Dec. 25, Boston.
Yesterday after dancing at the 1270 Kevin and I ate Monte Cristo sandwiches at Ken’s Steak House on Boylston Street. The nineteen year-old played bass for the Mumps and like most young people he had with more future and less of a past than me, but we talked freely about punk and modern depravity. Kevin was pleased with his playing, but said, “My bass sucks, but not as bad as my amp.”
At dawn I wished him a Merry Christmas and walked over to Copley Square to meet Andy and Therese. The blonde, go-go dancer had just finished working at a Combat Zone after-hours bars. They were headed down to Long Island to see his parents. We sat on his Firebird smoking a joint. I had gone out with Therese’s younger sister, who lived with the rest of their clan in a chaotic family commune in Brookline. I hadn’t seen Hilde in months.
The rising sun brightly lit the Boston Public library and the morning was unseasonably warm for late December.
My friend put out the joint and got inside his car. Therese lit a cigarette and asked, “What do you think about andy and I getting married?”
You won’t like what I have to say.”
“Why?” The ex-go go dancer dropped the cigarette and crushed it under a stiletto heel.
“One, I don’t approve of your living with your family. Your mother and step-father are crazy and will interfere with your life.”
“Like they did with my sister and you?”
“Hilde and I were different.” Neither Joe nor her mother Kate said anything about us, probably knowing I had no future with a high school senior. “And secondly I don’t think Andy is responsible enough for marriage.”
Therese looked at Andy and raised a finger to wait another minute. He started the engine. She turned to me and pouted, as she said, “I can make him happy.”
“That is true. You have my blessing.”
She got in the Firebird and they drove away to the Mass Pike.
My family was waiting for me in the Blue Hills and I went to the trolley station, knowing that there was no evil in the pursuit of happiness, even if fearing disaster, but that was me and I was the king of disasters. Even on Christmas Day.