun.
And the
refrain that seeped into the day's every last pore, like light:
Naaaaaaaaah,
nah, nah, nah-nah-nah naaaaaaaaaaaah, nah-nah-nah naaaaaaaaaaaah, hey-eh
Jude...
***
I lost
and found myself that summer afternoon, on that day of Independence, when my
uncle and I used the pool as a playing field. And when dinner time came, when
we were called to take our seats at the table, I was not sad. Because I was
satisfied. Because I was both full and ready for a feast.
