SOunds of Silence

DECEMBER 1, 2009

I didn’t recognize the number on my phone’s caller ID, and when I picked up, I didn’t recognize the voice, either. But when he cleared his throat and gave me a long, drawn-out, “Duuuude,” I knew it must be Brian.

For those of you who don’t know, my friend and best man, Brian, left New York at the beginning of October to spend six months in a Buddhist Monastery in Virginia. I was surprised to hear from him.

“Your voice is so raspy,” I said.

“It’s from the smoke. One of my jobs is to stoke the fire, and I’ve been breathing smoke all day.”

“I thought maybe you just weren’t used to talking.”

“Ha. Well, maybe a little of both.”

“So, how is everything? Is it all going according to plan?”

“Yeah, actually, I’m levitating three inches off the ground as we speak.”

“No kidding. You can talk on the phone and levitate at the same time?”

“Cakewalk. One of the monks asked me to bring it down a couple of inches because I was intimidating the new students.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t because he was trying to watch the game on the big screen and you were causing interference?”

“Hadn’t thought of that.”

“I didn’t realize you’d be able to talk on the phone at all, to be honest,” I said.

“Not too much, but yeah. I can.”

“So, how are you feeling?”

“Apparently, better than you are, my friend.”

“You heard about my shoulder, eh? How’d you hear about it? Are you omniscient now, or did you talk to Joe?”

“Joe mentioned it in an email.”

“Email? I didn’t realize you’d have access to email, either.”

“I didn’t have it for a while, but I have it now.”

“I don’t know why having phone and internet access surprises me so much. I guess I just figured you’d be incommunicado for the duration of your stay. I’m glad to know you’re not, though. I’ve been thinking about you. I’m glad you called.”

“So tell me what happened with your accident.”

“It was so stupid,” I said. “Kind of embarrassing. I told you about the dirt riding class I was going to take, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, well, I took it. We were on these little Yamaha 125s, learning to slide into corners. You kind of go balls out into the corner, hit the brake, and let the bike slide under you. The bike changes direction, then you pick up the throttle and off you go again. Body position is key. You don’t lean into the turns the way you would in a road race; instead, you have to stay on top of the bike while it slides underneath you. I lost my balance at the apex of a right turn, instinctively tucked in, and rolled forward. About the only place I wasn’t padded was at my shoulders, and that’s, of course, exactly where I fell. The instructor told me he’d help me out by telling people I was going at least 30 miles per hour, but really, I was probably only going five.”

“Oh man, that’s a drag. And especially so soon after breaking your foot. What does Deborah have to say about all of this?”

“At the moment, she’s staunchly anti-motorcycle.”

“Me too. Tell her she has my permission to slap you upside the head.”

I called to Deborah, who was in the room, working on her jewelry. “Brian says you have his permission to slap me upside the head.”

“Oh, I don’t need anyone’s permission for that,” she said, without looking up.

Brian’s father was an orthopedic surgeon who was understandably anti-motorcycle — or “donor-cycle” as the orthopedics like to call them. When Brian was young, his father would show him X-rays and accident photos to dissuade him from any interest in motorcycles. He even dragged him out of bed once and took him to the scene of an accident. Needless to say, it left an impression.

“So,” said Brian, “have you learned anything from all of this?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I need to stay on top of the bike in those turns.”