Everyone I know goes away in the end...
My brother HisHighness got the call. And so, while having a really nice shabbas lunch with Knucklehead, BZ, EAR, Shamirpower, Frumsky, E, DB and a few of DB's friends, I, in turn, got the call.
HH: They called me for this class. I'm leaving tomorrow.
Me: Jeez! Well, good news, but its fucking soon. Man. Okay, uh...
HH: Yeah, I'm outta here noon tomorrow.
Me: whoa! Okay, you got dinner plans?
HH: Yeah, i'm seeing the counselor and her family.
Me: okay, uh, breakfast before you hit the road?
HH: Yeah, sure, get out of the city, be here by 11.
And we went to TGI Fridays (TRADITIOOOOOOOOOOOON!) and talked about our other brothers, friends, the Yankees, politics, like any other day. Except this day, he was leaving for four months of academy, and a hopeful but by no means definite return to New York.
While driving home with Knucklehead cutely snoring next to me, it occured to me that my list of people within the boroughs I'd call when the shit hits the fan has grown dangerously small. With MM back west, HH heading for training, The Boat upstate, HC in the south, and Fearless Reporter in the Middle East, I'm frightened by my inability to assemble a crew on short notice. Thank G-d Schedule1's on my side.
This is the adulthood everyone warns you about, right? Your friends move away, etc. Even if it is the Greatest City in the World, things seem to shift. Now don't get me wrong, I'm got a great bunch of friendships I'm slowly and steadily forging; people I know and love who are blessing my life by stepping in to those breeches. And it's not like these folks that are leaving are telling me to fuck off and won't speak to me again. But the Boat and I used to talk about how we used to take the regular poker game for granted, and now, we can't even always get the crew together for one.
At least some things don't change. It's September, and the Yankees magic number is 18. With any luck, they'll clinch the AL East by the time I'm chowing down at San Gennaro.
HH: They called me for this class. I'm leaving tomorrow.
Me: Jeez! Well, good news, but its fucking soon. Man. Okay, uh...
HH: Yeah, I'm outta here noon tomorrow.
Me: whoa! Okay, you got dinner plans?
HH: Yeah, i'm seeing the counselor and her family.
Me: okay, uh, breakfast before you hit the road?
HH: Yeah, sure, get out of the city, be here by 11.
And we went to TGI Fridays (TRADITIOOOOOOOOOOOON!) and talked about our other brothers, friends, the Yankees, politics, like any other day. Except this day, he was leaving for four months of academy, and a hopeful but by no means definite return to New York.
While driving home with Knucklehead cutely snoring next to me, it occured to me that my list of people within the boroughs I'd call when the shit hits the fan has grown dangerously small. With MM back west, HH heading for training, The Boat upstate, HC in the south, and Fearless Reporter in the Middle East, I'm frightened by my inability to assemble a crew on short notice. Thank G-d Schedule1's on my side.
This is the adulthood everyone warns you about, right? Your friends move away, etc. Even if it is the Greatest City in the World, things seem to shift. Now don't get me wrong, I'm got a great bunch of friendships I'm slowly and steadily forging; people I know and love who are blessing my life by stepping in to those breeches. And it's not like these folks that are leaving are telling me to fuck off and won't speak to me again. But the Boat and I used to talk about how we used to take the regular poker game for granted, and now, we can't even always get the crew together for one.
At least some things don't change. It's September, and the Yankees magic number is 18. With any luck, they'll clinch the AL East by the time I'm chowing down at San Gennaro.
posted by Ruby K at 12:27 AM
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