Mercury was pure madness in retrograde when I ventured into Boston a couple of weekends ago. I hadn’t planned for, or known that it would be, the weekend that the Red Sox were heading to the playoffs, nor had I been made aware that the Boston Marathon was following on that Monday. The city was alive and full of energy not seen since pre-COVID times. None of it appealed to me, so I laid low with a few friendly visits and down-time at the condo. Still, the city would swirl me into its electric maelstrom whether or not I wanted it, like the leaves that were starting to fall. In many ways, Boston felt eerily like Savannah – haunted and enchanted and at its most beautiful when night fell.
The fountain in the middle of Braddock Park was still running, and I would leave the windows open to listen to it through the night. For some reason, it is more of a comfort at this time of the year than any other – maybe because it means the air is still warm enough for water to run. Holding onto that somewhat-unseasonal warmth made it easier to celebrate fall. The falling leaves felt less sad.
After an early-bird dinner (because I’m old now) I found myself drawn to the Boston Public Garden, and as I headed in that direction I remembered my friend Kira, who was probably getting ready to finish her shift for the day. Shooting off a quick text to see if she wanted to say hello, I felt, and not for the first time the weekend, as if I were part of some Edith Wharton novel, where people from the past were re-populating the present moment. Kira wrote back she was ending her work day in an hour or so and would stop to say hello.
It had been a few months since I’d last seen her, and that time was brief and bothersome. I hoped we were both in different places, and that we could start hanging out again. Forgiveness seems hard for both of us. Talking things out does too, but there’s no other way to forge a friendship. The night teased with a warm breeze. Drama was in the air. And Mercury remained stubbornly in retrograde motion. It would either be a really good meeting, or a really bad one, and I couldn’t be sure which way the wind would take us.
We decided to meet up in the lobby of the Liberty Hotel, where we’d spent some happy holiday strolls, and which seemed like an auspicious way to rekindle what we once had. I arrived early, and settled in with a sparking water and lime, while a wedding party bustled about the space. Kira appeared shortly after, and we sat down to talk. It was just like no time had passed, the way two friends – if the friendship is pure and true – can simply pick up a year or two or ten later and nothing has really changed.
We were enjoying each other’s company so much that she decided to take a later train. I offered to walk her to the station to extend our time together. Now that everyone was vaccinated, we’d be able to do this again in time for the holidays. We’d missed out on that last year when the world lost its way.
We walked through the Boston night, with all its requisite magic and mayhem, and everything felt old and new and comforting and exciting all over again. We also made tentative plans for a Friendsgiving weekend in a few weeks. At South Station, she showed me where her train would depart from and we shared a quick hug – our first in almost two years.
Instead of taking the T back to a station near the condo, I walked the whole way, passing the preparations for the Boston Marathon, and all the places we once frequented. A new/old friend was in the city as well, and we had a dinner planned for the next day. The drama had just begun…
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