In the days leading up to the departure I could see esseffjoe in my head, his eyes over his glasses telling me: there are no coincidences.
So I sent Lee a pm with my flight schedule and in minutes had my confirmation: we were on the same damn flight out of Atlanta. Yee-Haw! "I'll be wearing my cowboy hat" I told him.
That night before I packed my bag with stuff I would never use and at 4 am began the sickening ride to the airport, realizing I should have got up a half hour earlier, running to get to the gate, damn if I missed this flight.....there are no coincidences....I exhaled.
Gate T3, ATL, 7:30 or so in the morning, I have seen his picture, know I will recognize him, where is...there he is. "Hey Buddy!" after all these months the only question I still had was his height, which turned out to be about the same as mine, Rock Hudson with better hair. We find we can indeed change our seat assignments, are given two seats in a section of three, and the third never shows. It is the best possible way to cross the continent: with a good friend and a series of Bourbons. We laughed and cut up and told our stories and carried on like two giggling teenagers, like we had know each other since we were. I am sure the women in the row ahead of us had an earfull.
Arriving in SFO I get the call from Judy, she is there waiting by the bagage claim, and we stop to have one more drink, so as to give our bags time to get there. Here she is, the answer lady, the one who has been on so many of the same paths I take I feel like I can ask her what to expect next. We are the happiest people in the airport that day, I am sure.
The BART train into the city is an experience, and I get them on the bus, melencollyly if there is such a word. I go the short distance to the Hurst Building, with its Marble floors and brass elevators, exit into Joe's world, his office becomes real, his partner becomes real and upon returning the key to the wash room I think: Senator Craig would love this place.
We are off and running, I am grateful to have a bite to soak up the alcohol, to sit at a sidewalk cafe with this other old Virginia boy, as the city pounds around us. We go under the ground and emerge on Castro street, the Harvey Milk station, under the big rainbow flag. I look up and think of Danny Overstreet, (
http://rtonline1.roanoke.com/rt_specials/shooting/story15.html)wonder if he ever got to see it, if he knew there was a giant rainbow flag that would fly at half mast when he was gunned down in a bar in Roanoke, Virginia in 2000. The cab takes us on the climb, up and up and up, to the near summit of Kite Hill, and my long held suspicion is confirmed: Joe is indeed Mrs. Madrigal.
There was no moon until 5:30 that afternoon he explained so we should be patient, plans would go awry, we struggle across the city to visit his friend who welcomes us in to his home, a vintage 1886 Victorian, decorated to the hilt and beyond, with antiques, I would estimate around one billion dollars worth. The foyer lit by gas light. As one who lives in a museum, I am impressed. But the surprise waits in the basement. Mechanical music, player pianos, Victrolas, mechanical violins, entire orchestras waiting for the drop if a dime, waiting to sing their century old songs. Our host explains how one of them served to provide music to accompany the silent films. It is bigger than my car. How the hell did they ever move it?
Down to the ferry, We take time for much needed coffee. I am approaching hour 20. Joe's partner Jim has gone on, across the bay to Tiburon where we will join him at the home of ____ ______. I hope he will appreciate the borried reference from Maupin, who he sort of resembles. (bit much thinner) The ride is peaceful and golden in the late day sun, starting to get a bit chilly, we pass Angel Island and I see what the land looked like when the Indians lived here, right now still brown, but soon to turn green with the winter rains.
The town of Tiburon is out on the street for a festival. Screaming 12 year old girls with painted faces, the street blocked with people dining by candle light. When you see women in America out in public wearing hats, you can usually assume on of two things: 1. They are on Chemo, or 2. The are wealthy. I think these people were wealthy, healthy, whined and dined.
We take the road up the hill to ____ ______'s home, a stunner of a place, overlooking the town, the bay, the little church on the hill where the open space begins, over looking Angel Isle. He opens the door and I think: There is cousin Allan's twin! He welcomes us in, eager and happy we have arrived and I am already in regret as I feel I am only at about 35%. They have done killed a bottle waiting for us, I nurse along a single glass and take in the view as the sun sets. I am in high cotton. My shoes feel dirty, but this is the home of a brokie, I know I am welcome. ____ _______'s lamb stew is to die for.
After coffee he carries us back in his car, down the mountain, thru his town and just before cross the Golden Gate we climb up to an over look to get the full effect of the bridge at night, lit only in recent years as it was originally intended. I gather they are not fans of the bridge though ____ ______'s early hours take him across with little traffic. Down thru the city we travel, on and on, where the hell are we going? Finally the Sundance Saloon appears. This is the place. Joe reminds me I have a key, I can come and go or whatever, it is no problem. The only three people I am acquainted with in sight drop me off and I step into this place of swirling cowboys. Where are my friends? Then suddenly a see a short train hopping by, Eric is the engineer and Paul the caboose, I run to catch that train. Hugs and kisses all around.
One by one the faces appear, some I have see from posted photos of other gatherings and a hand raises and I see Janice in the dim light. I know it is her, like I know my hand, here is her x-daughter-in-law, straight out of the old testament. I am so glad she has made it, for a while there I thought she might not. I go out on the floor, the sea of swirling bodies and I meet Melinda, and I realize that there are people who are recognizing me for the first time. I meet Karen, and newly empowered by the music drag he skinny frame out on the floor and show her just how bad a two stepper I am, but Eric comes to my rescue and gives me an impromptu lesson. Long, long, short, short, what every you say bud, fast or slow I suddenly don't care I am moving backward.
I look around another corner and there is Chuck, looking even trimmer than his most recent picture. He tells me about his trip over the music and I think, if my great grandparents had stayed in Jersey I might actually understand what he is saying. (No you stop).
Judy is there with Gail, and her daughter Audra, Glory is there, Adam is there, although I have never met him before he is exactly like his picture, Adrian is there, in Johnny Cash black, we embrace, just a few days past the anniversary of our first and last meeting, in front of a table where Annie Proulx was signing books, he came up to me and asked: "Are you from Bettermost?" So good to see him again.
And Lee? He had morphed into the night blooming Sirius, the plant that every Granny in Virginia used to have on her porch in the summer time, in a big pot, hauled in each winter so that once ever seven years it would bloom, for one night, at midnight, and all the grandchildren would stay up and watch. It was midnight, and he was in full bloom. He staggered over to me and put his arms around me and hollered in my ear: I am having such a good time and other endearments.
"You have a friend for life" I told him. I wasn't just speaking for me. Now, he can be a friend to himself as well.
Topic: Shakesthegrounds Rumblings (Read 2595173 times)