Floating in the Fire Pool
30 years ago today, my life changed forever
January 15, 1996
San Jose, CA
My first day back at 3Com. The buildings of the tech campus loomed against the cloudy skies like a cathedral built for a silicon god. A high, aqua-blue bridge joined two enormous white towers, their square windows fashioned with plus signs. Like everything else in Silicon Valley, it looked as if it were built two minutes ago.
Gripping my briefcase in one hand and lunch bag in the other, I hurried toward the cluster of offices where the Creative Department was embedded. Unlike at Fujitsu, I dressed up for work at 3Com. My delightful boss, Sandra, wore blazers and skirts with flats. I mimicked her but wore high heels.
I was happy to be back, even if it wasn’t particularly exciting work. Making good money and being a professional filled me with pride. Also, my work colleagues were lovely people. I did feel the pinch of sadness for not having Ophelia to warm my lap as I had over the last two months break. I missed her already.
“Good morning, Sandra!” I sang as I passed her cubicle. She was on the phone. “Sorry!” I whispered.
Sandra grinned broadly, giving me the excited “Hi, there!” wave. She indicated the cubicle across from hers and asked the person on the phone to hold for a moment. Covering the receiver, she said, “I can’t wait to hear about your holidays. Your desk is right across from mine now. Is that okay?”
“Of course!”
Genuinely pleased to see her again, I dropped my lunch on the desk, bare save for the computer monitor and a large yellow pad of paper, and plopped down in the Aeron chair. I leaned my briefcase against the two metallic drawers, a key sticking out of the top lock. I reached under the desk to boot the computer. As Sandra chattered away behind me on the phone, I logged on to the network, scrolling through emails that had clogged my inbox over the last few months. I’d have to get more time cards from the contract agency.
I found the latest email. One of my contacts for the price guides was ready to get started, supplying his product information for update. I always wrote things down. It stuck better in my memory than making a note in a word processing file. So, I grasped the yellow pad and yanked open the cubicle desk drawer for a pen.
Empty.
I pulled on the magnetic closures of my briefcase, rooting around in the pockets for a pen.
Instead of a pen, my hand closed on a folded piece of paper.
Who is he?
A strange energy brushed over my skin and then crawled under it. My heart rabbit-kicked my sternum.
As I withdrew the program from Neil Gaiman’s reading on Halloween night, I trembled. My breathing slowed, mouth dry as sand.
Why are you bothering me?
My hand shook as I turned over the program. And saw his photo.
That face.
The man from the library in my dreams.
Those eyes.
Those eyes.
Richard.
Tears scalded my own eyes. Awe-struck. God-struck…
“Maria? Are you there, honey? Pick up, please. I’m worried about you.”
My dear friend Kathy. The one who’d had an amazing dream about me where I was a fire mermaid. She’d left a message before. Four days ago? When did I last speak to anyone? I couldn’t remember. I’d isolated myself, terrified that I’d lost my mind. Or maybe I hadn’t and something incredible had happened that no one would believe. Was that really better? I didn’t want to answer the phone. I wasn’t sure what would come out of my mouth. I’d learned from an early age how to hide my true feelings. It had been a survival skill. For several days I’d avoided my husband Greg, who was working long hours, and kept to myself at work. I clawed my way emotionally into a neutral space to keep functioning, refusing to fall apart.
Maybe Kathy, who had struggled with mental illness in the past and was now in a good place, would understand. Maybe I could tell her. Or not. Maybe I could just say…
“Hello.” My voice weak.
“Oh, my god! Are you okay? You don’t sound okay,” Kathy said.
“Something’s happened,” I stammered. “But… I don’t know how to talk about it. And I’m afraid.”
I don’t know what Kathy thought might have happened, but absolutely none of the possibilities running through her mind could have been good.
Her voice softened. “It’s okay. You’re a writer. Why don’t you write it down and email it to me. Can you do that?”
“Yeah.” More of a squeak than a word.
“I’m here if you need anything. Don’t forget, okay?”
As soon as we hung up, I sat down at our home computer, and the story of what had happened flowed out of me like water from a broken tap. At some point after I started writing, I realized I wasn’t writing this down for Kathy.
I was writing it for Neil.
A powerful intuition took hold of me that I was to tell him. I didn’t know how exactly, but I knew these words were for him. Acting on that intuition would be another thing altogether, of course.
Writing like a woman possessed, I took only a brief break to sleep for a few hours and then resumed writing until I finished. Packed with The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy references, The Story, as I started to call it, came to over eight thousand words. I told him about Fujitsu, Morpheus, the dreams, the therapist who hypnotized me, finding his name was “Richard.” The Learning Channel session. The reading at the Palace of Fine Arts that I’d blacked out. Morpheus in the Christmas dream. Finding the program. And more. Eight thousand words would have been at least twenty-six pages in a paperback book. A long drink of water. Novelette length, but I didn’t know that word back then. As I sat back in my computer chair, I realized the very “thingish thing” inside me, to quote Winnie the Pooh, was a thousand times more thingish now that it was in front of me and not just in my head.
But this thing was prickly. Who the hell would believe me? Between all the synchronicities and romantic overtones, it felt too fantastic. Otherworldly.
And I worried that any attempt to contact him would make me look like I should be drooling in a straightjacket as I head-butted padded walls, deluded beyond belief that I had this bizarre connection to a stranger. I had no idea what my real-life connection was, just that something extraordinary was happening.
I emailed The Story to Kathy on Sunday night and set about answering the question that I should have been asking for the last few days:
Who the hell was Neil Gaiman?
Other than the fact that he’d written some comics, I knew nothing about him. I hadn’t read anything he’d written except that one graphic novel, The Doll’s House. I’d liked it, but I wasn’t a “fan.” I set about searching his name on Dogpile and found loads of fan websites. On one, the homepage was adorned with a beautiful photo of Neil in profile, arms crossed, looking downward. A dusting of roses had been Photoshopped around the image. It felt so odd, the idea that this was the man in my dreams. The man in those regressions. My feelings for that man were fiery. Far beyond anything I’d ever felt for anyone in waking life. But were they for this person? I remembered dreams where as soon as I saw him, my heart would start pounding. But looking at his photo was…surreal.
Website after website bubbled over with fan worship. The thin attendance at the Palace of Fine Arts must have been a fluke because I found thousands of fans who would have cut off one of their arms to have been there. His popularity made me despair. Even if he’d believe me, someone like him would be impossible to reach. That is, if I wanted to reach him.
Yet that intuition, that pulsing in my solar plexus, told me to forget all that. Although I hadn’t yet heard the phrase, “My gut is my God,” my gut feelings became my higher power. Those feelings I’d ignored my whole life demanded the reins. So, I handed them over.
Socrates thought his daemon guided him. Maybe his daemon was really his gut.
When I went to work Monday morning, a fierce excitement electrified me. My thoughts drifted, both unfettered and all-consumed. My whole being burned hot with the miracle. I worked, talked with people, and went outside to gulp the crisp Bay Area air as if it were the most delicious thing I’d ever tasted. The idea of God remained a massive marble question mark that followed me around on a rolling platform, but I was enjoying my freedom too much to be troubled. I let go of everything I ever knew about God. And despite the confusion and emotional turmoil, I’d found a profound peace I’d never known before.
No Jesus. Know peace.
I needed to tell Greg what had happened, but first I wanted to celebrate finding that Richard was real and not just a fantasy. My intuition, my dreams had been rewarded. That said, I also needed time to sort through my feelings for Richard versus Neil. They were already mingling as my psyche tried to keep them apart. I wasn’t sure how I was going to convey any of this to Greg. Things had been rocky with him. His drinking had bothered me for a long time and had been getting worse before he finally went into rehab. After a false start, he seemed sober now, which was good. As for me personally, I was getting help in Al-Anon, a 12 Step program for friends and family of alcoholics. I had this amazing sponsor, Gemma, who had a gravely Brooklyn accent like she’d smoked a thousand cigarettes and commented frequently that I was growing fast. “You’re doing great, kid.” It felt glorious to quickly shed my old self that clung to a crusty, misogynistic religion, dropping the anxiety and obsession over my husband’s drinking to focus on myself and my own well-being. I was ripe for big life changes.
And not a moment too soon.
Monday night, I slept restlessly. Early the next morning, I downloaded my email on the off chance I’d hear anything.
Subj: Holy mindfuck!!!!!!
Date: 96-01-23 03:07:34 EST
From: TRexxx12
To: Blacktech
Oh, my fucking God!!!! Well, sweetheart, no wonder you feel crazy! But let me assure you, you are not. Ok, I’m blown away on two counts, first, your writing is wonderful, rich, and flowing, and kept me laughing all the way through, which is a good thing because otherwise, it would be too scary!!!! Especially knowing that it’s true. Secondly, the content is amazing but the way that you tell the story is even more amazing. Maria, you are a phenomenal writer. Ok, I’ve just read it, and I’m still reeling…
What are you going to do? Send him the story? God Maria! No wonder, you poor sweetheart!!! I’m so glad you’ve let me in on this, this is too much to carry around inside your heart and head all alone. I love you, I believe you, I’m here for you. Just ride this edge honey, God, be he/she trickster or comforter will take you right where you are supposed to go, I’m sure of it. I feel it. It’s going to be ok. My girlfriend says that when she enters new life territory, she shakes her finger at God and says, “No jokes this time, please!!!” Some of us just seem to be more entertaining than others I guess!
Hrumph!
Float in that fire pool, baby. You are an unusual creature, but you are fully equipped to handle any and every situation that comes your way. I’m with you.
Love,
Kathy
Until next time,
xoxo
M-
P.S. This is an augmented excerpt from my unpublished memoir, The Good Girl. All names and identifying details of private people have been changed. “Kathy’s” email is published with permission.
On pins and needles waiting to read what comes next…