So where have I been? Where, indeed. I’d love to be able to tell you that I’ve been writing the Great American Novel or lost in the narcotic haze of a drug binge. The truth, however, is much more mundane.
I’ve been thinking.
Thinking a lot about mundane things, doing a lot of pondering about things that you all out there might not necessarily be inclined to read about. It all started with a trip to Jersey a few weeks ago to visit my friend Phil and have dinner with my friend Alex. Phil and I met freshman year of college, when we lived on the same floor and would share booze and cigarettes and cereal stolen from the dining hall. We were both embroiled in long-distance relationships with people in Boston, so my then-boyfriend would drive his then-girlfriend to visit us in Syracuse. That lasted for about a semester, after which one, then both, of the unions fizzled out. Mine had the longer shelf life, though, for better or for worse.
Greek Life, as it is called, was a big thing at SU, and when it came time to pledge, freshmen (and women) streamed from the dorms like worker bees, headed for the houses to convince complete strangers of their merit and worth. Phil made Beta house, while I stayed in my room smoking pot and Camel Wides. Around that time I met another group of guys, one floor down, who shared my affinity for the Grateful Dead and my general derision for frats. Alex was one of these guys, and although I eventually dropped my Boston love to spend two years dating his roommate, he was the one I always considered my Best. Not best friend, not best drinking buddy, just Best. I remember one night, our senior year, I had been out late doing whatever I was doing and stopped by his apartment to ride out the buzz. I laid on his couch and stared up at the tapestry nailed to the ceiling and talked with him about nothing and everything, and knew that somehow we’d be part of each other’s lives forever, no matter what.
Phil and I didn’t see a lot of each other once he joined the fraternity, but after I moved home and started working in Newton I got this random email. Apparently Phil had also moved to MA – Belmont, to be precise – and had seen me walking down the street. We met up for dinner and drinks, and suddenly it was like no time had passed, and we were still 18 years old, drinking Captain Morgan while I ate all the rasins out of his roommate’s box of Rasin Nut Bran.
So anyway, a few Sundays ago, driving home from Jersey in a torrential downpour with the man who is now my fiance, these were the things on my mind. The rain was so bad that I thought we might not make it back – I couldn’t see ten feet in front of me, and we were crawling along the Merritt Parkway at 20 mph – and I still just felt so lucky and amazed to have these people around. It’s rare, I think. And that’s where I’ve been at.