I managed to keep our location to myself. Why I wanted to be at the bar where Sh had her birthday party maybe two years ago, maybe more, is beyond my current understanding. But I really wanted to be there and it felt right when we sat down, though I didn’t dare walk into the 2nd room, where she sat by the window and I talked to our poet friend who had just begun graduate school.
We ran into the man who’s djing A’s wedding. We talked to him for a while and I asked him about music producing, which he also did. He explained to me why djs were purists – a logical reason: “You got a $10,000 sound system and a 10 cent mp3 is gonna sound like shit.” For once there was nothing but simple and platonic love between the A and me. He likes being engaged. He recommends it for stabilizing a relationship. Call me nutty for wanting the stability before the engagement. Still, you’ve just said the word “forever” with a couple thousand dollars worth of jewelry, so I guess it’s oddly logical. The idea of platonic meaning post-sexual always seemed strange to me but it’s becoming such a truth in my life.
Sh made her presence known in strange ways. I found myself talking about things I still closely associate with her from djs to computer science to the chapel where her memorial service was held, where I sat among economics professors, Zoroastrians, and young women in dark summer dresses, tears of sweat and anguish seeping out our pores and eyes. I can’t believe that I’ll have to enter that building again under such opposing circumstances. This will be the second time in as many years that I’ll have to celebrate nuptials where I have mourned. Shouldn’t there be a rule against that? Sort of like no shitting where you eat?
