midnight

it’s 11.47. 13 minutes to midnight. this sort of stuff has happened before. still, whenever it does occur again, it feels as if it's a whole new thing we’re discovering, the babies and i.

jas is dressed in a white shirt, with a tie i have forced him to remove lying somewhere in a corner. neil stares at his computer, hopefully, as if it will tell him something new tonight. i, surrounded in a haze of beer, type in my lonely spot. the bangles come on. everyone smiles. it’s a cd devoted to the 80s. an astonishing time, really, considering neil and jas and ans and thomas and i lived in it and came out unscathed, with nothing but boyish smiles to remember it by.

there are moments when neil yells in pure happiness, when a song he’s liked shouts out and surprises him. there are moment when jas smiles, happy about his decision to drink beer even though he knows it’s not the politically correct thing to do. we were never politically correct, i try and tell him. he smiles again.

the thing is, despite all the things that happen, around me, around us, at work and outside, with people dying and babies coming in when parents least expect it, there’s a certain sense of security that comes to me when i sit and swallow gallons of beer with the people i’ve known best in this lifetime. i don’t know if the beer makes me feel good. what i do know is that there are few other people on the planet i would be with tonight. and life’s too short.

apollo's frock

“put me back in the cold
i'm going to antarctica ---
it feels like these days,
our old meeting place,
in an la cafe
or on the serengeti,
the hunt has not begun.
cause i am tired of you taking from me
and i have let you eat from the fruits of my tree
i am not the one to turn into a laurel wreath
for the last time you have crossed my line

you could never see
apollo's frock
was always as beautiful
as the saddest rainstorm
apollo your frock
was always as beautiful
as your sister's
that your light shined on…”

-- tori amos, may, 2004

happy birthday

at midnight, as august 16 slipped away forever and a young august 17 peeped out, lindsay the rabbit stood quietly, silently, in the midst of chaos, surrounded by the people he loved most of all. jas was there, and pumpkin, and neil and ollie. and there was tequila, flaming vipers, vodka and lime, rum and coke, whisky and soda. and there were gifts. and there were calls from new york, china and london. and there was jas, ill, but smiling. and neil, drunk, and smiling. and ollie, trying hard to avoid alcohol, and failing. and pumpkin, the sweetest, cutest of them all, holding lindsay the rabbit by his paws and smiling at him in a way that made him feel more special than anyone in the building. 28 years taken care of. let the 29th begin.

dry

three whole days without vodka. this is what it feels like when your girlfriend suddenly opts for celibacy, leaving you to lie in bed alone. and then, when you least expect it, the deluge. isn’t life shockingly terrific every once in a while?

so, the plan: wedding reception tonight. a whole truckload of old friends and their husbands and wives to catch up with. a late-night drink, perhaps. tomorrow: four people to meet up with at a noisy pub. it’s supposed to be work-related, but who’re they kidding? friday: dinner at olive, the over-priced, over-hyped haunt of the young and the decadent. not that fitting in anywhere is ever a problem after a half bottle of vodka and a dash of lime. saturday: a conscious attempt to avoid using the word ‘vodka’ more than twice. this one is doomed from the start.

baby pals

and so, one cold night many lifetimes ago, the five stood solemnly in an empty garden, alongside a pink sandstone bench, under a huge tree with one overhanging limb, and swore to meet again a decade later. it was not meant to be a joke. the date was written -- march 12, 2005 -- as was the venue -- at the garden, by moonlight. and then, when the promise was made, they went away to their loves and lives, careers and wives.

in less than a year, by moonlight, they will come. the five. and the gods will look down and think, 'so some human beings really can love others for a prolonged period, that too with a love that only appears to grow.' and the gods will hold the five up as an example to the rest and say, 'if your friendship is of another kind, you must be doing something wrong'.

as march approaches, then, i sit and wait, patiently, as do four others spread across the city and outside. soon, it will be time for the mighty bleahs to walk in single file again, just like they did ten years ago, in another lifetime.