a stick of clove, a shot of jager and a hug
In my mind, he has always been there, dancing in that corner where I first saw him, the long red hair, the cigarette in hand, the smile that he would crack to himself like he just thought of a joke that amused him and he hadn't made up his mind to share it with you quite yet. He has always been in that corner of the Middle East, flirting and joking with the staff, watching the world go by, ready to lean over and tell you a bit of history of Cambridge, some story that you would never read elsewhere. I think of him that way because I've never known him before any of that, that he had the privilege of a twenty year headstart on me to establish himself, to be that regular constant, and the repository of sketchy street wisdom that many of us needed to tap into.
One night at the club, he caught my eyes on a girl, a redheaded dervish who slid through the dancefloor like mercury on glass, a mutual friend of ours and I had said something about how hard it was to get to know a person in this scene -- that dance nights and parties were so full of distractions and it was hard to get in a decent conversation.
"Well, you know," he said, "typically people in your situation try to ask the other person if they'd like to get dinner somewhere. Get away from the lights and the loud music. That's usually a good place for conversation."
"I think that's what you call a date?"
"Yes, it is! ... My god, boarding school really stunted you, didn't it?"
That's been our friendship -- bits of wisdom and advice exchanged with a small side of sarcasm and affection masquerading as teasing.
At some point, I don't remember when, he asked me to join him and some friends for a fancy dinner at an Italian restaurant in Kendall Square. The restaurant isn't there anymore, but the tradition's continued. Once a year, we pick a swanky restaurant, get dressed up and just tell ourselves that we don't care what it costs. The others in the group have dropped out so now it's just the two of us and whichever guests we invite along. It's become our unofficial birthday dinner that we share for each other, a treat that we share with those who we care about.
Because that's been another part of our friendship -- generosity and a willingness to show appreciation through gesture and kindness. I could tell you about the way he worked with silentq to take a collection amongst my friends for the ANT, or the various and sundry events that he's organized for our other friends to commemorate something special, but my favorite story of ours is one that just involves us.
This was back when I was living in Watertown with silentq, and I had an ambition to bake a pie. This was before I had taken baking seriously, so I was making a mess in the kitchen with butter and dough. At the same time, he was in our neighborhood, in a car at a red light that turned into a car crash. Oncoming driver, epilepsy, seizure, nothing to do. Fortunately, while the accident wrecked his car, it left him unscathed. Shaken, but unscathed. So, once the unfortunate wreckage had been cleared and he had been left to his own devices, my friend walked to our house and rang the doorbell.
I did not know any of this, of course, so when I answered the door, I was surprised to see him on the threshold, in shock and jittery. "I need a drink," was all he said.
"Ok. Come in. I've got whisky, but I can also open a bottle of wine if you want."
"No, whisky's good."
"Rocks?"
"Straight."
I wiped my hands, pulled out two glasses, uncorked the liquor and poured it generously. I just watched as he took his first drink, and then held his eyes as he set his glass down.
After a pause he said, "do you know why you're a good friend?"
"Why?"
"Because when someone shows up at your doorstep and says they need a drink, you give them the drink before you ask them what's wrong."
Do you know why he's a good friend? Because he asks you questions that provoke you but don't insult you. Because he is sometimes wrong, but he never pretends to have all the answers. Because he never keeps score, but he always remembers when you've done him a solid. Because he's always been there, and will continue to be there with a drink and an empty seat waiting for you.
One night at the club, he caught my eyes on a girl, a redheaded dervish who slid through the dancefloor like mercury on glass, a mutual friend of ours and I had said something about how hard it was to get to know a person in this scene -- that dance nights and parties were so full of distractions and it was hard to get in a decent conversation.
"Well, you know," he said, "typically people in your situation try to ask the other person if they'd like to get dinner somewhere. Get away from the lights and the loud music. That's usually a good place for conversation."
"I think that's what you call a date?"
"Yes, it is! ... My god, boarding school really stunted you, didn't it?"
That's been our friendship -- bits of wisdom and advice exchanged with a small side of sarcasm and affection masquerading as teasing.
At some point, I don't remember when, he asked me to join him and some friends for a fancy dinner at an Italian restaurant in Kendall Square. The restaurant isn't there anymore, but the tradition's continued. Once a year, we pick a swanky restaurant, get dressed up and just tell ourselves that we don't care what it costs. The others in the group have dropped out so now it's just the two of us and whichever guests we invite along. It's become our unofficial birthday dinner that we share for each other, a treat that we share with those who we care about.
Because that's been another part of our friendship -- generosity and a willingness to show appreciation through gesture and kindness. I could tell you about the way he worked with silentq to take a collection amongst my friends for the ANT, or the various and sundry events that he's organized for our other friends to commemorate something special, but my favorite story of ours is one that just involves us.
This was back when I was living in Watertown with silentq, and I had an ambition to bake a pie. This was before I had taken baking seriously, so I was making a mess in the kitchen with butter and dough. At the same time, he was in our neighborhood, in a car at a red light that turned into a car crash. Oncoming driver, epilepsy, seizure, nothing to do. Fortunately, while the accident wrecked his car, it left him unscathed. Shaken, but unscathed. So, once the unfortunate wreckage had been cleared and he had been left to his own devices, my friend walked to our house and rang the doorbell.
I did not know any of this, of course, so when I answered the door, I was surprised to see him on the threshold, in shock and jittery. "I need a drink," was all he said.
"Ok. Come in. I've got whisky, but I can also open a bottle of wine if you want."
"No, whisky's good."
"Rocks?"
"Straight."
I wiped my hands, pulled out two glasses, uncorked the liquor and poured it generously. I just watched as he took his first drink, and then held his eyes as he set his glass down.
After a pause he said, "do you know why you're a good friend?"
"Why?"
"Because when someone shows up at your doorstep and says they need a drink, you give them the drink before you ask them what's wrong."
Do you know why he's a good friend? Because he asks you questions that provoke you but don't insult you. Because he is sometimes wrong, but he never pretends to have all the answers. Because he never keeps score, but he always remembers when you've done him a solid. Because he's always been there, and will continue to be there with a drink and an empty seat waiting for you.