Love hears, love knows, love answers across the silent miles and goes. — W.H. Auden
Ten minutes before boarding a flight to NYC I decided to text most of my UK friends to reveal a secret I feel gleeful about. I was quite surprised that most of the people who read the message were shocked and concerned – the story isn’t exactly news, even if my inclination to talk about the subject might be. I reassured everyone of my inherent buoyancy (and the fact that I would never share bad news) then dashed away!
My long-standing policy of ignoring strangers on airplanes was challenged immediately, when I realized that the person next to me was reading through a binder full of what appeared to be lady porn featuring titles like The Shaman and characters named Graywolf.
I was tempted to inquire if she was a fan or an editor but resolutely turned toward the movie screen, where I caught the first bit of Stranger than Fiction before the channel cut out, leaving me without any clue of how the movie ends or what the narrative might have been suggesting. This was unfortunate since I thought the bits I watched quite funny, including the question posed by one character (paraphrasing): Who in their right frame of mind given the choice between pancakes and being alive chooses pancakes?
Hmm. Well, me! Except of course I don’t like pancakes. But swap other temptations in, and you’ve summed up not only my fundamental world view but also the theme of the whole trip.
All of my normal places to stay in NYC fell through but Margaret graciously offered to host me in her studio on the Lower East Side. We met up for an Ethiopian dinner and chattered away about body image and love. At one point she said If you have a hunchback you can just throw a little glitter on it, you know? We all have problems. Everyone has been there.
Over drinks at a hipster bar she told me a long and hilarious tale of going to the desert alone, where she was pursued by strange creatures before laying down in the sand convinced she would die. Then it was back to her haunted bachelorette pad, where I crashed in a deep jetlagged sleep.
In the morning I thanked her fervently for the hospitality and then wandered around the neighborhood a bit, completely amazed by how friendly everyone in the states appears compared to the way people act in England. Beyond that, NYC has always felt comfortable, like a home I want to find, even when the city is at its most challenging.
During the long train ride through working class New Jersey towns I stared out the window, feeling homesick and thinking about the fact that my passport was issued in 2000 and at that point I was so paranoid about travel the experience was almost unbearable.
Now I like the uncertain, in-between moments best of all – a remarkable change in such a short period of time.
I had a couple of free hours before anyone showed up, and settled in the room before venturing out to the boardwalk to admire the ruined buildings:
Several weeks of visitors and interviews had rendered me somewhat unfit for human companionship; my voice was almost entirely gone by the time I found my oldest friend after several years separation. He said It’s nice to see you, Bee.
I replied It’s nice to see you, James, even if I’m dying!
His answer was swift: Well that’s nothing new. I don’t know what you’re complaining about!
We laughed and talked and caught up on sundry issues, and a few hours after meeting he even remembered to ask after the children. One of whom is named after him.
It seemed prudent to scope out how long it would take to get to the wedding venue, and we found that it was only a three minute walk:
Then we wandered around, admiring more of what Asbury Park has on offer:
Later we caught up with the happy couple at Jess’ family home, including a crew of British people. I forced myself to tell the truth about my work; this was difficult but I persevered and quite enjoyed the conversations, particularly with an anesthetist who listened to me laughing, cocked his head, and informed me that I have asthma.
I protested but he commented The fact that you haven’t been diagnosed doesn’t mean you don’t have it. Stop laughing!
After the party seven or eight of us crammed into a taxi meant for four, James wedged across our laps narrating what he saw in the night sky. Does this sound completely out of character for yours truly to put up with? Why yes, yes it does!
We were collectively surprised to learn that our hotel is semi-officially queer and features a gay bar the likes of which it is hard to find outside the confines of small-town America.
Standing around watching a drag show of varying quality we laughed and applauded the good bits and winced over the bad. At one point I commented It fits somewhere in critical theory but nowhere I want to go!
Stephen replied Not with that dress on! and I nearly spit out my drink.
The next day James and I wandered all over town and rested for awhile to prepare for the antics of the evening. I talked to Anna Ruby on the telephone briefly, then Stevie called and left a message that she would be in NY to attend her high school reunion and that I should go with her because The way I see things, you kinda owe me!
What can I say about the wedding? Every last bit of the event was wonderful, in every possible detail, including the posters friends made:
Not to mention the vows, the blessing, the Ketubah, the gathering statement by Stephen including an Auden quote that made me cry.
And, of course, we danced:
The Luminescent Orchestrii played and we all toasted the happy couple, eating food, talking, bowling:
Friends new and old celebrated and had a fantastic time:
A family friend named Pearl offered the toast Nobody worked harder for happiness than Jess.
This is true. I wish both her and Brian every possible wish as they move forward through life.