The Weekend

The Weekend

It was Armenian all weekend. Friday found us watching a DVRed USA-Slovenia game at the home of friends S&R, who are both Armenian. The next night we attended a birthday party where we were entertained by the endlessly entertaining stories of a woman whose husband was Armenian. And then on Sunday we saw more of S&R. So, continuing that theme, here is some Armenian music.

Today on the L Train

This morning the train was too crowded to open my book. I stretched out an arm to grab the bar running along the ceiling and balanced the book under one arm while holding my coffee. My eyes wandered around the train, taking in the other passengers.

Matt once told me "there's always one in each car". He was referring to men. Always at least one cute guy worth nonchalantly watching. I looked around the car for the one who would be my "subway boyfriend" for the rest of the ride.

The car was full today with the usual lot of office workers and students. More climbed on the train at each stop. We shuffled closer together, each of us claiming more personal space from our neighbors. What had just 6 blocks earlier been the absolute most anyone would consider surrendering, became smaller and tighter. Finally my shoes were right up against my neighbors, the distance between our fingers on the bar too minuscule to measure. Eventually we were packed so that I could no longer steal sips of coffee without disturbing anyone.

But turning my head was still feasible. I was able to keep an eye on the handsome face at the other end of the crowd. His unshorn jaw, the buttoned collar of his wrinkled shirt, the suggestion of a tattoo visible on his wrist that snaked up to the ceiling where he braced himself.

I studied him cautiously. What would Matt think of him? If we were riding this rush hour together would he have spotted the same guy? What would he be doing right now, this year, in this city? What would he think of my job path, love life, choice of footwear?

Before my own transfer the subway boyfriend left to make his connection. The car emptied just a little, then filled to more than capacity again. I moved inconceivably closer to the woman next to me.

Yesterday I had gone off on a rampage of verbal cursing. Matt's voice in my head with every "Mutha Fucka!" This lead to a search through the 2006 archive of our homepage looking again for evidence of the helicopter crash. A scant few lines of text. The impact, the hurt, the shock, the grief. The growth. The refusal to grow. The insistence that things would never be right again. The knowledge that it was uncomfortably different.

We arrived at Union Square and the woman seated in front of me smiled as she rose from her seat. "Your coffee smells very good. I've enjoyed it." The car emptied and I had freedom of arm movement again. "It is good," I said and smiled.

The Weekend

Summer was in full force. We went to the beach.

Chipotle

After a day at the beach, the Boy in the Checkered Shirt and I, both exhausted, showered and redressed and shot into Manhattan to catch up with Jim, visiting from Louisville. We made it up 8th Avenue as far as this fast food taqueria's newest location where we spotted Fritz and Devin through the front window. They had been with Jim most of the afternoon enjoying the warm weather inside a bar. We chatted them up for a bit, then headed up to the bar. Taking a moment on the sidewalk to do some texting, out spilled Jim and Juan. They were in a great mood. Very festive. The four of us walked back down to Chipotle to grab a bite to eat. While there Toni and J showed up and the introductions began.  After some burritos and beers, the groups went their separate ways, with Meer and I joining Toni and J for a trek up to the Frying Pan, where we watched straight girls argue with their drunk boyfriends and bump people with their purses.