Intimacy. Brent had the word thrown at him by a woman he believed he loved more than any other. Shonagh had tried to give him the soft goodbye, but he got angry and they finished their three year relationship, as many do, with the surfacing of long held resentments, blame and recriminations all expressed at increasing volume and raised pulse rates.
- He said she should have given him some earlier indications that things were going wrong, she said he never listened or picked up any messages. He said he wasn't clairvoyant, she said that figured because he was self-focussed. He said he could change, she said impossible because he was too much of a control freak to let go of his old habits. He said he still loved her, she said he had no idea of how to love a woman, no idea at all of intimacy. He said what do you mean by intimacy? She said Exactly! He said so how am I supposed to know what you mean, she said ask your mates, take a course, I don't know. And continued to pack her suitcases.
- Brent was distraught, tearful, begging, but to no avail. Shonagh placed the last carton of her books on to the trailer she had hired and prepared to drive off. She felt she should say something to calm him as he stood fists clenched, mouth tight, shaking.
- "Look Brent, try to learn a little more about feelings. There are more than just sad, angry, happy and randy. Go learn more about recognising them, and learn some more about yourself."
- She then put the car into drive and moved out into the traffic before Brent could answer. That night he sat in his favourite bar with one of his oldest mates and told him what had happened and what Shonagh had said. His mate "Buzz" agreed that woman were hard to understand and admitted he also wasn't too sure what Shonagh meant by "intimacy" but figured it meant more than having a candlelit dinner by the fire. Both men were in their forties, both had failed marriages behind them, both worked by servicing the building industry with their own business.
- "And what about this learns more about myself crack? What do you make of that?" Brent asked.
- "Might be able to help you there old son. Don't know exactly where she was coming from, but funny enough one of the blokes at work who is in some sort of men's movement was telling me about this course the other day. It's for guys only. Sort of long weekend retreat to get in touch with yourself or something. Whadda ya reckon?”
- Brent frowned, wondered whether that would help him get Shonagh back. Couldn't do any harm so might be worth a try, he decided. Got nothing to lose.
- "Okay, get some guff on this weekend thing, Buzz old buddy, and I'll check it out."
- A month later Brent found himself signed up for the course and heading towards a former Catholic seminary on the outskirts of Auckland late on a Friday afternoon. It was a long drive in on a gravel road, past rolling green countryside and fences overdue for some maintenance.
- Brent pulled up in a cloud of dust and gazed at the mock Spanish style architecture of the building that was to be his home for the next three days. A sense of foreboding knocked on the window and crept into the car. He considered turning around and driving off, but then dismissed the thought. He had paid for this, and he wasn't a wuss. What was it that comedian Mike King was always saying? "At least he gave it a go." Damn it, he would do just that.
- Other cars were already parked outside the entrance, and another drove past him, the driver not making eye contact. Maybe he's thinking what I'm thinking, Brent decided. Creepy looking place. He sat tapping the steering wheel with his forefinger a moment longer, then shifted the car into a parking space, locked it and walked into the foyer to be greeted by the smiling faces of the reception committee. He was asked to hand over his watch and felt very naked without it. One of the smiling faces explained that clock watching was taboo and besides, personal jewellery and watches identified social standing, and were therefore not allowed.
- "All equal in the eyes of God and the guru running the show eh?" cracked the guy standing in the queue behind Brent.
- The smiling helper nodded as he tagged their items and put them in a locker.
- "And no saying what you do for an occupation for the same reason," smiling helper added.
- "How's that?" Brent asked.
- "Men are always defining themselves by their work, and not their true selves. And the finding out of that is one of the purposes of the weekend," smiling helper explained.
- Brent and the man behind him exchanged glances, but said nothing. They were then shown to their rooms, and asked to come back into the main room for a communal meal in half an hour.
- After the meal there was an introductory speech and everyone then introduced themselves to each other. Brent noticed they were mostly pakeha, and mostly middle-aged. Eventually everyone dispersed to their sleeping quarters for the night. He did not sleep well. He wondered how the Catholic brothers had dealt with the loud snoring that echoed through the building. The worst offender was quite close to Brent and sounded like an old fashioned traction engine trying to start on a cold morning.
The following day the first session began in a very ritualistic manner. Brent was asked, along with the twenty odd other men to form a line in a corridor and place their hands on the shoulders of the man in front of them.
- "Ooh, congo dance, love it," said the comedian from yester-day. A helper sighed softly.
- "Now shut your eyes and move forward slowly," they were told.
- Brent did as asked but opened his eyes ever so slightly so he could get a narrowed view of what was happening. Ahead at the entrance to a room helpers were putting two daubs of some dark paint like substance on the cheeks of each man as he shuffled forward. Ye Gods, what have I got myself into, Brent asked himself. The line continued to shuffle forward until all had passed into a very large room about the size of an old time dance hall. There were cushions and mattresses scattered around on the floor. The men were told they could open their eyes now and were asked to sit down and makes themselves comfortable. Along the furtherest wall a line of men were beating slowly on various sized drums.
- The leader, or guru as the comedian had dubbed him, began to speak, welcoming them all again, asking them to remain open to new experiences. He explained the importance for men to reconnect and assert themselves in these changing times, for them to deal to myths and throw off the chains of past bad events. They were then asked to sit in a circle and hold the hand of the man each side of them. Brent found this weird, making him uncomfortable and suspicious of whatever may be coming next. What came next was a instruction for each man in turn to say his name out loud, and repeat it twice more with the words “I am.... in front, so that it sounded like a slow chant. Brent could see some men struggling with this, but it wasn't a problem for him. He had always quite liked his given name.
- To start the session they were asked to tell any dreams they may have had last night or recently. One man got to his feet and said his dream was that he had already arrived at the weekend workshop, but there was one lesbian woman present. The men all decided to have a pissing contest, to see who could piss the furtherest. The lesbian woman of course could not have a hope of competing, so had to walk away. There followed some serious analysis of the dream, which Brent had thought was very funny. Another man had also dreamt he was already at the workshop, but had his face pulled away. More serious analysis. Then another dream about a woman in a car with spiked knives attached to the hubcaps and driving furiously.
- More talk followed but Brent found his thoughts drifting to the rugby semi finals due to be played that afternoon. A trust exercise followed, then some more talk, then the leader talked about the importance of fathers in the lives of men, how much the relationship affects them lifelong, and how there was often little real communication between fathers and sons. A number of men started nodding and saying "Yes" quietly. The preamble led to a request that the men break away from the circle and with the pens and papers provided, write a letter to their father, regardless of whether he was alive or dead, saying all the things that they would like to say to his face, or would have liked.
- Brent sat clicking his tongue, tapping the pad with his biro, not sure what to write. His father had always been there, had worked hard for the family. Never had a lot to say. Not like his mother. Now there was someone he could write screeds to without pausing for breath. Brent sat thinking about his mother and how she favoured his sisters, along with many other unresolved quarrels he had with her before he left home. He became lost in old events from his school days until he heard the guru say to stop now and reform in a circle. He realised he had not written a word.
- The men were then asked to talk about what they had written, and most did, some crying about the loss of a father, or how they were not loved, or had been brutally beaten. One man was told the mattress being held up by two helpers was his father and to say or do what he liked. The ferocious attack was beyond any anger Brent had ever seen. The mattress was pounded and punched and almost torn to bits, the man swearing and howling with rage. Other men seemed to regress, one finishing up on the floor like a baby, sobbing continually. Brent looked on in disbelief. His dad seemed boringly ordinary and normal by comparison.
- Over the next day and a half Brent continued to look on, participating in the exercises but not getting too involved, and remaining puzzled by the reactions of some of the men around him.
- He had no desire to become friends with any of them. It was all too weird for him.
- "Weird man, very weird shit," he told Buzz several nights later over a beer.
- Buzz nodded and listened to it all, asking the odd question, but mostly listening. At the end he announced that Clive, the men's movement bloke at work, had always struck him as a bit of a strange sod, so none of it surprised him in a way. The two men ordered their last drink and Brent decided to close the subject.
- "You know, after all that I'm still none the wiser about myself, except that I'm not as screwed up as some guys. And I still don't know what the hell she meant by 'intimacy' "
