Way back in 1994, there was blessedly no social media, no blogs, no TikTok or FaceBook or Instagram – and I kept in touch with friends the very old-fashioned way: writing letters by hand and sending them out through the postal service. The method of blogging then, at least the style of diary-like blogging I do here, was the journal, and I’d write in one by hand, then transpose it on a bulky Mac (in Grape!) ~ ahh, the good old days. Having rediscovered a journal from 1994 – the last time I kept one in such painstaking detail – I ran across this ridiculous passage from exactly thirty years ago. It’s from an evening in Boston when I was just embarking upon this romance with a guy I met on the street, the quaint way we used to meet people. It also offers a novice’s look at Boston back when things were very different – it’s almost impossible to find a decent adult theater these days… Have a chuckle at my 19-year-old expense, it’s ok. How were we ever so young?
October 1, 1994: I hadn’t heard from Tom in a few days. He had told me that he was going to Maine in order to get away from Boston for a while and collect his thoughts. I wondered if they would have anything to do with me… When I went into Boston one night I purposely walked by the Meridien Hotel, if only to get a feeling like I was closer to him. I decided to miss the 10:40 PM commuter rail which left me there until 12:20 AM, when the next one would leave. So with a few hours to spare, I walked to where we had eaten at the Moka Cafe. I remembered Tom pointing out to me that just down the street the area became very bad and dangerous. I walked a ways down it, not crying anymore. I turned towards Park Street, where I knew he might be working. He should have returned by the time, I thought. I made my way through Downtown Crossing, where all the department stores bustled during the day. It was deserted now, save for a few weekend stragglers.
I passed a man on top of a woman, who was whimpering. I waited beside the curb to see if he was hurting her, but she didn’t seem to mind. Perhaps she was too drunk. I passed an adult theater and an adult store, the owner of which was screaming obscenities at someone, who was shouting even more vehemently back. As I passed, the guy threw his bag down and challenged the own to a fight outside. I turned the corner into Chinatown. Two men wearing hoods walked by me, smelling like pot. As I came into the bright intersection where Filene’s met Jordan Marsh, a car going much too fast for the area slammed into the curb. I looked back to see that he had flattened his front tire.
The man stopped his car. He was white-haired and he got out and made motions to repair the tire. I walked to him and asked if he needed my help. He looked at me. I was wearing a long black coat and a backpack, and must have seemed a little scary, and I knew what he must have been thinking. Of course I knew that I was nothing compared to what might happen to him, but he refused me nonetheless. He said he got everything all right. I reluctantly walked away. I didn’t want to leave him there like that, but what could I do? I watched him for a while. Another well-dressed couple offered to help, but they ended up walking away too. I really had to see if he din’t need anything, so I returned to him and offered to at least call a tow truck. Again, he merely went back to work beneath the car, so I left him for good. I walked some more. I went to the waterfront. I tried calling Kirsten but there was only the answering machine message.
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