And the Meetings Continue

Erin came into the city tonight to hang out before she goes to California. I convinced her to extend her stay a few minutes so I could smoke a clove over outdoor conversation at Union Square -- one of my favorite things in the world to do. Smoke and talk outside, that is. Where I am and who I'm with doesn't matter. Well, it does matter, of course. There are few people I know who can be content with just sitting and watching people go by. Watching the world go by. And I feel it from those who are simply doing me a favor. But Erin is good at humoring me and her conversation and demeanor was patient as always.

When we departed, I headed west down 14th Street to catch the F. As I approached 6th Avenue, a woman started talking to me. Her skin was no darker than mine and the curls on her head sat close to her scalp, treated with just the right amount of oil. She couldn't have been any younger than 40, although I'm willing to bet she was at least 50.

For those of us blessed with a healthy dose of melanin, this is what we have to live with. There are worse things, I suppose. She was wearing a foam neck brace, the ones that I see a lot of people wear who are trying to fraud the insurance companies. And she seemed to just be wandering and I planned on simply walking by.

I was lip syncing "What's the Buzz?" one of the better known tracks from "Jesus Christ Superstar," a favorite of mine. Despite the fact that there was nothing in my body language that opened me up for conversation, she began talking to me.

I thought for a moment to pull my headphones off, but I assumed that she was nearing the end of her rant and so I kept walking. And so did she. And talking. So I removed my headphones."What's that?" I asked as I approached the stepping-off point of the curb.

"I was just wondering where all my younger sisters and brothers were," she said, as if she had just found her soulmate in gay. "Did you go to the pride parade?"

The light was now red, so I had no choice but to be engaged.

"I marched," I responded. She liked this answer and got closer to me.

"Do you have an Adam's apple?"  For some reason, I wasn't perplexed in the least. I simply responded no. "I have one and the doctors don't know why."

I figured that this was the reason for the neck brace, although I had no way of proving her claim, because she was concealing the space where it would be. The light changed and I stepped off the curb.

"Are you going to 8th Avenue?" she called after me.

"No, I'm going downstairs right here," I said, pointing to the subway entrance.

"Oh, I was gonna walk with you."

I managed to put some distance between us by now, but slowed in the middle of the street to let her catch up. She was still talking but now she was ambling across with a cane, so I figured it was the least I could do.

She proceeded to tell me that she was headed to the post office on 34th and 8th, a strange destination for 11 p.m., I thought.

"That's quite a walk," I said.

"I'm just gonna ease on down the road," she replied as she started heading north on 6th.

Why I decided to show her that I had that song on my iPod I don't know. But that move cost me about seven minutes. She believed this was no coincidence. Especially upon finding out my name. Her mother's name is Katherine as is her daughter's. And so is a nurse she spoke with earlier.

So we stood on the corner and talked a bit. Half of my brain was fixed on the fact that I was surely missing a train. But I stayed, because she seemed to be ready to impart some kind of spiritual guidance that she may have thought I needed.

She talked of god and the universe, of bugs and evolution. Of purpose and the loss of it. Her eyes were light brown, and I began to feel her sincerity once we were finally face to face. What she was telling me was pure and from the heart. And then she asked if she could give me her number.

"Sure." I'm thinking this would be a good time to take my leave. Surely it wouldn't take her long to write down 10 numbers. But I was wrong. Audrey, that's her name, said many things, and, between each thesis, managed to eek out just one more digit. I stood there listening patiently, no longer minding that I was most likely missing a train.

I had Henry Miller with me, so the time waiting would not be wasted.

"I believe," she continued, "that we're not doing what we're put here to do."

"I can see that," I said, wanting to elevate the conversation. Wanting to transcend the plane I was currently on.

"I'm trying to find that thing."  Just then, a bug flew up her nose and she excused herself as she went digging for it. She finally finished writing down her number, and then she began to write another one. Gonna be here for a while.

She continued about fate and sisterhood, purpose and bugs. She got distracted by a man carrying wood. Focus, I said to her in my mind. Finish with the numbers so I can go downstairs and ponder the reason I'm actually here. Figure out what it is that I'm not doing, which is, according to Audrey, the reason why we're just mulling about in perpetuity.

She finally finished giving me her contact information and I shook her hand for the second time, believing truly that I would finally be able to go downstairs.

"Can I get yours?" (sigh) "Sure." I gave her my home number, one that I no longer use. She said some other stuff, which I ingested at the time, but have since forgotten. Reading one of Miller's many erotic depictions will do that. Because I had to dictate my number, I said them quickly, not wanting her to linger between each digit. We were finally done and we shook hands and half-hugged. I actually dug Audrey. And I think at another time we could have talked for hours. I would have regaled her with my incessant gibberish and she would have imparted knowledge, guidance.

Had I seen her in Union Square only 15 minutes earlier, I probably would have still been out there, having had a full pack of cloves at my disposal. But she didn't. She caught me wanting to go home. But the 15 minutes or so that I spent with her were enjoyable. Two evenings in New York. Two black homos from another generation. They spoke of the earlier days, and lamented on the current state of things. "Where are we all?" I don't know, Audrey.

But I've stopped looking. I don't believe our encounter was a coincidence, either. Neither of them were. They both sought me out in some form or another, as I did them. The discovery of things out there doesn't always happen when one is looking. I'm learning this. And I also realized through these meetings that what I'm looking for doesn't extend any further than an inch in front of me. Perhaps what I'm here to do is not around me. Perhaps who I'm here to meet is somewhere else, sitting in some far off land going through it in her own way. But that's not my concern right now. Baked tofu salads with oil and vinegar dressing are my concern. And I crave them every day now. Writing is my concern. And I can't get through one moment without the aid of a sentence accompanied by an image of something I haven't seen. To Audrey and Billy, I thank you for being out there.

My older sisters and brothers who remind me that I'm not all that. That my cares and concerns are only important as the next moment. As I started down the stairs, she watched me. I turned back around to say goodbye one last time.  "If anything," I said, "we'll know we're out there."