Four Lifetimes Ago. At Once.

aka A Week In Connecticut.

This past week in Connecticut was an exhausting exercise in families and friends; in love and loss; in reconnections and in closing chapters; in budding, confused youth remembered; in an authentic present and a self-realized adulthood; in pain and pretension, compassion, indifference, warmth and chilliness; in laughter and in tears. Life.

This will be a four part tale (Astronomy, Astrology, Eulogy, Family) as each experience represented a significant and entirely different period in my life, in how I grew to be the Me.

Part 1 - Astronomy– The Comet 1986

“Tell him your dreams, And fanatical needs, sell him your soul, sell him your soul, Sell him your soul, never look back, never look back…”

the hammering wall of synthesized sound, the hypnotic droning of Teutonic Ice princess Claudia Brucken builds during the repeated chorus of ‘Dr. Mabuse’.

Ironic that this track is on a CD made for me by my old Comet chum Mark as a memento of the Comet 20- year reunion. A perfect metaphor for the conversations we each had with our Futures back in the early ‘80s. And a context for how to appropriately remember, acknowledge and honor those conversations/memories now. Lessons learned.

I was oddly nervous about seeing these people who were my family, my co-passengers on a trip through the 80’s. A strange intensity to these people, a family of misfits; yesterday’s beautiful, questioning, confused creative youth who found a home and certain kinship in the basement of an art deco diner in Hartford, CT.

What would they be like today? Would it be enjoyable to see these folks again? Would a cocktail of laughter and tears, passion and anger and hurt and love swirl through room, planting itself near a pillar, looking disinterested—while the familiar feeling of being lonely, anxious, sexual, and unwanted burbled up like a sickening 20 year old- nausea?

To be completely fair, I have a LOT of fantastic memories of the Comet years. I have no excuse for having lost touch other than not being computer savvy at the time I left Hartford, and, for the past 15 years at least, my preferred method of communication has been electronic. I simply didn’t know how to get in touch with most of them.

But on the other side of the coin of brutal honesty, it was only seconds after being dropped off outside the Comet by my friend Susan to walk in and face all these questions and people that I remembered—that many of the reasons of why I lost touch with some of them came surging back.

People can and do outgrow their similarities. This is normal and this is honest. I’m sure there was a rose colored, thin wire-rimmed-glasses tint to these memories for many of the folks there. For many of them, though, there was also a lot of conflict, pain and turmoil during these years of forming sexualities and budding personalities.

For me, the Comet years signified the most intense, sad, questioning period of my life. The loss of two young, adored parents in four years. The euthanasia of my dog of 14 years. The exploration of bisexuality, celibacy, pansexuality, so completely confusing. Yeah, I dug sex with guys, but I fell in love with women. (Thank you Gemini…). Wanted to be with someone but wanted to be left alone.

I modeled. Acted, ran a record store. Waited tables, managed a Benetton. A health club, the Hartford, Stage Company. The birth of my Celibate Slut persona. Stuck between Los Angeles and London, college and career, youth and adult.

Who the fuck was I?

It used to take innumerable Long Island Ice Teas and Budweiser chasers to numb the agony of familial loss and feelings of helplessness that hospice can bring, to sedate the nervous child who wanted to reach out and become the passionate, sexual person he was but was well hidden behind a false mask of strength and independence. There is a woozy, post-drunken haze to many of these memories.

Well, wah wah wah, me me me—blahhhhhhhh. I’m just like Bounty paper towels—33 % more self–absorbent! Wouldn’t Rosie be proud.

Fast forward 20 years to the parking lot of Dishes, the former comet site.

As I walked in, I wondered if people would think, “Oh… he looks AIDS-y…” Or Old. Or like faded glory. It made me mad at myself for falling back into a rut of self-doubt after the years it took me to grow my self-confidence. I’d immediately fallen back into my shallow 20- year old mindset. Shame on me. Each of us are beautiful, thin, fat, ageless, old, employed or not, pretentious or saintly. We are all each of these things at times. We are humans.

As I pushed open the door, I scoured the room for familiarity. The door woman looked at me with a questioning-though-vaguely-recognizing glance and said, “Name?”

“Craig Hermes.”

Then a squeal and a loud, “Oh MY GOD!!! You cut your hair!!!” Rita, Ave still holding court. A huge hug, and I was immediately tapped by three or four others. It was really nice to chat, but I didn’t really know what to say. I wanted to talk about Africa, Asia, fundraising, living with HIV. I didn’t want to have to explain AGAIN why I was looking for a job, to a room full of people who’d been in 25-30 year careers. I was still the shy kid (no longer “MOIST & TENDER!!!” as my friend Vaginal Davis used to call me…)- just me in a wrinkled, rumpled 44- year old body.

I pressed on. My method of keeping moving has been delightfully helpful in my avoidant personality disorder.

My eyes met with my friend Jerry. Then I saw Natasha, Mark, Melanie, Eric, Tim, Jared, John Eastman, Melissa, Patti, Lynn, Marisa. New Order and the Cure and Talk Talk and the Cult played (I’m pretty sure in almost the same order as 20 years ago…) And it was good.

What did I gain? I reconnected with a few folks I would like to remain in touch with. It was also nice to see people looking happy and settled into their lives.

I also realized that there were folks that I probably didn’t share much in common with anymore and would probably not see again. We’ve all grown. Thank God.

I am thankful for the time we spent so long ago, in brocade and black, happy for the chance to say hello again, and happy to send some on their way to their own happiness and self-fulfillment.

So would I say never look back? Nope. Would never say never. Would I want to relive or recreate the past. No I wouldn’t. History shouldn’t repeat for any but Shirley Bassey & Propellorheads.

I am grateful for the past spent, the heartache and jealousies, the laughter and ludicrous, and the chance to reminisce about the wander through the woods of my growing up, the time that was my New Romance.