a tale of two
My memory of first meeting him is vague, but he filled it in for me one night. Fifteen years ago, he had applied for a space in our apartment. arcanus had found met him at a club, and found out that he had just moved here from New York, previously LA and prior to that St. Louis, and needed a place to live. So, apparently when arcanus told me about him, I just called him and said, "hey, whenever you've got some spare time, meet me in Harvard Square."
To hear him tell it, I had led him around the Square, introducing him to my favorite places: the Harvard Book Store, Second Coming Records, Cafe Pamplona. And he wasn't sure if he was being interviewed or taken for a tour. Later, I told him, "oh, that was me just wanting to get to know you. And looking for an excuse to go on a walk, because, you know, I like going on walks. When I heard that you could pay for the room and that you had a cello, that was good enough for me."
Over the time that we've known each other, he has always been the positive one; the one who can take a challenge or a crisis and reframe it in some way to make it seem achievable. I look at risk. He looks at potential.
We were only roommates for a year, but we've stayed close since then -- being the same age and going through the same trials and phases of self-discovery, angst and growth; but perhaps coming at it from different angles. He settled down earlier, meeting someone and getting married before 30. All of those trappings of conventional adulthood -- property ownership, a spouse, children, a move to the suburbs -- he hit all of those while I still chose to stay on the path of the unfettered -- renting, single and child-free.
They say that this can be the point when friendships are tested; where the opposed choices of moving out to the suburbs to raise a family or remaining in the city to stay close to other friends will cause you to drift apart. We get older, our lives get busier, and we have less time for each other. Still, we made time for each other. I would swing by their house on my bike, stop on their porch for a glass of water; and he'd let me know when they were in town to see if I could meet them for brunch or dinner somewhere.
And somehow, the friendship has gotten better, stronger; because we don't take each other for granted any more. Once a month, at least we'll see each other. He might come in for dinner, and we'll end the night on my back porch, sipping scotch and talking about our hopes and dreams. He'll envy whatever extended adventure I've just returned from, I'll ask him for adorable stories of his children. Other times, I'll go to their house, have dinner, drink too much wine and sleep in their guest bedroom, only to be woken by the two kids looking for someone to play with.
I remember an apple picking trip many years ago. A bunch of us had biked out to Nashoba, to walk amongst the orchards and fill our bags with a fall bounty. heatray and I were sitting at a picnic table, munching on our harvest, and he walked over carrying his still infant son. He sat the boy down on the table and held him so he would face heatray. "O, this is Uncle heatray, and this is Uncle cris."
"Dude," I said, "I don't know if you want us to be primary influences for your son. We'll lead him into a life of wandering, bike grease and shenanigans."
"Actually, I hope that's exactly where you'll take him."
To hear him tell it, I had led him around the Square, introducing him to my favorite places: the Harvard Book Store, Second Coming Records, Cafe Pamplona. And he wasn't sure if he was being interviewed or taken for a tour. Later, I told him, "oh, that was me just wanting to get to know you. And looking for an excuse to go on a walk, because, you know, I like going on walks. When I heard that you could pay for the room and that you had a cello, that was good enough for me."
Over the time that we've known each other, he has always been the positive one; the one who can take a challenge or a crisis and reframe it in some way to make it seem achievable. I look at risk. He looks at potential.
We were only roommates for a year, but we've stayed close since then -- being the same age and going through the same trials and phases of self-discovery, angst and growth; but perhaps coming at it from different angles. He settled down earlier, meeting someone and getting married before 30. All of those trappings of conventional adulthood -- property ownership, a spouse, children, a move to the suburbs -- he hit all of those while I still chose to stay on the path of the unfettered -- renting, single and child-free.
They say that this can be the point when friendships are tested; where the opposed choices of moving out to the suburbs to raise a family or remaining in the city to stay close to other friends will cause you to drift apart. We get older, our lives get busier, and we have less time for each other. Still, we made time for each other. I would swing by their house on my bike, stop on their porch for a glass of water; and he'd let me know when they were in town to see if I could meet them for brunch or dinner somewhere.
And somehow, the friendship has gotten better, stronger; because we don't take each other for granted any more. Once a month, at least we'll see each other. He might come in for dinner, and we'll end the night on my back porch, sipping scotch and talking about our hopes and dreams. He'll envy whatever extended adventure I've just returned from, I'll ask him for adorable stories of his children. Other times, I'll go to their house, have dinner, drink too much wine and sleep in their guest bedroom, only to be woken by the two kids looking for someone to play with.
I remember an apple picking trip many years ago. A bunch of us had biked out to Nashoba, to walk amongst the orchards and fill our bags with a fall bounty. heatray and I were sitting at a picnic table, munching on our harvest, and he walked over carrying his still infant son. He sat the boy down on the table and held him so he would face heatray. "O, this is Uncle heatray, and this is Uncle cris."
"Dude," I said, "I don't know if you want us to be primary influences for your son. We'll lead him into a life of wandering, bike grease and shenanigans."
"Actually, I hope that's exactly where you'll take him."