My experiment in pure hedonism was bound to fail. When not occupied by work or family I am capable of wandering around in a haze of sensation. But that only takes up a portion of the day; at some point the fugue state lifts and it is inevitable: I start to think about something abstract. This week it was the politics of pleasure.
Stevie has a peculiar ability to ask questions that solicit secrets, and KTS shares memories of things best forgotten (he even, unlike me, remembers the names of the principal characters).
I’ve always done exactly what I liked, but I am intrinsically ethical and conscientious; I believe that life should be fair and fun.
In fact, I could never enjoy one without the other. I wish that more people felt the same.
Stevie and I walked all over Cambridge singing chorus songs. Between us we should have known at least a dozen, if not more, but the memories have faded. It was startling to observe how much can be forgotten; we practiced together every week for years but can’t get through an entire song without stumbling.
I asked Did you know that I cried when I left?
She replied No.
Of course this means that she probably does not know how hard it was to leave.
That final weekend I went to the coast for Writer’s on the Edge. The event was in a theater and after I read three passages from the Lessons in Taxidermy manuscript Marisa did a set. Later we went out to a bar with our friends and a crew of local artists and musicians. Someone offered me drugs, for the first time in my life, and I was so surprised I was probably too sharp in the way I refused.
We walked along the beach with a bright moon illuminating the dunes and ocean, sat on driftwood and watched Anna Ruby and Stevie dancing in the moonlight. As the others talked quietly I put my head down and cried silently, tears dropping on the sand.
Marisa and Jody were sharing our room and everyone laughed before falling asleep; I turned my head on the pillow and cried quietly.
There were mad escapades on the beach in the morning and when Stevie and AR embraced me for the final time I started to cry, tears slipping down the side of my face, obscured by snarls of hair. As we pulled out of the parking lot our friends flashed us, and then we were on the road.
Byron and Marisa tactfully ignored my tears. I gripped the armrest and cried and cried for hours. It was all I could do not to break into wrenching sobs.
Eventually the tears stopped; we found a roadside burrito stand and watched in baffled amazement as a girl at the next table vomited and her friends just kept eating their lunch. We got back on the road and talked and laughed for the rest of the ride.
I knew that I would see everyone again, and that the ocean would always be there.
Stevie is remarkable for many reasons, but singular amongst my friends in that she once forced me to admit that I love her. I don’t throw that word around easily, no matter how strong the feeling; there are people I care about equally who have never heard me profess any emotion whatsoever.
Now she has gone home again. I’ll miss her.