* * *
When we come home, we look for gray spots under our skin. We shake a little as we uncover ourselves to see. Every time, our skin is clear. We stand there for a moment, looking. Then we start touching each other with relief.
* * *
We realize, of course, that one day the force may strike again, leaving one of us breathless at the side of the road. We realize, but we try not to think about that. When we do, we say things like This understanding only makes us stronger. Sometimes one of us nods, says, Right, then adds, But how, exactly? It’s as if all that exists for us is the present, the other says; in it, we must stand still, hold each other firmly.
THE THING ABOUT SOPHIA
Saturday
Saturdays we’d have brunch at Curly’s. Sophia said Definitely Curly’s, no brunch in the city better than Curly’s and no neighborhood better than the East Village on a Saturday morning. She said morning but really she meant afternoon.
At Curly’s they serve brunch till four p.m. on Saturdays. Anything you want done vegan you can get, and if you asked Sophia that’s just the way the world should be. We always got too much food, but too much food on purpose is different from too much food by mistake; when there’s no miscalculation involved, too much food is simply called supper, or sometimes brunch for Sunday. Also at Curly’s, they give you a brunch drink for free with every brunch entrée ordered. Also tea. If you say you don’t like tea and can you please get two drinks instead, sometimes they say yes, sometimes no. One of the things about Sophia: she asks questions, the world says yes. Two of the waitresses became her friends, a third fell in love. So Saturdays at Curly’s, usually we got buzzed, and fake bacon never tasted better.
What happens when you get buzzed but you’re already a little bit buzzed from the night before is that you feel free. So Saturdays at Curly’s was the time of the week when I would say things to Sophia like I love you so much, you are the best roommate anyone could ask for, and the worst: I hope we’ll be like this forever. Kir in hand, Sophia would laugh every time, finger my cheekbones (both sides, slowly), and say, Booney-Boo, you know there’s no such thing as forever.
Sunday
Even though microwave-heated Curly’s huevos rancheros is nothing like the original, brunching with Sophia on our living-room floor (we only got a coffee table two weeks before I moved out) was my favorite Sunday activity. I’d get the blue-yellow blanket from the bedroom and we’d call it Indoor Picnic.
But not every Sunday was Indoor Picnic Sunday. Some Sundays Sophia would wake up in the morning and, after brushing her teeth and before getting coffee, say, I can’t be domesticated today. I knew better than to show disappointment, because show Sophia that you’re disappointed and you can count on being alone for a week. So I’d say, Cool, what’d you have in mind? because that was my way of saying maybe we can do something undomesticated together. But when Sophia wanted to feel undomesticated it usually meant she needed time away from me, so she’d say, Oh, you know I can’t think before my first cup of coffee.
A good time to explain about the bedroom: when I first moved in, the two rooms were both called bedrooms, and the rest of the apartment was a space we shared. Then one Sunday morning Sophia said, Let’s make the small room a recording studio. Sophia was buying another guitar then and all kinds of expensive equipment, and I was mostly sleeping in her room anyway, so it seemed sensible. She said, If I have a studio I’ll have to get serious. I thought she was already plenty serious about her music, but Sophia was always looking for ways to get serious about things, and if you said anything back that sounded like advice, all of a sudden you were her enemy. Then you needed to make it up to her, and that wasn’t always easy, so the best way was to say, That’s a great idea. I said, That’s a great idea, and that’s how Sophia’s bedroom became our bedroom and my room became her studio.
Another thing that sometimes happened on Sundays was End of Weekend Blues. That was especially common on Indoor Picnic Sundays: when Sophia looked outside and the window said evening, she would get antsy, like she was waiting for someone to arrive. I had to be careful, because when she got like that saying the wrong thing was something that could creep up on you. One minute there would be peacefulness, the next you were fighting with Sophia and you felt like she hated you, because Sophia doesn’t know how to fight with the future in mind. Sophia fights like Sophia cooks like Sophia makes love like Sophia plays the guitar: as though possibly it’s the last thing she’ll ever do. Her eyes get so red there is no green left in them. Her lips get tight and lose their heart shape completely. She screams without stopping for air, and even if it’s a day before a show, she forgets she is supposed to watch her voice. I know the reason: this is also a show, and it is no less important to her than any other. But when someone is throwing loud, hurtful words at you, your heart doesn’t care about reasons. Sometimes she throws things, too.
Monday
Monday was Sophia’s Errands Day. Sophia’s definition for errands is Anything you hate to do, and her theory is it should all be compressed to one day or you end up believing your life sucks. So, for example, grocery shopping is not an errand, but calling her aunt Zelda is. If Sophia has a toothache and the receptionist says Thursday one week from today, Sophia will say Give me the next available Monday, because going to the dentist is an errand, and errands are done on Mondays. And if you tell her it doesn’t make sense to suffer tooth pain longer than you have to, she’ll make a face like she just swallowed something sour and say, Clearly, you don’t know much about artists.
It was a Monday before Sophia meant anything to me, five, maybe six p.m., and I was standing at the door with my suitcases and everything. A while later, when I learned about Sophia’s week, I realized I must have been one of her errands that Monday. Interview Lydia’s cousin. The thing about Sophia, she opens the door, you see right away how beautiful she is; you see right away it’s the kind of beauty everyone wants to share. I was funny to her then — first thing she did was laugh. I laughed too, because her laughter made me happy, even though I knew it was directed at me and didn’t know why, which is usually unpleasant. Finally she said, Lydia couldn’t have been more right. Lydia is a relative of mine, second-cousin-once-removed sort of relative, and she was the one to say, You go ahead and move to the city and you’ll see things will just work out. She gave me Sophia’s number, and on the phone Sophia gave me the address and said, See you then, so I assumed I was moving in. I didn’t know then that in New York people interview other people to be roommates; I thought you usually went on interviews when you wanted other people to hire you, pay you, not when you wanted to pay them. I packed everything I had — which wasn’t much, because the man I was leaving was the kind who sues if you take stuff — in two suitcases and one huge handbag. I took a cab from Penn Station and told myself the stuff was simply too heavy, but really I was just afraid of the subway. Then: Sophia, laughing, and I knew right away, though it still took some time to figure out.
Tuesday