I met Jake several years ago today on the L train. He was reading The Concept of Anxiety, and I'd been interested myself so I asked him about it. The maple leaves fell gently around us as we walked home together. Turns out he'd been my neighbor all these years down in 29B. It was fate, or so we had thought.
The first Saturday following, we ran into each other again in an outdoor garden and chatted over a couple of beers. It was late afternoon and the light in the city was turning pink. I don't know if it was our age or the sweet nothings of New York, but we decided to come back to the same place the following week. And then it was a routine. I found him by the string of white Christmas lights, or next to a line of Polaroids hung from clothes pins. Over time, different friends had joined our Saturday afternoons. I guess it was just a product of still being in this city, in our thirties and becoming those age old creatures of habit we solemnly swore we would never become. We were such a trope, but I didn't care. It was Brooklyn. We defined trope. At least there was that.
Jake and I headed north last night to celebrate my birthday by watching for meteors in a shower called The Perseids. It was gorgeous out-- the air was thick and wet, smelling sweeter than ever. A few hours out, we found an empty clearing that seemed flat for miles. So we sat there, silently at first as our souls expanded beyond the confines of Manhattan's thinning streets and steel skyscrapers. I had closed my eyes, and opened them to the sound of Jake's voice explaining the story of Medusa. Perseus. He killed her or so the legend went as he poured us a couple miniature dixie cups of bourbon. I reached my hands out towards the sky and nearly touched another galaxy.
Though we saw nothing, or rather I saw nothing-- Jake says he did but I think he was lying or fooling himself-- the night was blissful anyway. I was growing tired of the city speed of things. The endless rooftop parties, large dinner parties, large gatherings in general were wearing thinner on my shoulders by the day. There was something about being able to hear someone that I missed. Thirty-one seemed like a quieter year. Jake had his bike. I wanted to get out of the city. It wasn't a thing. It was exactly what I had wanted.
The light was low and just breaking through when we found our way out of the woods. Jake lit a joint and finished it before we hit Queensboro, the new, more popular edges. We drove through a large Jewish cemetery. Rosenbaum. Rosenthal. Rosen-- it boggled my mind that they had all died in alphabetical order. Jake hugged the curves a bit too wildly, too obviously. A cop pulled us over.
'Dammit.'
He never cursed. He quit smoking years ago. Except for the tattoo that sprawled across his left ribcage, all remnants of rebellion had vanished. Anne told me a couple of weeks ago that Jake's mom had passed. He hadn't told me yet. I had known she had cancer, and I had known it was bad. I figured he would tell me when he was ready. I didn't know how anyone dealt with that sort of thing, or that he did. It made him such a contradiction. I could give him that, so long as it didn't become a habit.
Jake was a grad student at a small, conservative seminary-- the kind that was proud of piety and authority. He was a rising star and a darling of professors, if those exist in Bible school. It seems counterintuitive. And though I never understood what or to whom, he was always trying to prove himself. Maybe that was why we were friends. I didn't care for any of that posturing or what box he was trying to fit in.
I answered for him as he blubbered around for his license and registration.
'Morning, Officer.'
'You know, you were going fifteen miles over the speed limit?'
'I'm so sorry, Officer, it's just my dad's birthday and we need to make it back in time for his party, and we were supposed to be there for breakfast. We'll be so careful. We won't do it again.'
The officer looked at us quizzically, first at my obvious lie and then at Jake's sincere penitence. He must have been having a good morning, because he only said,
'You two look like a nice couple, so I'll let you off this time.'
'But we're not--'
Jake's honesty made me smile. We rode on through an alleyway, and it took us a longer time than usual to get back to Bushwick. He was making full stops and looking both ways.
'I probably shouldn't have driven you.'
'Why?'
'Never mind. Sometimes I don't know why I bother.'
Innocence beguiled and irritated him all at once. It felt as if we'd just spent the last fifty years together-- a bad sign for a Saturday.
'You want breakfast?'
It was more of a statement than a question. I was used to it by now. Caffeine made Jake a better man, so I only nodded and we were seated. We were suddenly in better spirits. The city around us was stirring and readying itself for pancakes and eggs benedict. He said grace.
The conversation took an optimistic turn. Our dreams ran out in front of us and skipped over our breakfast into morning as if they were school children linking and swinging arms. I think it was Jake's way of dealing with all that was going on in his life these days. He was relieved to talk about the things ahead; where he would be, what he would be doing, who he would be doing it with. Dreams. Possibilities. It was the kind of happy care you gave to your early twenties. He was a whole decade late, but so earnest. He started whistling a hymn.
'I wanted to become a professor,' he said.
'So then become one.'
'It doesn't just happen like that. I've got to be home for now. And you need money to do these kinds of things anyway.'
'Even for Bible school...' I laughed at him and he didn't look so amused. I sighed and leaned back. There was a family across the way. They were speaking in German, but the lady's stern admonishment was clear in any language. The child was wearing a sailor's hat. He had just shoved half a croissant in his mouth, and looked ready to cry. The boy's father had turned the slightest shade of blush.
'I'm sure you'd be great at it. What would you teach?'
'Theology.'
'Isn't that what seminary is?'
'Kind of, actually, it doesn't matter. What about you? I can't believe I've never asked,' he suddenly looked at me with a twinkle in his eye,
'What did you want to be when you grew up?'
'Oh, I always knew I'd be traveling the world, but I never thought I'd be doing it alone. I used to have these dreams when I was a kid, of being in Belize or Tel Aviv with some guitar-strapped sojourner. But now that I'm doing it alone, I kind of miss him and he's not even real. It's silly.'
'Just pick one up from off these street corners-- they're a dime a dozen.'
To be honest, I forgot what he said after that. There was a lot he said in those days that I just couldn't listen to-- mainly because they were reactionary or weren't true. We stopped by Goorin's afterwards to try on hats. The bell on the door tinkled as it opened and we were met by the musty scent of a very old store. It was cool inside and dim. I discovered a green bowler hat, put it on, and browsed further down the narrow aisle. When I turned, he was looking out the window-- shoulders low, back turned against me. I heard him murmur,
'Ma's gone.'
'I know. I heard from Annie.'
'But I don't really want to talk about it. I just wanted you to know.'
'You always say that but you do anyway.'
He turned around and the ghost evaporated. His eyes looked altogether differently at me, nakedly at first and then they were the only part of his face left to me. Hiding was how he coped, as most of us must. I watched as the old, familiar mask enveloped his soul and returned his face to the one he showed the world. Hat in hand, he smiled imploringly and said,
'How about this one?'
They say that the heart of a woman is pity. I smiled back, 'Decent.'
'Come on, let's get out of here.'
We walked through the store and down a couple of more warm blocks to the back of an empty restaurant. Lush forest-green ivy crawled high over the old brick facades. I took a seat at one of the wrought iron tables. The seat was rusting. Jake emerged with our drinks and suddenly launched into his thoughts without hesitation. It was our way, his way with me-- there was never any warning.
'Do you know what's the worst part of this whole thing? My dad. He got it the worst. He doesn't have anything anymore.'
'What do you mean? He's got you, he's got lots of people.'
'I mean his life's work. It's gone. All the things that he put his family through, her, us-- it all burned to the ground.'
'You think that's why your mom got sick? Because of him?'
'He loved her. He loved her more than he loved any of us. And she gave her life for his-- and the family we had built. Every day. We got up early and cleaned the pews, we stayed late and straightened up house. We went to soup kitchens on Christmas and shelters on Thanksgiving. We prayed, for hours and hours. And for what? It doesn't exist anymore. It's dead.'
'That's unfair. You don't know how your parents affected your community, and what the church did for the people that were there when it existed. You don't know any of the final things.'
'Yeah, I know, you're right. It just feels like he hasn't got anything now.'
Jake wasn't one for crying, but it looked like he'd cracked in half. His body slid lopsidedly as he pulled himself together. It was growing dark out and the neon red lights behind him had flickered on just a few minutes ago. He looked at his watch.
'Oh, I told Jane I'd be at her concert. We'll just stop by for a minute. It's outdoors. It'll be nice.'
We rushed out of the restaurant. The exhaust had dirtied my white silk blouse over the course of the night and day. We crossed bridges and roads, and soon were on the other side of the river. The river was an undulating, darkened mass that reflected hidden glimmers of city light. As we veered inward towards the heart of the island, the park came to view. We were in Chelsea. The band had already started and its sweet notes strained to reach our ears. Jake pulled back around to look for parking, slowing suddenly at the intersection on a small tree lined street. I recognized the old building to my right. de Kooning had lived in that complex. A lot had happened to him on this block. Rent had been $35 a month, he had gotten engaged here, and been evicted.
'Did you see that?' Jake yelled over the din of his bike.
'See what?'
'In the sky, it was a falling star. I swear I saw it. The Perseids.'
'No. It's too bright here anyway. It'd be almost impossible.'
'But I'm sure I saw something.'
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A shot from an old trip to Italy, way back before Instagram filters.
If my memory serves me correctly, this Perseus is one commissioned by the Medici family.
*Music from Sufjan Steven's Carrie & Lowell, "Should Have Known Better" |
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