Just a Geek (12 page)

On my way out of the studio, I literally ran into Anne Robinson in a backstage hallway. Seriously, I almost knocked her down.

"Oh god. I am so sorry!" I said.

She gave me the biggest smile I've ever seen. "Oh my dear! It was my fault. I wasn't watching. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," I said. "Listen, I know we're not supposed to talk to you and stuff, but I wanted to let you know that I had a great time on the show. Thanks for playing with me."

"I had a lovely time with you all. You were very good contestants," she said. A girl from the network rounded the corner and approached.

"I'd better go," she said. "It ruins my image when I'm seen fraternizing with the contestants. I'm supposed to be a horrible person, you know." She winked.

"Understood. It was nice talking with you," I said. She was out of the hallway by the time the girl reached me.

"Wil," she said.

Oh shit. I'm busted for talking to Anne Robinson. Perfect
.

I cleared my throat. "Yeah?"

"I'm from NBC publicity . . ."

Uh-oh
.

". . . and we all thought you were really funny. Would you be interested in doing some national media to promote your appearance on the show?"

What? National media?!

"Uhh . . ."

"If you'd rather not, we can—"

"No! No! I was just . . . making sure I understood you correctly," I said. "Of
course
I'd be happy to do publicity for this show! Anything you want; all you have to do is ask and I am there."

"Great! We'll be in touch." She shook my hand, and walked back down the hallway.

I stood there alone, next to photos of Johnny Carson and Ed McMahon. "You know, this is weird, weird, wacky stuff," I said, in my best Johnny voice. "Things are really looking up."

"Yes they are, sir!!" I said, in my best Ed voice. "Looking up sir! Hiiii-oooh!"

Chapter 6. Balance

I AM NOT A RELIGIOUS PERSON
. I'm not quite an atheist, but I'm certainly not a theist, either. Friends describe me as an agnostic Taoist, whatever that means. I prefer to apply philosophies, rather than follow a leader, and I'm always coming back to the Tao Te Ching and the teachings of The Buddha. If I had the patience, I suppose I'd be a Buddhist.

Though I'm a bit of a skeptic, I do believe that The Universe (whatever that means to you) seeks something that I call The Balance. Each time I suffer a setback, or think I can't sink any lower, I remind myself,
"The Universe seeks Balance, Wil. For whatever low you're feeling now, there will be an equal high. Just wait for it."
This belief sustained me throughout the years of struggling and the very difficult trials I faced throughout 2001.

As I was flying high on the resurgence of popularity and visibility
Weakest Link
and my website brought me, The Balance struck: my 84-year-old great aunt, who has always been the foundation of our family, who loved more unconditionally than anyone I've ever known, suffered a stroke and slipped into a coma. She never regained consciousness, and four days later she died, on November 9th, just two days after my wedding anniversary. Her loss sent shock waves through my family. I was devastated.

09 NOVEMBER 2001

Loss

My Aunt Val had a stroke on Monday, and she died around 10:30 this morning.

I was just going to keep this to myself, but I want everyone in the world to know what an amazing, wonderful, loving, kind, thoughtful, selfless person she was. No person, anywhere, at any time in my life ever loved me as unconditionally as she did. She was truly the matriarch in my family and, as the initial shock of her loss is wearing off, the growing sadness and emptiness is consuming me.

While she was struggling to survive on Tuesday and was mostly unconscious, I held her hand and Anne told her that it was our anniversary on Wednesday . . . she squeezed my hand and when I told her that I loved her and that I'd miss her if she had to go, she turned her head to me and she smiled and squeezed my hand, hard. It was the first time she'd been really responsive to us. I felt like she knew we were there and I felt like she was telling me goodbye and that she loved me. For that, I am eternally grateful.

Do not ever take anyone for granted, for even one minute. If there's someone in your family who you love, pick up the phone and call them, right now, to tell them.

I love you, Aunt Val.

A few days before her memorial service, my mom called me.

"I just spoke with Ray [Aunt Val's son]," she said. "We'll be having a small memorial at his house for Aunt Val, and he wanted me to tell you that you're welcome to speak at it if you'd like."

"What would I say?" I asked.

"Whatever you want to, honey," she said, "Do you feel like saying anything?"

"Yeah, I do," I told her, "but I don't want to just say, `Me too.'"

"I know how you feel . . ." she trailed off.

"Mom?"

"Sorry. Hold on." Her voice caught, and I could hear her put the phone down while she cried. Alone in my living room, I cried with her.

"Sorry," she said. "I keep thinking I can talk about her, but I just miss her so much."

I nodded my head, as tears streamed down my face.

"Me too, mom," I said. "I'll think of something."

"I know you will. I'll see you Saturday. I love you."

"I love you too, mom."

I hung up the phone and just sat there, unable to move, and thought about Aunt Val. I remembered all the cool things we did together and what an amazing woman she was. I remembered how tangible her love was, how forgiving and patient and tolerant she was, and I couldn't help but feel happiness. Those two opposing emotions, the joy and sorrow I felt at once, made it impossible for me to write anything for her service. All my words felt like trite cliches, and I gave up.

The morning for the service came, and I had nothing to say. I didn't want to miss an opportunity to remember Aunt Val, so in a last-ditch effort to find inspiration, I looked through one of my many bookshelves, where I hoped I would find something to break the mental logjam.

On the third shelf from the bottom, tucked in between
The Tao Te Ching
and
Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance
, I saw
The Prophet
by Kahlil Gibran. Aunt Val had given it to me about two years earlier. I remembered how much she loved it, and I looked though it to see if I could find something that was appropriate.

At her service, I crammed into a room that was filled with family members and other loved ones. I laughed and cried with several generations of family, as they recalled what exactly she'd meant to them.

When it was my turn to speak, I said, "About a week ago, I told my mom that I wanted to remember Aunt Val today, but I didn't want to just say, `me, too.'

"It's been really hard for me to come up with something to say, because even though I miss her terribly, all my memories of her are joyful, so when I think of her, I feel profoundly saddened by her loss, but overjoyed at her memory.

"As recently as this morning, I didn't have anything to say, until I happened upon this."

I held up the book. Its paper jacket was falling apart, and it was barely bigger than my hand.

"This is
The Prophet
, and Aunt Val gave it to me a few years ago, when I was struggling with something or other. I have to admit, I never took the time to read it until this morning, but within this tiny little book, I found the perfect words to express how I feel about Aunt Val, and what I've learned from her loss. This is titled, `Joy and Sorrow:'

Then a woman said, 'Speak to us of Joy and Sorrow
.'

And he answered:

Your joy is your sorrow unmasked
.

And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears
.

And how else can it be?

The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain
.

Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter's oven?

And is not the lute that soothes your spirit, the very wood that was hollowed with knives?

When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy
.

When you are sorrowful look again in your heart and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight
.

Aunt Val was my delight.
Dancing Barefoot
is dedicated to her memory.

Part VI. ACT III

"Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise."

--The Beatles Blackbird

"And then one day you find ten years have got behind you.
No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun. "

--Pink Floyd Time

Chapter 7. A Sort Of Homecoming

WHEN I WORKED
on
Star Trek
, I always struggled to fit in with the adults around me. It was easy to relate to them professionally, but on a personal level, no matter how hard I tried, I was still a kid and they were still adults. I often thought that Wesley Crusher could have been a much richer and more interesting character if the writers had taken advantage of that very real turmoil that existed within me, and used it to add some humanity to Wesley in between the Nanite making and polarity reversing . . . but I guess it was more fun (and easier) to write for the android. I can't say that I blame them.

For whatever reason, I was never able to entirely lose that teenage angst, and whenever I attended a
Star Trek
event, or saw one of the cast members, I immediately felt like I was 16 again. Because of that feeling—and, if I was willing to be truly, fearlessly honest with myself, the fact that I hadn't done very much with my career since leaving the show—I avoided
Star Trek
events (and that inevitable feeling of shame and angst that accompanied them) for years. Of course there were exceptions, but they were few and far between.

A couple of days after
Weakest Link
, I was presented with an opportunity to share the stage with the Big Three of
The Next Generation
: Brent Spiner, Patrick Stewart and Jonathan Frakes. The event was called "The Galaxy Ball." Robert Beltran, the actor who played Chakotay on
Voyager
, hosts it each year to benefit the Down Syndrome Association of Los Angeles, Doctors Without Borders, the Pediatric AIDS Foundation, and some other worthwhile charities. When I received the invitation, that familiar anxiety and apprehension sprung up immediately.

"What will I talk about? What have I done? How can I face them?"
The Voice of Self Doubt was relentless.

"Easy,"
Prove To Everyone said. "
You've got your website. You've got the shows you do at ACME. You've got a wife and stepkids. You're not a kid anymore. You kicked ass in Vegas, and you can kick ass again. Besides, when will you have a chance to be on stage with these guys again?"

"You're right,"
I said.
"But if you keep talking to yourself like this, they're going to throw you out of Starbucks."

I looked up and offered a smile to the Girl Scouts who were staring at me. I bought several hundred dollars worth of Thin Mints to solidify my reputation as an eccentric millionaire playboy who hangs out at Starbucks in his Bermuda shorts.

When the day came to go to the ball, I dressed in my finest gown, and bid my wicked stepsisters goodbye as I got into my carri—

Wait. Sorry. That's not my story. That's Cinderella's story. I often get us confused.

The morning of the ball, I had a major fashion crisis. I was going to wear a suit, but I felt like I was playing dress up. I put on an ironic hipster T-shirt and black jeans, but then I felt like a child. I settled on this cool black cowboy shirt with eagles on the front and jeans. I looked at myself in the mirror that hangs on the back of my bedroom door and thought I looked kind of cool.

"You guys stay here,"
I said to Prove To Everyone and The Voice of Self Doubt.
"I'm doing this on my own today."
I ignored the explosion of discarded clothes that littered the rest of my room, and left the drawers open when I left.

The whole drive to the ball, I went over material in my head. I prepared jokes and did improv warm up exercises. By the time I got there, I felt like I'd been on stage for three hours.

I parked my car in the self-park garage. I convinced myself that it was stupid to cough up 7 bucks for a valet to drive it 40 feet, but the truth was all the other guys have luxury cars, and my VW seemed a little . . . unimpressive.

I made my way to the green room and discovered Jonathan Frakes, who had arrived ahead of me.

"Hi, Jonny," I said. I felt my face get warm.

A huge smile spread across his face as he stood up. "W!" he said, "You look great, man!"

I love it when he calls me "W" (pronounced "double-you")—my whole life I wanted a cool poker nickname, and it's the closest I've ever come.

He closed the distance between us in two strides and wrapped his arms around me in a big, fatherly bear hug.

"You too," I said.

"Have you eaten?" he said.

"Some coffee and toast this morning," I said. I didn't mention anything about my nervous stomach and the barely touched omelette I left on the table.

"Help yourself," he said, and pointed to a table where some food was set out. "They always give us too much food, you know?"