True story, Word of Honor:
Joseph Heller, an important and funny writer
now dead,
and I were at a party given by a billionaire
on Shelter Island.I said, “Joe, how does it make you feel
Kurt Vonnegut
to know that our host only yesterday
may have made more money
than your novel ‘Catch-22’
has earned in its entire history?”
And Joe said, “I’ve got something he can never have.”
And I said, “What on earth could that be, Joe?”
And Joe said, “The knowledge that I’ve got enough.”
Not bad! Rest in peace!
I’m reminded today, on this eve of the anniversary of when our lives changed so dramatically, that our time together is forever tied (in my head) to the Russian invasion of Ukraine, last year. That’s weird.
I mean, it’s not, I suppose. Our first date — when the knowledge that you were something unique and special to me, that we were something somehow more unique and special together, became solidified as more than suspicion or a hopeful dream of a hopeless romantic — was two days before what was in the moment a huge thing. And I recall over the spring and summer that followed, as us became more and more real, that my superstitious brain kept thinking that if that conflict ended, somehow that would affect us.
Arbitrary. Coincidental. Unrelated and yet entwined.
There are beginnings and endings every day, and those too are arbitrary and often undefined and unnoticed. It’s only when we put a pin in them that they become a thing – marked on a calendar, remembered and remarked in coming years as significant. People come and go, flowing and ebbing into and out of our conscious notice, on a constant basis, and yet rare is the moment that sticks and becomes indelibly inked on us.
I can’t remember what I wore that night, or where you left your car, or what you or I ordered. What song(s) played on the way to or from the restaurant. I remember that Cat warmed up to you immediately. I remember you taking my hand on the drive from Gianmarco’s back to my place. I remember you stumbling on the way out, sitting on the floor with your back against my couch and us talking.
Our first kiss. That I remember. And maybe it was tentative, or just physical, or alcohol and the creeping hour, but it was also the first of many more.
And here we are, 365 days later. Texts about Vonnegut and cats and brushing the surface and points deeper have turned to running inside jokes and reminders of adulting and memes and reminders of how we feel about one another. Kyiv stills stands. Politics is still stupid, pop culture cranks along.
Just like the world, measured in arbitrary clicks of months and weeks and days and hours and seconds that we humans made up to give us a sense of orientation, it feels like reading a book that I’ve cracked a thousand times, divided by arbitrary chapters and paragraph breaks and semicolons. I know the plot and the characters and the flow, but each reading brings new details and understanding of motivations and a deeper enjoyment. It feels like lifetimes have passed with you and every day is new mystery waiting to see how all this turns out. Forever has slipped by and everything is new.
It’s taken me a million missteps and miscalculations and misreads to get here, but those are also lessons, opportunities to learn and get better and to soften the edges so that I fit together with you more gracefully and comfortably.
I’m right where I need and want to be, and that is enough – more than most people will ever know. I hope I have shown and continue to show that you every day, how much I appreciate this sensation.
