In the morning I walked to Albert Heijn and bought a four-pack of Red Bull. I drank one to get me going then indexed most of the day. I stopped late afternoon to go to Bloem to meet Daniel so we could make our way to Haarlem for dinner with Anabel’s family. I felt weird because I had just met them. Daniel was clearly a close family friend.
The day had been nice, partly sunny, and the weather was still decent when I left. I wore my Boss jacket, jeans, and a long-sleeve shirt, brown with black sleeves. I took a small black backpack with me. I walked the same route to Bloem, across the Magere Brug, down Nieuwe Kerkstraat and then over the bridge to Plantage Kerklaan. I arrived just after six. Isa was working with Daniel. Mondays and Tuesdays were slow, I remembered Daniel telling me, and it was evident as there were only a couple customers eating and drinking. Daniel and I drank a couple beers and bullshitted with Isa for a bit. Around seven, Daniel suggested we go. We were supposed to eat around eight.
Daniel unlocked his bike and told me to get on the back. I had seen many of the Dutch ride this way, but this was my first time. There was a little platform, for lack of a better word, above the back fender. It was typically used to bungee-cord bags, backpacks, boxes, and the like, but often enough there would be a person riding side-saddle on it.
As Daniel got going I realized riding on the back was a sport in its own right. Riding was not a passive activity; I constantly had to shift my balance as Daniel weaved through pedestrian traffic, up and over bridges, and around corners, accelerating and slowing down, stopping and starting. I almost tumbled when Daniel sped over a tram track, but he deftly adjusted the angle of the bike so I came back into balance. Even with a newbie on board, Daniel cycled like a pro. Everyone I had ever seen ride side-saddle made it look easy and I imagined with practice it was, but I was active the whole way. It was a challenge, but fun as all hell once I got the hang of it.
Daniel locked his bike on a rack at Amsterdam Centraal and we purchased round-trip tickets to Haarlem from a kiosk. We found our platform and boarded a train. Trains to Haarlem left every ten to fifteen minutes throughout the day and into the evening. As we took a seat, a lilting Dutch voice announced that we were leaving Amsterdaam Centraal on our way to Haarlem. It was dark outside, nothing to see, so Daniel and I talked.
“So, Daniel, you and Anabel?” Daniel was silent as he looked out the window. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked. Daniel turned to look at the seat ahead of him. “Who knows? It’s an on-again/off-again thing.” I didn’t know whether I should push further so I laid off. It seemed that they were “on-again,” but then again Anabel was leaving for six months. I had wondered about them during my first visit and I wondered again at Anabel’s party. Daniel had seemed distant and I had noticed how he looked at her in the past. He was melancholy at the moment. He turned to me and said, “If you want to know the truth, I’m not happy she’s leaving. We’ve been good, but she’s unpredictable. Impulsive.” He smiled, “Not necessarily in a bad way.”
It was good to see him smile. I said, “It’s hard not to like her. She’s full of life, she has that infectious smile, and her eyes are, well, you know.” Daniel’s peered at me, the tiniest smirk on his face. He lightly nodded his head, mostly to himself, and looked forward again. His arms were crossed and his legs comfortably splayed out in front of him. One nice thing about the trains was the leg room. Daniel sighed. “Yeah, Anabel’s in love with life. She falls in love easily. Good and bad.” I was intrigued. “What do you mean?” He looked out the window again, into the darkness. “Good when she’s in love with you. Bad?” Daniel turned back to me. “It’s not really bad at all. She simply falls in love easily—and often. She’s young. It’s healthy and natural.” He shook his head and faced forward. “Took some adjusting on my part, though. Signals got crossed—both ways—a few times. Things are good now, but while she’s away?” Daniel shrugged his shoulders and looked out the window.
I understood. She was young enough that six months probably felt like six years. That’s a long time for any relationship to survive and one that’s been on-again/off-again, well … I didn’t need to think about it. It was their business. I cared to the extent that I could see Daniel was affected. I could feel it from him. He didn’t need to say a word more. I knew from experience that the problem with powerful emotions and intense passions was that sorrow could fill the whole of my body and, as with Daniel, extend beyond the body, expanding the self beyond the body to the environment surrounding. Persons such as Daniel were so rare, in my experience, that even during sorrow it was a gift to be in his presence. It was also because I could feel the intensity of his melancholic pain that I cared as deeply as I did for him.
I had wondered what it was about Daniel that affected me so deeply. I was intimately affected by Anabel and Nina as well, but with Daniel it ran even deeper. Bottomless. His capacity for feeling was immeasurable and yet his capacity to be completely at ease with his emotional intensity baffled me. So calm and self-assured with himself; he adjusted as well to his emotions as he did to me on the back of his bike. I pictured him riding the romantic wave with Anabel, tilting this way and that with nary a bead of sweat on his brow, all the while ho-humming as hurricane winds approached. Everyone has to learn to live with themselves; some do it more gracefully and impressively than others.
Even while melancholy and distracted with Anabel’s departure, Daniel seemed sure of himself, relaxed with himself. I couldn’t help but like him. He made it easy to be with him. He was accepting and virtuous; it was so subtle that his values were barely noticeable. What I saw of him and in him, though, was an effortless goodness—it probably hadn’t always been that way. No one wakes up one day being insightful and thoughtful without contemplation and significant trials.
After a few minutes of silence we talked again, but not about anything significant. Just shooting the shit until the train arrived in Haarlem. Once it did, we walked several blocks to a street lined with wonderful old houses and buildings. I had walked down this street a number of times in the late 1990s and early 2000s. I loved this area of the city. We came to what appeared to be a mansion and walked up the steps to knock. I was a bit taken aback. I didn’t expect such extravagance, but Haarlem is a city of the moneyed.
Anabel welcomed us at the door. She led us into the dining room and there were hellos and hugs all around. Anabel’s family was as gregarious and friendly when sober as they were while drinking. They were charming. The table was set formally and after we chatted a bit, Anabel’s sister and mother brought out dishes of delicious eats. The conversation was lively and I seemed to be the center of attention—besides Anabel who was soon to be leaving. They wanted to know about me, why I wanted to live in Amsterdam, and about my life in general. I never knew where to start with questions like those. Everything in my life seemed interconnected so it was difficult to isolate one event from the rest. It felt like a lie to say, “I lived in Chicago and did x, y, and z” without explaining how I had wound up in Chicago in the first place. So where the fuck could I start?
I gave them the briefest of overviews, but they stopped me after I mentioned “I moved to Berkeley in the early 2000s.” The family gasped and dug in deeper. Anabel’s father said, “Oh, Berkeley is wonderful!” Each member of the family shared similar impressions. I should have figured since Nina had told me Anabel’s father was—or had been—a hippy. I asked, “You’ve been to Berkeley?” He said, “Oh, yes, San Francisco and Berkeley, like visiting mecca.” I thought that was funny since I considered Amsterdam to be my mecca. I understood, though. Outside of Amsterdam, the Bay Area is probably the place I would most like to call home again.
I had been looking around the table as we talked; I was carrying on long monologues, though, and I thought, “How the fuck did this happen? This is Anabel’s last night. We can’t be talking about me!” Anabel’s mother seemed exceptionally reserved, a departure from the rest of the family. Whenever I looked at her she seemed to be judging me, almost as if she was entirely dissatisfied that I was present. I didn’t know what to think of that so I tried not to look that way much. It wasn’t too hard as she was at the other end of the table, a grand table with a lace table covering. The dinnerware and glassware were formal, elegant, beautiful, expensive. Everything I saw in the living room and dining room smelled of money, old money, yet the interior was also cozy and inviting.
Anabel’s older sister had bolted before the dinner began to see friends. Her youngest brother, about fourteen, was mostly quiet, though his eyes were alive and he listened intently to the conversation amongst the adults roaming around the table. Anabel’s other brother, sixteen he said, had long white-blonde hair. He looked as if he could have been in the boy-band Hansen except that, frankly, he was far too beautiful for them. He was stunning; even Anabel’s beauty didn’t stack up. He was shy, though, but he smiled often, a very shy and self-conscious smile and a presence that was quietly sensual. Fuck, I wasn’t gay, but as the evening progressed I began to wonder if I might be bisexual. Had I always been without realizing it or was it just this young man who exuded beauty, purity, and loving affection? I didn’t know, but I was enthralled. I had to look away most of the time because I found it hard to concentrate while looking at him. A mixture of Adonis and Aphrodite.
Daniel was mostly quiet, observing, but also engaged with laughter, a comment now and then, always a sentence that encapsulated insights of intrigue. I noticed how Anabel’s mother looked at him. She licked her lips without licking her lips, but she was clearly attracted to him. I felt a bit awkward witnessing it because Anabel’s father was sitting next to me, opposite his wife. He had to notice, but then again he was wrapped up in my story. It also dawned on me that, as a hippy, they may have had a far more open relationship than I imagined. They were an odd pairing, the free spirit of Anabel’s dad and the reserved etiquette of Anabel’s mother.
The liveliest participants in the conversation were Anabel, her father, and me. Anabel always seemed alive in her facial expressions, body language, and inflections. She and her father were most alike and the rest of Anabel’s siblings seemed to have their mother’s quietude mixed with the nonverbal passions of their father. My head and heart swam in this mix, inebriated and shocked at being present, at being invited inside not just their homes but their hearts—although Anabel’s mother continued to be wary of me when she wasn’t enthralled by Daniel or making curt comments to Anabel’s father and very proper comments to her daughter. She doted on her sons, though, and, quite lovingly, made attempts to involve them in conversation. I couldn’t really read her—how could I given this was our first meeting and she, like the rest of the family, was complex and full as a being.
I continued with the story of my time in Berkeley, “I enjoyed living there immensely. I was only there for two years, but I took advantage. I worked from home, like I do now, and we lived in an area that made it easy to explore any area of the North Bay, Marin County, and Napa Valley. I roamed to San Rafael a lot, kept driving toward the coast, and visited Point Reyes. Incredible place. Unbelievable how quickly I could escape the bustle of the city and find myself in nature—and there were so many different mini-climates I could drive within an hour to experience different environments based on my mood.” The eyes of Anabel’s father and Anabel lit up, engrossed, and, my God, seemingly in love.
I mentioned driving up the coast to Bodega Bay and Mendocino. The mention of Bodega brought a chorus of exclamations. Anabel shouted, “I love Bodega Bay!” Their family had gone on vacation there years ago and they fell in love with the place. “The windsurfing is incredible!” The Bay is famous for windsurfing, perhaps the best place in all of California. There were travelers from around the world visiting to take advantage. It appeared Anabel’s family was amongst those travelers.
As we continued dining—five courses, each better than the last, each punctuated by a different drink, from aperitifs to various wines to digestifs following dessert, a pumpkin hazelnut cheesecake—we continued talking. Anabel expressed excitement about dancing in Sydney and seeing the country for the first time, but she also emotionally shared how much she would miss everyone. She was tearful and the rest of the family was choked up at times, too. She hugged her mother and her father rose from his chair to walk around the table to hug Anabel as well. Anabel’s youngest brother was tearful and clearly affected by losing his older sister for so long. He asked to be excused and Anabels’ mother took a look at him and said yes. “Come, give me a kiss first—then do your homework!”
Anabel’s other brother, the budding Adonis, eventually excused himself when a friend came over. There was teasing from his parents and Anabel and he blushed. His friend, who was also good-looking but not in the same stratosphere, was more bold, and as they were saying goodbye to go out, he kissed Anabel’s brother on the lips. I raised an eyebrow while the rest of the family collectively uttered a soft, “Awww,” and Anabel joked, “Get a room!” The boys blushed then left. Anabel looked at me and said, “Hot date. I think they’re in love.” Anabel’s father interjected, “Puppy love, but it’s wonderful either way.”
I took in all of this as I had never been around a family who so openly embraced a son’s sexuality. I looked at Anabel’s father and mother and they were clearly proud. It was clear from the conversation that followed that they felt blessed to have such openly affectionate children, children who had so fully embraced their sexuality. I marveled at it; I felt blessed to be able to witness such intimate moments and awed that I was with a unique family accepting and encouraging all manner of sexuality within their children. They wanted them to be comfortable with who they were and they supported rather than judged. Fuck, what a difference from families I had met in the United States.
It was most striking to me from Anabel’s mother. I found it hard to believe she was a hippie and she very well may not have been. Open-minded, though, she was. I had misjudged her even though I hadn’t really formed much of a judgment. I had mostly been unsettled by her occasional glares in my direction. I wondered if she had wished I wasn’t there, but now her spirit was as lively and affectionate as everyone else’s. Perhaps it was the wine, but I didn’t think so. It was possible my open sharing of my own experiences allowed a more inviting attitude.
Having lost my sense self-consciousness about being in the family environment, feeling, truly, as if I was an extension of the family, I opened up further and simply let out what came naturally. During a short lull I said, “I want to express how grateful I am that you have invited me into your home to participate in such an intimate gathering. Being included in a going away celebration for Anabel is a generous gift. I have never met a family so welcoming and trusting. I feel honored and yet completely at home, so much so that I’ve forgotten I’m a guest instead of a cousin or uncle who’s part of the family. How you have done that, I don’t know, but you are all so unique and your children, each of them, are extraordinary.” I looked around the table at each of them, their faces aglow, truly touched by what I was saying even though the words seemed to come from someone else besides me. “And the food and drinks, my God!” Everyone laughed. “Wow, whoever prepared these dishes is a gourmet chef.” Anabel’s father said, “We owe it to my wife. She’s a gift to all of us—and not just because of the wonderful meal!” She looked at me with such kind and warm eyes I just about cried. She said, “I had plenty of help from my boys.” Wow, had I misread her. Everyone, including me, wants to be appreciated for who they are and what they value doing. My gratitude was my most significant contribution to the evening.
Anabel’s youngest son came back downstairs saying he had finished his homework. I suppose the liveliness of the party drew him back. There was a brief conversation about Rufus Wainwright’s rendition of “Hallelujah” and I mentioned I had a Rufus Wainwright CD and DVD in my backpack. Anabel’s father opened his arms and said, “Daniel and Anabel, you’ve met the perfect man!” Everyone laughed with gusto and I retrieved the CD and DVD, handed them to Anabel’s father, and he and his son proceeded to set up the stereo. The DVD was proving to be a problem as U.S. DVDs were not configured to play on European DVD players. I was fascinated by that. A proprietary issue, no doubt. Daniel and Anabel waved to me to follow them out back for a smoke.
We each lit up outside. Daniel and Anabel shifted gears in attitude. They were tiring of the evening and I guessed why—they likely wanted time alone; it was evident in their faces and the way they interacted. They kissed quite sexually yet without leaving me as a third wheel. So fun to be hanging out with two individuals who had no compunction about being openly sexual in front of a friend. As for me, I wasn’t the least bit uncomfortable as I puffed away on my cigarette. Everything about me was changing. I couldn’t even remember myself from Madison or even my first trip to Amsterdam. I was becoming much more deeply who I was and I was comfortable with being myself amongst others.
It didn’t hurt that I was finally, after a lifetime of searching, with others who allowed me the space and the embrace to really be myself without judgment, to be the me I had always felt was me. I had all but given up hope, but here I was and here they were. On the surface I felt a giddy romance, a layer beneath I felt gratitude, beneath that I felt calm, and beneath that I felt intimately connected to myself and interconnected to those around me, the entire environment, an environment integrated with the core of my being, increasingly integrated. I wondered who I might become. I had just begun this visit, not even a week into it, and though I would miss Anabel dearly, Daniel and Nina would be present and who knew who else I might meet in this heavenly country.
I told Daniel and Anabel that I thought Anabel’s brother was beautiful. Anabel smiled and Daniel nodded his head. Anabel went inside as Daniel and I continued talking. He said, “I’m not gay, but he is the one guy I would have sex with if there was ever an opportunity. Gay or straight, he’s sexy, sensual, and, like you said, beautiful.” I nodded. “I know, I had to look away a few times because I could feel myself just staring at him. Ridiculous.” We stood silently smoking for a bit, looking up at the stars. I said, “He’s only sixteen, though.” Daniel said, “That’s the age of consent in Holland.” I was stunned. “No shit?” Daniel shrugged his shoulders as if there was nothing to be surprised about, “Yeah.” He finished his cigarette and walked back inside.
I stood outside after my cigarette looking at the stars. “Of all the places to be in the universe, this one is the best.” I was surprised that I was so surprised by Daniel’s comment about the age of consent. How conditioned I had been by the norms of the United States, as if American proclamations about right and wrong were unquestionably true. I had challenged many notions hammered into my head as an American and freed myself from their shackles, but I realized how pervasive the brainwashing was. Shrooms. I was going to have to do a lot more shrooming to find out how the web was woven and work on untangling the mess so that I could make more conscious choices about what I believed and what I rejected as immaterial, limiting, or offensive.
I walked back inside and everyone had gathered in the living room. I joined them, standing in the eight-foot walkway between the formal dining room and the living room. The ceilings were high, maybe twelve foot. Everything was wood and the furniture was gorgeous, plush, and welcoming. There was an Indian rug so beautiful I couldn’t take my eyes off of it until I looked at the grand fireplace crackling with beginnings of a fire as Daniel worked at configuring the wood. There was a deeper quiet now, a relaxed atmosphere of settling down from the affectionate excitement of dinner. The ambience was gezellig, a different form of the same thing that existed during the meal.
I quietly mentioned how lovely the evening was and remembered my first night in Europe had been in Haarlem. I mentioned to no one in particular. “We stayed at the Hotel Carillon on the square next to the Grote Kerk.” Anabel sighed and said, “I love that square. It’s not far from here.” I said, “I know. Believe it or not I walked by your house on that first visit when I was wandering around neighborhoods. That was ten years ago. Never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined I would one day have dinner here with a wonderful family.” Silent smiles and nods, a breathing of appreciation for the role of chance in life. Anabel’s mother said, “You’ve mentioned ‘we” a few times. I’m curious, who made up the other members of ‘we’ you’ve been mentioning?” I thought about the question and then about S. “‘We’ was my ex-wife and me. We stayed here during our honeymoon before traveling around Europe for a month. We separated and then divorced two years ago.” Anabel’s mother said, “Oh, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.” I said, “No, no, perfectly fine. Nothing to hide and, in the scheme of things, nothing to be sorry about. The relationship was dead. She realized it before I did.” Of course there was much more to the story, but I certainly didn’t want to think about or damper the evening with that crap.
The silence returned, as serene as it had been previously. Daniel looked at Anabel and they stood up, saying, “Well, I think we are going to leave now. Thank you for this wonderful night.” I said the same. There hugs and kisses then Anabel’s father walked us to the door. He waved off Daniel and Anabel before holding me up. He said, “Michael, please come back again. We would love to have you. It was a pleasure getting to know you better.” I said sure, that would be great. “Just tell Daniel and he can relay the message to me. I see him at Bloem regularly.” He nodded and his lips spread into a big grin. “I want to hear more about Berkeley and your experiences there. We’ve been a few times, including a visit to Napa and Sonoma.” I said sure. “I have plenty of stories, believe me. I want to hear more of yours as well. You told me a few of your misadventures during your youth the other night, too. I definitely want to hear more about them!” He laughed and slapped me on the back. “Tchüss!”
As I turned to walk down the steps and the sidewalk to the street I saw Anabel and Daniel locked in a powerful embrace. I sidestepped them as I passed and walked down the block a bit to give them space. A car pulled up and Anabel’s friends yelled at her out the window, a few catcalls as well. Anabel turned to the car and spoke in Dutch. Daniel did as well. Anabel waved me back down. She hugged me, introduced me to her friends who were all wild and fun-loving, saying things to me in Dutch I didn’t understand at all. Anabel hugged me again and whispered in my ear, “Look after Daniel, okay? I’m going to miss him so much. He’s all heart and, well, I just don’t want him to hurt while I’m gone. I love him.” She paused and with more lightness in her voice she whispered more playfully, “Keep him out of trouble.” I pulled away and nodded. She had tears in her eyes and I was surprised that I did as well. I was going to miss her, too. I wished she wasn’t going away.
She and Daniel embraced again, a passionate kiss that lingered for minutes. The women in the car kept quiet, respecting their intimacy. For a while, anyway. Finally, there were Dutch yelps and a plea in English, “Come on, Anabel! The party already started!” A going-away party with her friends. Daniel and Anabel separated, still attached by hand until Anabel pulled away. Daniel had his back to me, and I saw his head tilted in a way that suggested a multitude of emotions, not the least of which was a sadness that she was right there in front of him and yet already gone. Anabel waved to me and then looked back at Daniel with so much heartache I felt tears stream down my face. A friend got out of the car and pulled Anabel inside, causing her to laugh. Voices hooted and hollered as they pulled away. Daniel stood watching the car until it turned the corner. He hung his head and I slowly walked up to him, stopping a few feet behind him. It was a private moment, but I also wanted to be there … in case he needed consoling or simply the presence of a friend. I wondered if I had been invited as much for Daniel’s sake at the end of the night as much as anything else. I doubted it, but I was glad I was there so he wouldn’t have to be alone on the train back to Amsterdam.
Daniel turned to me. His eyes were misty, but he blinked a few times and took a deep breath. Suddenly he was a bit more himself, still subtly emotional, though. I patted him on the back and we began walking toward the station in silence. I knew how he felt. We rode the train back to Haarlem quietly. Once we got to Daniel’s bike and he unlocked it, he asked me if I wanted a beer at Bloem before heading home. I said, “Sure.” I didn’t know if he wanted company or he was just being a good friend. Probably both.
I rode side-saddle again and found it easier, probably because there were so many fewer people out. Maybe it was the wine we had drank, the easy atmosphere of the evening, the ambience of the city later at night, or … just me. I enjoyed the wind rushing through my hair as Daniel moved through the Oude Zijde at a healthy clip. I smiled and waved at the few pedestrians we passed, a few of them pretty young women who laughed, smiled, and waved back. Daniel turned his head back at me once while I was doing this and said, “Having fun back there, are we?” I laughed and nudged him lightly in the back with my elbow.
We arrived at Bloem and Daniel locked his bicycle to a rack then unlocked the doors. It was past 1:00 AM. He turned on the lights and went behind the bar. He grabbed two glasses and asked me if I wanted to try a dubbel. I said sure. He explained the beer-making process involved which I found fascinating. I would forget it later but I enjoyed listening to him talking about his café, his knowledge of beer, wine, liquor, and food. He told me once a year he and a friend had a “Whiskey Night,” a thousand Euro evening for fatcats to sample dozens of fine whiskeys. He also explained the difference between whisky and whiskey. The dubbel was delicious and potent with a heavy alcohol content. We had a couple or three beers and soon it was after 2:00 AM. Daniel looked at the clock and said, “I think it’s time to go. I’ve got to get some sleep before work tomorrow.” Daniel locked the doors and went to unlock his bike as I turned to walk home. He yelled after me, “Michael, if you’re going to be here until April you should buy a bike.” I told him that was the plan. He told me to talk to him about it the next time I visited Bloem. He knew a good place to purchase one. I gave him a thumbs up and he mounted his bike, riding off around the corner. I turned the other direction and walked home experiencing a broad spectrum of emotions, but mostly I felt gezelligheid in my heart.
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