{…continued from here.}
The next day began in light gray fashion, but after a quick breakfast at Charlie’s the clouds parted and the sun came out to play. Texts were coming in and most of the gang was arriving. There was excitement and anticipation in the air, and if the whole truth and nothing but the truth is to be told, a bit of anxiety as well. The days of finding thrills and glee in stuffing the condo to the gills with people have long been gone. Fitting eighteen bodies, no matter how small half of them might be, into a more-or-less-extra-large closet gave me agita. When half of them were under the age of fifteen, well, that was even more of a crap shoot, and I simply don’t shoot craps. I practiced taking deep breaths and declared the mantra for the day, only half tongue-in-cheek: let go and let God. I was giving Jesus the wheel, God help us, every one.
The day was certainly a fine one. Temperatures had risen, the sun was out, and it was perfect strolling weather. We walked through the South End then turned back toward Copley, where our friends were gathering at a nearby hotel. In one of those fortuitous moments that seemed designed by some coincidence-happy screen-writer, we ran into half the group outside of the Boston Public Library. They were on their way to Newbury Street, while Chris was headed to the hotel to meet the rest of our friends. I was headed back to the condo for some alone time. Before any gathering, large or small, I find that a small window of solitude works wonders for the soul. It’s a moment of meditation, when I can be alone and quiet, stilling the jittery edges and calming the flighty fantasies of fleeing before anyone arrived.
Unlocking the door to the building, I trudged up the stairs as a vaguely familiar tune played faintly in the background. At first I couldn’t tell if it was even real, or if I was just imagining and willing it into being. The melody was soothing, even if it carried questionable memories. Something of church, and serving as an altar boy, something of Christmas, and something sacred. I paused at the top of the stairs and listened. Someone was playing ‘Ave Maria’ and a woman’s voice rose to fill the staircase. I was about to hurry into the condo and finish getting ready, but I waited at the doorway taking it all in. This, then, was that moment of meditation. Provided by some happenstance of the universe – a higher power, God, whatever you want to believe – it stopped me in stillness and peace. I knew then that it would be all right. No matter what happened for the rest of that day, there was this sliver of sacred perfection when all was as it should be. I wanted to freeze the moment as much as I wanted the get-together to begin.
The finishing touches assembled – a bucket of eucalyptus against the brick wall in the bathroom, a pot of mulled wine simmering and lending fragrant Christmas cheer on the stove – I waited for Suzie and Chris to return. Once they did, I changed into my party outfit – all glitter and rose gold – and the guests started to arrive.
The space – so often so quiet and hollow – sprang back to life. Laughter and conversation bounced off the walls, rising all the way to the ceiling and back down to the floor. ‘Christmas in a glass’ was poured, while Suzie’s plate of charcuterie was steadily depleted by hungry hands. The crafts we had purchased a couple of weeks ago were opened and used; kids want nothing more than to be entertained and occupied, and when left to their own devices will find their way around a craft project better than any adult I know. The Boston Children’s Holiday Hour passed much too quickly, and I wasn’t the only one who wanted it to slow way down. Dusk approached, sneaking in the windows and grabbing at the light. Soon it was dark, but inside the lamps and candles glowed. Kids giggled and played with new toys and games. The condo doesn’t often get to hear such outward displays of happiness.
My friends – the most important people in my world for the past 23 years – filled the room with their own light. I looked around at their faces – in the smiles and lines, in the way that we were now, beyond any doubt, adults on the verge and in the midst of middle age, for better or worse – and I felt the way most of us only ever get to feel a few times every few years: happy, content, and bursting with the sublime. It was the way I felt for each of their weddings, and when I met each of their kids for the first time. It’s the way I feel when Andy and I have a perfect night out and I’m reminded of the night we first fell in love. It’s the way I feel when my family and I come together and recall a happy childhood memory. It doesn’t happen as much as I’d like; it doesn’t happen as much as it should – so I hold onto it a little bit tighter, and I put it down here so we can bookmark the moment.
