Duane Daniels

With a thank you to Lisa for blogsitting while I was visiting Gramcracker in the virtual no-fly zone, I'll segue to another entry for the Thank You Catalog. This one is for Duane, who strangely, miraculously, sweetly has shown up as a guardian to me since the moment I met him.

Have you heard of soul contracts? Carolyn Myss suggests that before we're born, we as souls make contracts with each other; and each event that occurs in our life's relationships, each joy and commitment and betrayal, is decided upon before we even take form in this world. If that's true, Duane must have agreed to be my rock. Ha--both my anchor and my rock-and-roll.

Duane offered me a job the day after I met him, and in so doing, introduced me to the love of my life: theatre. As house manager of a downtown San Diego, 99-seat brick box, the theatre took physical shape beyond my curiosities about plays. I sold tickets and counted the house. I swept the floor and watched wide-eyed the actors as they assembled in my reception area that doubled as a sort of back stage. I listened to the same play night after night and took flight to the cadence of the script, the rhythm of the actors, and the uniqueness of each night. I was inside the thrill of live performance and loved nothing more.

With a presence that calmed me every time he came near, Duane became my first boyfriend in many years. There's a funny story about how dating him put me back in the closet: after years of being gay, I didn't want my family to discount my life before him--like he was a silver bullet to the "lesbian problem"--so I didn't tell them I had a boyfriend for a very long time.

Cities and ambitions and years parted us. But Duane remained ever present in the dear parts of my dreams and survival. It seemed coincidental that he was in New York City on 9/11, and our astonished and shaken days that followed were spent together in this my new city. It seemed coincidental until last December, when my world shook again at the loss of Michael and his daughter. Duane and I both happened to be in San Diego on visits and met for dinner. As we walked into the restaurant, I got a flurry of calls that Michael hadn't shown up to his destination, and the rest of the evening was spent in distracted conversation. By the next morning, Michael's plane had been reported missing, and Duane was there to drive me home in my fragile state from San Diego while we waited for the news.

In between those times, he would show up in New York when I was a playwriting student and slip me a few hundred dollars, to pay back when I could. He gave me money to buy a car in L.A. when I was so broke I was stealing quarters to pay for half-sandwiches at the corner gas station...all the while saying I could pay him back whenever I was able.

This is a man who is not always money rich. A producer, actor, director, he has money when he's working and bread crusts when he's not. But when he's had it, he has shared it, and has subsequently cushioned the sharp corners of my life with his generosity.

It was his presence during the loss of Michael last December that crystallized it for me. I always realized how special Duane is to me, but when coincidentally he was there on the day I would need him most, in the same way that coincidentally he was in NYC with me when it was falling down, it brought even more to the fore that he's a living guardian angel of sorts. Duane without wings, but with long lanky arms around a deep hug, Duane without halo, but with a rich sweet baritone for making you feel serenaded in speech, Duane with the expansive heart and wicked stage smarts. I'm thankful for our souls' contract.