This concluding post of our 2021 BroSox Adventures falls fittingly on the first official day of summer. Truth is, we’ve been celebrating the season since we made our trip, so let’s get right back into it from where we left off. Greeting the morning at the Mandarin Oriental was an exercise in indulgence, so we lazily took our time getting ready for the day, sleepily tumbling out of the hotel and across the block to Newbury Street, where we had a casual brunch at Trident Booksellers. For all the bombast of drag queens who went from the Little Mermaid to Lady Gaga in the flash of an eye, or the excitement of a hard-won baseball game, it was the little moments of downtime that would always end up resonating in my mind, remembered more fondly than all the other hyped-up events. This Saturday morning stop on Newbury – one of our unplanned traditions, with a requisite stop at Muji, and a new browsing of Room & Board – was another quiet patch of time in which simply passing the morning was made more fun with Skip’s accompaniment.
New friends silver
Old friends gold
We’re like diamonds
Truth be told
People come and
People go
We keep shining
Soul to soul
We picked up some treats from Eataly, checked out of the Mandarin, and returned to the condo, our decadent time pretending to live way beyond our means suddenly over – and none of that seemed to matter anymore. Our Red Sox game wasn’t set to begin until 4 PM, but time was moving faster on this trip, and I felt the fleeting sense of its dissipation. We had a few snacks and moved onto the front steps for some stoop gazing with a glass of Macallan for Skip and a grapefruit seltzer for me. We may have also taken the rest of an edible – and the timing would be perfect for the game, and an epic Uber ride. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
Shooting the shit on the stoop with a friend is one of life’s simple pleasures – and something that had been missing for too long. In that sense, I think we both realized that something had been lost in the last two years, and there was something very profound and moving about it. We felt it in the moment. There was loss, and there was gratitude. And suddenly, out of the sunny sky, there was a spattering of raindrops.
An isolated cloud passed overhead and we both felt a few more drops of rain trickling just on us. The cloud was gone, but we still felt water dripping from above. It was like our stoop was the only place where it was raining, and it made absolutely no sense. We looked up the next time more fell from the sky, and then we saw the silly bird hopping about in the drain, splashing water down upon the fools below. We cracked up at that, and the silly antics continued when we climbed into an Uber that would take us to the game. 
The remaining edible hit just as we pulled onto Columbus. I was chattering away with the driver, Jean, who initially seemed an affable gentleman. We all had our masks on, even as much of Massachusetts had lifted its mandate (and we were vaccinated). Skip was conversing with Jean now, and I can’t even tell you what I found funny, but suddenly I was engulfed in a laughing fit. It was one of those that grew, feeding on itself to the point where my stomach was starting to hurt. Skip looked over and started laughing at my silliness. All I could see were his eyes above his mask, which only made me laugh more. I was quickly losing it, finding it difficult to breath with the laughter and the mask, and tears were filling my eyes, but it was so funny and silly I didn’t care.
Skip was losing it too, and to set Jean’s mind at ease I tried to scream out a simple declaration of ‘WE…. ARE… LAUGHING!!!’ so he didn’t think we were crying or having convulsions. At that, Skip completely lost it and let a fart rip right out loud. Poor Jean rolled down his window about a minute later. That was it. I was DEAD in this Uber.
Unable to breath for so many reasons, I slunk down and took my mask off for a few seconds because I really thought I was going to pass out from laughing so hard. “I am so sorry, Jean!” I sputtered, half screaming through my laughter. “That was so rude! I apologize for this person!!”
Jean was brazenly unamused by our nonsense, dropping us off at his first opportunity at the start of the bridge that led to Fenway Park. Of course traffic was then in a slow crawl so he drove beside us the length of the bridge, prolonging everyone’s mortification. I was still cracking up from the ride as we entered and took our seats after some confused fumbling trying to find them. Pulling open the Uber app to give Jean a five-star rating – it was the least I could do – I got a message from Uber stating that on my recent trip I had removed my mask and broken their protocol and would need to provide proof that I was wearing a mask if I wanted to use it again! Another fit of laughter ensued as we settled into the game.
Skip had recently referred to Fenway Park as the “Cathedral of baseball” and even as they were losing to the Blue Jays, there was something powerfully religious about this intrinsically American past-time. The sun slanted through the windows behind us, lending a church-like solemnity to the raucous proceedings, and the Fenway franks we had tasted better than any other hot dog in recent and long-term memory.
We were among people again, and I was glad to be experiencing such a re-entry into society with Skip. Over the last year and a half, my social anxiety had been largely relieved of potential pitfalls and difficulties. Starting a social life up again could feel daunting and draining, but a safe friend never failed to offer support, even if he was blithely unaware of the import of his presence. It was another moment of gratitude in the midst of a baseball game. The silly and the sublime, the sacred and the profane, the yin and the yang – another BroSox Adventure was being written for the books.
After the game, we paused to consider dinner options, and I recalled the nearby Time Out Market, explaining the dining hall aspect to Skip, who jumped at the notion. When it had first opened a couple of years ago, I made an early morning visit on a day I was supposed to meet Kira later in the afternoon. I’d felt a rare moment of loneliness, as Kira wasn’t with me, and I think I even texted Skip a photo I took of Fenway – empty and forlorn on the cold fall morning. In a way, it felt like a happy denouement as we walked through the sunny early evening, the warm light still washing over us even as we approached the 8 PM hour.
A DJ was spinning Dua Lipa and Journey and Olivia Rodriguez and somehow it all worked. People were laughing and talking, and while the tables were filling up, it didn’t feel crowded. We ordered some food and waited for our buzzer to light up. It was the perfect wind-up to the weekend, one of those moments that comes together with unplanned ease, like the world was aligning for us even if Mercury in retrograde was doing its best to mess with everything else.
We walked back to the condo as was our usual tradition, vainly struggling to shirk off all the hot dogs and bibimbap we’d just ingested, and the night turned a brilliant shade of blue. Even in the encroaching dark, summer was on the horizon. We spoke of the vacations to come, and summers that had already gone. We spoke of family and friends and the people we held most dear. For a few brief stretches we didn’t speak at all. While I had never doubted that our friendship would survive Covid, it still felt incredibly good to be in Skip’s company again.
We reached the condo and went out for one more round of stoop gazing. The next day dawned in warm and sunny fashion, and I realized I had left my glasses and an extra pair of contacts at the Mandarin, so we trudged over there as the sun grew in warmth and brightness. I was glad to not have to take the quick journey alone, and happy to prolong our return home just a few moments longer. Our BroSox Adventure was back in glorious effect, and as momentarily sad as I was to see it come to such a quick end, I was grateful we were both still intact, still able to make the trip and expand our friendship.
A true friend is someone who puts on Barney’s cologne simply because you asked. He doesn’t question why, he just starts spritzing.
A true friend is someone who proudly dons a gay pride rainbow Red Sox shirt even though you only bought it for him as a joke. He’s not embarrassed, he’s not self-conscious, he’s just instantly and intrinsically supportive.
A true friend is someone who can crack you up when all you see is his eyes above a mask in the back seat of an Uber. He doesn’t have to speak or tell a joke, he just makes you laugh – and he makes your life richer, more expansive, and always a little bit better.
“Don’t be dismayed by good-byes. A farewell is necessary before you can meet again. And meeting again, after moments or lifetimes, is certain for those who are friends.” ~ Richard Bach
