Last night, Sam and I took our friend Allen out for his birthday dinner at Burger Bar, an upscale diner concept situated on the sixth floor of Macy's overlooking Union Square.
We were seated at a semi-private table against the window, Allen across from me. He had been away for about two months with his family in upstate New York. In that time, he grew out and permed his hair. From certain angles, he reminded me of Bach--J.S., not Sebastian--or at least the drawings of him in my early piano books.
Dinner was long and talkative, a lingering meal. He described the time with his mom and dad and the eccentricities that come with spending any amount of time with one’s parents. He analyzed Sam's cleaning compulsions, talked about how he fell asleep in front of the TV one night and woke up to “Sit and Be Fit” on PBS, about his musical obsessions of the moment. He quoted “Everybody’s Free (To Wear Sunscreen),” by Baz Luhrmann from the late 90s: Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard; live in Northern California once, but leave before it makes you soft, and how this song has been on his mind as he prepares to purchase a home in Rochester.
Though Sam had told me that he was looking to move closer to his family, it was still strange, stranger actually, hearing it from him, to think that soon, after 20 years, Allen may not be living in San Francisco anymore. Almost as long as I have known Sam, I have known Allen. Up until the middle of last year, Allen and I would spend nearly every Friday evening at his house having dinner and playing Wii. And without fail, these evenings would end with me falling asleep hugging one of Allen's throw pillows on the couch, at which point Sam would wake me up and drive us home. Every week.
One time, Allen's oven caught on fire, bad enough to fill his spacious apartment with smoke and scorch the flimsy paper calendar hanging rather precariously above the stove as kindling. Another, Allen projected an animated French film about the nature of fear onto his neighbor’s wall and we huddled up under blankets on his balcony. Yet another, Sam got so drunk off of sweet tea vodka that he swayed back and forth while standing still, eyes shifty and unfocused. I ended up driving us home that night in his new car and, dutifully playing to his expectations of how Asians drive, dented one of his rims while parallel parking in front of our house.
And so on and so on. In other words, what would our Friday nights be without Allen?
I know that there have been weeks where Sam and I were tired, would have preferred to stay home or do something else, but I’m glad we kept this tradition more often than not and for as long as we did. Lately, I've been feeling like it is hard to schedule get-togethers with friends, and even harder to actually get together. Even this birthday dinner had to be rescheduled from his actual birthday to a few days later to a few days later.
So it was a good time, and good we all took the time to be together. In my day-to-day life of getting from one point to another, one project to the next, to actually sit down, sink into our chairs and converse was great. To do it with yummy burgers against a window overlooking the outdoor ice rink, billboards and office lights and a slice of the downtown skyline was, well, just beautiful.
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