I am reading a book by Anderson Cooper. There are pictures of him at various disasters reporting the days’ tragedies. The last picture shows him in his red CNN sweatshirt reporting from Texas as Hurricane Rita hits. I remember that night for many reasons. I fell in love with Anderson Cooper that night, the way he risked life and limb to report a story 2,000 miles away from me, his silver hair gleaming in the hard rain.
It was also a Hurricane that I shared a name with, Rita. I found it oddly coincidental that Rita threatened Texas, especially Houston, where John Salas and his family lived. I had been dating this Texas boy for over a year, off and on. It was a relationship of convenience because it provided me an audience without any hassle of a real boyfriend. There was security in knowing at this distance the relationship could go nowhere. It had no potential to develop into anything too meaningful. It was true that we had a strong connection, one that lasted even after he moved from Green Bay; I just couldn’t see it progressing past this point.
But the irony of the situation is that two years later my life has changed little from that lonely evening watching Anderson pummeled by wind and rain outside a Holiday Inn in Beaumont, Texas. My relationship with John, while seemingly one continual fight after another, is still intact. We may go days, weeks, and on occasion months without talking but it always comes back to this. Somehow we miss our talks, our fights, and in general, each other.
I’m not sure I understand his reasons for remaining in the situation. His invites for me to move to Texas are always avoided, always put off for one reason or another. And although he gets upset with me, we settle back into a routine of nightly phone calls.
I begin to envy Anderson, moving from place to place with little attachment, his mind always focused on the job, his audience provided through reporting on wars, inclement weather, and other news worthy events. I want to trade places with him, not worry about some silly boy 2,000 miles away. I wonder what it must be like to travel from city to city, country to country, and not have to call someone every night to check in, not have to explain where you are going and who you are seeing, and why you haven’t bought plane tickets for that visit you discussed a few weeks ago. I want to trade places with Anderson. But then I lack his journalistic talents.
Thinking back to that summer night 2 years ago, watching reporter after reporter lose feed until only Anderson remained, I sat mesmerized and worried well past 4 in the morning. I remember thinking how odd it was that I was waiting up all night watching CNN hoping there wouldn’t be anything exciting to see and yet disappointed there wasn’t.
I think I understand what Anderson must have felt, standing in the midst of a hurricane, hoping for the least amount of damage possible, but appreciating the excitement and the drama it created.
2 comments:
Well, one would have to assume Anderson Cooper does not have anyone at home to call in to in order to say that he has a free-wheeling life in which he doesn't have to check in. While I am not naieve enough to think that I am right here, it's possible that he may or may not have a significant other in his life. If he does, then most certainly he would be checking in-reporting his movements to the one who cares for him and wants to know he's still taking another breath. This is not meant to poke holes in anything you're saying, but just to question the assumptions herein. What does that mean? Heck Idunno, does it have to mean something? Well maybe... For me, the meaning in this is that I see some finding value in the perceived free-wheeling life (yes I know I've used this twice so far) of Anderson Cooper, but where I find value is in the exact opposite. I would like to have someone I had to check in with at night who cared whether or not I was there, or somewhere, still breathing...someone who would tell me that they cared about my existence-without being asked...
Ah, you have found a flaw. I should have explained that in Anderson's autobiography he talks about how he was always willing to run away, always willing to leave people behind to go on a mission. He talks of being on vacation with friends but some story breaks out across the world and without hesitation he leaves. I envy that. He didn't seem to worry about attachment.
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