In the early '80s I lived in an apartment building occupied mostly by single young professionals. It was a fun period in my life, kind of like living in a college dorm (which I had never done). It was an adventure. On any given night, we'd wander into each others' apartments and figure out what we were having for dinner that night or who had the best bottle of wine, etc.
On one particular evening, I ended up at Don and Tammy's with half a carrot cake and a bottle of Mateus. At that time, no one was a wine snob and in some circles Mateus was actually considered upscale. I wore a long nightgown that looked like a long T-shirt; very Preppie bordering on gender-neutral I thought. In addition to his career as a graphic designer, Don was a member of some sort of club where everyone dressed up as knights and staged medieval battles. So he was there, in something resembling armor, as was a friend of his, who he called "Wolfgar."
During the course of the evening, we all ate the carrot cake and drank the swill (which was only swill in retrospect, see paragraph 2, supra). I told my friends that I felt like a victim of the existential vacuum...hated my job as a legal editor...needed to branch out and do something that made me happy to be alive. I think Don suggested drugs, but since I declined, Wolfgar took over the conversation.
"Close your eyes," he said. "Picture yourself floating freely on the river of life. You have no raft. You must trust the flow of the river or drown..." He went on like this for awhile, and we were all transported, to the river, raftless...
This went on for awhile - this and other similar exercises - and then some musical interludes...
Finally, the evening ended and I felt energized. He later told his friend Don that he thought I was "hot" because I came over in a nightgown, and I confronted him about this.
"Nightgown?," I asked, "It was a long t-shirt. It was hardly seductive."
"Don't underestimate the backlighting," he explained.
I think I was in love, at least for a few days after that. It all made sense, yet made no sense at all.
"Damn!," I thought, "I don't have to be locked in a prison of my own device or mired into my mediocrity! One of the knights of the Roundtable just told me I could do ANYTHING."
Wolfgar became my mentor after that. I would regularly consult him for advice. One night that I remember clearly, we shared a bottle of (cheap) champagne at his mother's house (she was away on vacation in Florida). It was a strange home, in Freeport Long Island...all done in the colors of the moment (muted greys and taupes) and several of his mother's wigs were on stands in various rooms. His younger brother was in the basement, getting high with his girlfriend who said, "Roots is on again. Wanna watch it with us?"
We declined. We had serious poetry to discuss. Wolfgar was an aspiring writer, and so was I, kind of.
"This reminds me of a Joni Mitchell song," I told him.
Then I proceeded to sing "Rainy Night House."
"It was a rainy night/we took a taxi to your mother's home
She went to Florida...and left you with your father's gun alone..."
I was raftless on the river, and he chose that moment to take off one of his boots and throw it against the wall, knocking over a Precious Moments statuette.
"My mother thinks she's an art broker," he said, "but she sells Precious Moments. That's not art."
I thought that was brilliant. "I want to name you conservator of my soul," I told him, "Don't ever let me fall into a pattern of suburban mediocrity, no matter how much I'm tempted."
"I would never," he said.
Two weeks later I went to visit my mother. "I hate my job," I told her. "It's a dead-end job - it's not a career...it's a prison sentence...
"When are you going to grow up?," she said, "you just don't want to be happy. You don't even know when you're happy. Why don't you go out with someone NORMAL for a change? Don't you want children? Don't you ever want to get married? And your hair - it looks terrible. What did you do to your hair?"
Soon after, I decided to take my mother's well-intended advice. For one thing, I got a perm. And therein lied the rub...
(To be continued).
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