I arrive early. A possible stolen moment of mindfulness and relaxation out of a harried day. But this is New York City, where quiet was expunged from the lexicon long ago. And I am a consummate New Yorker so I must email something to somebody. And so I did, to POB (partner of blogger) and FOPOBAB (friends of POB and Blogger) who were joining us for dinner. Witness my descent into madness.
—– Original Message —–
Sent: Wed Jul 28 18:00:35 2010 [I am 14 minutes 25 seconds early, standing outside a pulsating restaurant]
A hopping place we picked. Such an active bar scene that if you were here early I wouldn’t be able to tell. I am sweltering outside listening to Dancing Queen (they pipe out the music for the pleasure of the passersby). I am trying not to sing along. I wish there were drag queens around to dance with. My inner 20-something
Sent: Wed Jul 28 18:03:45 2010 [3 minutes and 10 seconds later]
Cabs are so plentiful I want to hail ALL of them.
Sent: Wed Jul 28 18:08:58 2010 [5 minutes 13 seconds later]
Men’s fashion is getting pushed to the limit. It is only ok if [husband of FOPOBOB, who always looks fabulous] would wear it. That is my litmus test.
Can you tell I am overwhelmed by the bar scene raging inside. Ok, a couple with a two year old are considering coming into the restaurant. Mean, evil parents. Toooo much. I am going to try to take a picture surreptitiously. [Unfortunately, I was unable to get my blackberry camera in focus quickly enough]
Sent: Wednesday, July 28, 2010 7:10 PM [one minute two seconds later]
I am going inside. I am brave.
No one would seat me even though we had a reservation. We ALL had to be there. I had visions of being in a suburban steak house located in a mall where they say, “Ma’am, if you have a seat after your party has arrived, we will call you.” And then you wait to hear, “Blogger, party of four!! Blogger, party of four!!” Ok, I CAAAAN’T GO THERE.
We all arrive and sit down and everybody is chatting and happy to see each other. I turn to the wife of FOPOBAB and ask, steeling myself for the answer, “how is your sister?” [note: her sister had cancer]. I knew it was gutsy.
Although time seems to evaporate when we all get together, it has been quite a few months and ANYTHING can, and does, happen. I see the look on her face.
Pause. Pause. Momentary out-of-body-experience. Back in my body and wishing it lacked a mouth.
“She died.”
[Why do I forget that I have a big S on my forehead for SCHMUCK?]
“We’ve seen you since then but we were with the kids, and I couldn’t go there.”
“Some hors d’oeuvres?” I say. NO, NOT REALLY. She tells me a hilarious story that happened as her sister literally lay dying that involved a nun. There is humor in these moments. I remember with my mother. And if you been there, you can very comfortably listen and laugh along. Because those stories help those still alive cope.
Meanwhile, POB and husband of FOPOBAB are talking about something else. There is a break in the conversations. I decided to catch up the others on our conversation.
I turned to POB and said, “So, I asked about [wife of FOPOBAB]’s sister and she is dead. But still we both have our appetites. And, as you know, I have schmuck written on my forehead.”
Silence.
I turn to my friend and say, “in the future, just text us “worry” or “cry” and you fill us in on the details later. Ok?”
