The Opening Scene

I have said that Chris and I meet in choir but the truth is we met on the way out the door of Brookline High School after a Martin Luther King Day choir concert, which was to be Chris’ last experience with the choir. He was beginning grad school the next day and didn’t have the time to remain a member. so the truth really is that although we were in choir together for several months, we didn’t really meet until the very end of the choir experience.

I got lost in the school and decided to go out the first door I could find. I had parked my car in front of the school but when I came out the door, I was confused and didn’t know where my car was. Chris was about fifteen to twenty feet behind me and I was holding the door for him to exit. He admitted to me months later that he was so shy that he slowed down so that he wouldn’t catch up to me.

I said, “Excuse me.” And Chris replied, “Yes?” I asked him if he knew where the front of the school was and he said he didn’t and that he wasn’t from around there. I said, “Oh. Where did you come from?” and he said “Somerville.” I was living in Somerville, too and offered him a ride home, which he accepted.

We both walked to my car. On the ride home, we began talking about ourselves and what we liked and what we have done. Chris told me he had graduated with his B.A. in Theater, which made me very happy because I love theater. I felt completely safe with him because I was convinced that he was gay. He was singing in a choir and that, along with the theater degree was all I needed to know to make my sweeping generalization about his gender preference. Because I felt so safe, I was able to be myself. Chris asked me how old I was and I said, “31” to which he nodded in approval, which only made me think, “This 20 year old guy is okay with me being 31.” I thought it was kind of strange. He looked very young. He told me he was 28 years old, which was fine. He was gay, it didn’t really mean anything to me at the time based on the assumption I had made. We continued to talk.

During our ride, someone cut me off and I yelled at the top of my lungs, “You mother-fucking prick-bag!!!!” and turned to Chris and said, “Oh. I’m sorry. I have a horrible mouth.” He said that was okay and that he swore, too. We kept talking.

When we finally reached his house, which was only a 10-minute drive from mine, I stopped the car and said, “Here we are.” And Chris thanked me and then said, “Would you like to get a cup of coffee with me some time?” I thought, “This gay man wants to be my friend.” and, very uncharacteristically, said, “Absolutely!” He smiled and handed me his business card which depicted him as a professional bass-player. I remember thinking, “Oh, great, a fucking musician.”

When I drove away, I was beaming. I kept saying, “I got asked out!! Somebody asked me out!!”

Chris later told me that he went upstairs and did a little dance for him roommate, saying, “I got a date! I got a date!”

We were just two of the same person, me and Chris.

I wish I could watch that entire scene from outside of my own body and see what it was that made us click during that twenty minute ride. Fate was obviously at play there as the conversation unraveled the layers of our personalities exposing us to each other and ultimately bonding us together for the following six years.

After Chris died, I escaped to Keene, NH where I stayed for four days (I think. It’s still hazy.).

When I got back to Somerville, I drove down Waterhouse Street and stopped the car in front of the house Chris lived in when we met; the house he came out of when I rang the doorbell to pick him up for our first date. I imagined him sitting next to me, just like when I drove him home that first day. I remembered him asking me if I’d like to have a coffee with him. I closed my eyes and as the tears rolled down my face I said out loud. “Absolutely.” and drove away for the last time.