Throwback Thursday: 2001

Somerville, MA

Ha! I love this because it was the first day that I got the new webcam. In those days, the only way to get an image or video from a PC was to hook up a bulbous little camera. I don't even think it was USB at that point, but a webcam was some tech magic at the time!

I wasn't trying to get a shot here. I was futzing with my new webcam. Jeffrey called. When I posted this on Facebook in 2008, there was no such thing as Throwback Thursday.

Related: The First Time Ever I Saw Your Briefcase

If the link didn't forward, that means Diaryland has finally been retired. I've grabbed some old essays for when that day comes. This is one of them.
It's terrible (all those mixed tenses!) but I've left it intact. This is how I wrote in 2001.

The First Time Ever I Saw Your Briefcase
(July 1, 2001)

The good thing about the next wedding is that it's in New York. Therefore I have a reason to get back to New York, see some friends. There's not a lot of time, so I think I'm just going to see my brother in a play he's doing, and I'll make some time to see Jeff.

Jeff is a composer and organist, and you'd never guess from the raunchy, gay, and S & M films and plays he scores that he's a Libertarian from the deep south. The deeply religious south. Bob Jones' scary south. At this point I've met all of Jeff's brothers and his dad. Let's just say that, on the whole, this family puts the fun in fundamentalist conservatism. In the company of the senior Mr. Hoffman, I remember that I felt like the quintessential Evil City Woman out to vamp his innocent progeny.
When I first met Jeff, back when I was in college in New York, the first few things we did together were, like...attending Evening Vespers at Saint John The Divine. I didn't even know there were Evening Vespers. I didn't even know what the hell a vesper was. (Actually, I still don't...there's candles and music and quiet praying. I think it's like God unplugged).

Evening Vespers. "Pious date," you're thinking. Yeah, except it wasn't a date. Not for lack of my trying, Jeff and I never dated. For one thing, he kept mentioning this wonderful, smart, funny "girlfriend" back in South Carolina. For another thing, I was pretty sure...after I'd tried almost all of my evil wiles...that Jeff was like, really really gay.

We have slightly different versions of the story about how we met. Here's mine:

I was waiting for the train at the station in New Rochelle, and it's really cold. I spot this guy I'd never seen before. Young guy, my age or so. I can't really see much of his face because he's wearing a black cap with earflaps that comes down low and covers a lot of his head, but I can't help but notice how beautiful his eyes are. Expressive, knowing eyes.

I sit down on the other end of the bench he occupied, but I don't have a thing to say. Then, he gets up to go use the pay phone. I watch him walk to the phone. He's wearing a very classy wool coat, totally unlike anything my other...male aquaintences...would own. But then I notice that he's left a black briefcase on the bench. All by itself, just sitting there. I'm thinking, "Duh. What, did he grow up on a farm?" (I'd been living in New York a whole three years by then, so I thought I was a pretty streetwise chick. Ah, youth). I slide my gaze to the right and see this shady-looking character...this dude, clearly with intentions of thievery, also notices the briefcase. I see him see it, he sees me seeing him see it. I slide my butt over and drape my arm over the briefcase, giving the lurking guy a "get lost" look. He gets lost. Jeff (though of course I don't know his name yet) comes back from the pay phone. When I look at him, his smile is like a ton of bricks. I slide back over to my side of the bench. A train is coming just then, and I'm suddenly really really happy to have somewhere to look. I look at the train. Then, the first words we exchange flutter up into the freezing air between us. I hear this soft, slightly southern accented voice say,

"It's the express."

It's all over after that. The express goes by, the local does come, and we sit together in the stuffy yellow light of the Metro North, getting the introductions out of the way. When he takes off his earflap hat, he's got all this fluffy brown hair and a clean, Kevin Bacon/Jude Law look. He was taking the train all the way to Long Island, but my stop was only five minutes away-- I was living in Pelham at the time. When I got off the train, I ran all the way home, burst into the door to tell Jen, my best friend, all about this amazing guy. She laughed her ass off at me when, for like a week and a half, I hung out at the train station around the same time each night until finally I "ran into him" again. Later, Jeff moved to Pelham and I didn't have to stalk him at train stations, because he lived right down the street and we hung out all the time. Arguing about religion.

"You went to Catholic school. You don't have to practice Catholicism, but why don't you seek a church where you feel at home?"
"Because I went to Catholic school."
"The church is where you celebrate the Lord, commune with God."
"Jeff, I don't need a tax-free building with stained glass windows to commune with my god."
"It's not about the actual church..."
"Did I tell you about the horrible witches, those nuns? These are not loving people. If that's being Christian..."

Ten years, these arguments. Yes, I love Jeff as much as I knew I could when I saw him at that train station. But sometimes, when he's got me feeling like I'm surely destined for fire and brimstone, I wish I'd taken a damn taxi.