PART ONE - NEW YORK CITY
I wake before dawn, alone in my bed. I reach over, old habits die hard, but there is no tousled head on the pillow beside me. Not even a slight indentation in the useless fucking thing.
I get out of bed and the memories wash over me.
We’d made love, then fought. She’d packed her bag and left.
Now the loft seems much bigger than it had seemed before, with her things gone. I’d wanted her gone, so what the hell is the matter with me.
Lonely. Yeah, lonely. She’d been here for eight months, and she’d become a part of my life, no matter the terrible time the eight months had been. Now, even though I am glad she’s gone away, I miss, not her, but her presence in the place. That house filling presence. The little comforts among the horrid fights. No question, I’m lonely. But I’ll get over it.
I walk through the vast loft, or at least it seems so to me this morning, to the kitchen and put on coffee. I pour myself a glass of fresh tangerine juice from the refrigerator, and take a vitamin pill from their container on the counter. I take the vitamin, and take a sip of the juice to wash the monster down. I walk out on my balcony, no one can see my nudity up here because of the height of the balcony’s solid guardrail, and drink my juice watching the city waken, the flood of humanity coursing up Broadway. The life’s blood of the city.
Back inside my kitchen, I wash my glass out and stick it in the dishwasher. I pour myself a cup of coffee and wander over to my dining table which almost spans the entire width of the loft and which has already been washed of the smells of her body. The scents she’d drained on it last night had seemed obscene in the early evening, so as she’d been packing, I’d been cleaning.
Yesterday’s mail is thrown carelessly onto the table. I finger through it. Bills, ads, a letter from Mom who is still located in my hometown in Southern California, which I set aside, and a letter from an old friend also with a return address of my hometown.
My god. I haven’t heard from Charlie since I’d sent a gift, some six or seven years ago, for his wedding. I remember he’d married one of the hometown girls but for the life of me, can’t remember who.
Although I’m curious about Charlie’s letter, I put it aside and open Mom’s letter first, which, as always, is full of news of people I’ve forgotten, or can’t place. She always does this to me. But, then a surprise, she tells me that my old friend, Charlie, had asked her for my address and she had gave it to him. Voila, the envelope from Charlie.
I put her letter back into her envelope and take up Charlie’s envelope in my hand.
I’ve no idea what to expect. We haven’t spoken in, oh, at least ten years, and although he was my best friend during high school, I’d sort of left all that behind when I went away to college, then come to New York to sell stocks, which I’m very good at.
Still, for some reason, perhaps to escape the crush of loneliness, or maybe just a wistfulness for those bygone days, I’m curious what this letter might contain.
I open the flap and pull out a rather formal invitation to my tenth highschool reunion. It shocks me for some reason. A handwritten note inside, I suppose in his script, says, ‘Hope you can cum.’
I laugh at his pun, then sit there with the envelope in my hand for the longest time, a kind of inherent wonder suffusing itself inside of me. It occurs to me that we’ve all grown up.
The reunion is to be held, of course, in my hometown, in two months. I have to smile.
I love New York, the byways, the my ways, the up town, the downtown, the in ways of it, and even the bad ways of it. The night life, the restaurants, the movies, the plays, the bars, the women. Ah yes, the women. Of course I haven’t had very good luck with women since I’ve been here. Been alone more than with.
And it’s summertime in New York, and despite the romance that brings to mind, it’s hot, and close and muggy. It’s going to get hotter, and muggier the next two months. It makes me remember the coolness of the west coast evenings. No matter how hot during the day, it was always cool at night. At least at the beach. You can always drive to the beach there. Or to the mountains for skiing during the winter months.
Okay, maybe not as good a restaurants, maybe the bars are not the same, neither as crowded or as noisy, and maybe I’ll hate it if I go back.
And Charlie? I’d left his friendship and everything else on that coast behind when I’d gone to school here, and then took a job here. A good job. Would the old town be the same? Would Charlie be the same?
It would be great to see Charlie again though. He was always a gutsy cut up. Maybe it would be fun. Who knows?
PART TWO: THE FIRST DAY
The reunion is supposed to encompass the entire weekend. There is a mixer Friday night. Saturday, there is a dinner, and dancing at the roadhouse. I have no one to take, so I won’t plan on dancing. And finally, on Sunday, there is going to be a baseball game and barbecue. I rent a car at the airport and drive home.
The family home is located on a hillside overlooking a ravine. On the other side of the ravine are other houses. My father had selected this place during its development because of its potential night lite view. As I drive up, I remember the old days. My father, who passed away a couple of years ago, would be sitting in his out rocker out on the porch, rocking and reading, when I'd get home from school. I miss him so much it leaves an empty feeling in my chest and a tear in my eye.
When I rush inside and my mother takes me into her arms, the sadness fades as fast as it had come. It is a bit nostalgic being back in my old room. It hasn't changed. Placing my bag on the bed, the memories come flooding back. I wonder what ever happened to Sally Landers. She’d been my first. We’d done it in this very bed while my parents were away on vacation. I’d thought we’d break the springs, but those old springs turned out to be made of studier stuff than our romance. No one had ever known about our fling except Sally and me.
My mother is truly a different person than most would expect. To give you a picture of her, I’ve never seen her when she was not wearing makeup. I’ve never seen her in flat shoes. I’ve never seen her in what one might call a house dress. In her early sixties, I was a late child, she goes to the club twice a week and hikes in the hills on weekend. She’s never been a beach person, I’ve never seen her in the sun without a hat, and if she were so inclined, an umbrella would shade her entire person. I’ve never seen her cry but for Dad’s funeral. Why she never took a beau, I don’t know. I’m sure she could get one if she wanted.
Mom quickly reminds me who Charlie's wife is. I remember her instantly from school. In her yearbook picture, she was pretty with slanted eyes, shoulder-length black hair, and laughing eyes. I also remember that she had no shape, a real bean pole with no tits and no ass. She must've changed a lot, because the way Mom describes her she doesn't sound like a bean pole anymore.
I try to envision Neoni all filled out and busty, but I can't.
When I’d gone to New York, I’d gotten rid of my California clothing. I never really expected to come back. Mom and I spent the afternoon clothes shopping for my reunion. We pick out a couple pairs of linen slacks, several shirts, and a Jay Ko jacket California clothing. As I got into my rental car to go to the mixer, I think I look good.
They'd leased an old movie theater for the mixer. I seem to attract a lot of attention when I walk into the theater and grab a beer from the open bar. Charlie appears to be the spokesman for the event, which doesn’t surprise me. He was always in the middle of everything going on. He makes a few jokes and then turns to me, and says it’s good of me to come all the way from New York for the occasion. Of course, everyone stares at me. I try to smile through the embarrassment, but I’m not use to this much up front attention. As a stock trader, I tend to be something of a recluse. I sell over the phone, so it’s just my computer, my phone, and me.
"Our boy, Brian, is here for the ball game on Sunday. The Two Terrors will play again!" Charlie leads the chant through the room. I'd forgotten about that. The Two Terrors. Embarrassing. But that’s what the other kid’s nicknamed us.
Someone yells, "Hear, hear!"
At last, the chanting ends and I surreptitiously look around the room. I nod to those I recognize or think I recognize and those who are staring at me. It feels strange being back, but it is still home. I don't recognize a lot of them, but on some level, they seem familiar. We probably don't have much in common any more, but I hope to renew a few old acquaintances at the ball game on Sunday.
I am standing there, wishing for Sunday to come, when I feel a small hand pull on my arm. I turn around and fall instantly in love.
"Hello, Brian," says the vision of loveliness.
Desperately trying to place her, I search my mind for something to say that is both smart and charming.
"Don't tell me," I say, smiling at her. "Don't say a word. I know you, but you've changed. For the better, I might add."
Then it hits me who she is and my heart sinks.
"I saw you talking to Charlie," she says. "Side by side, you two still look like twins. But, of course, you look better. Charlie still looks like a frump." She giggles. "I remember how truly amazed I was when I found out you and Charlie weren't brothers or cousins or something like."
"Neoni?" My mother had warned me, but I am floored by her beauty.
"Yes, It's me," she says with another heart-stopping smile.
