If anyone should importune me to give a reason why I loved him, I feel it could no otherwise be expressed than by making answer, “Because it was he; because it was I.” There is, beyond all my reasoning powers and beyond anything I can say about it in particular, I know not what inexplicable and inevitable power that brought on this union.
-Montaigne: On Friendship
We held a dinner party at our home last night. I like to call it that: “dinner party,” even though we just had people over for dinner. It sounds so…. Gatbsy, yes? to say “dinner party.”
Our friends Steven and Amy came, a first and last social event with them. We’ve known them just beyond a year now, and in a matter of weeks they will be off to South Africa, a permanent relocation. We’ve come to know them through Emmaus Way, the church we are helping to plant in Durham. As we talked last night, I learned that they’ve been in the area for four years, and I thought how we’re just coming to really know them now, and now they’re leaving, and I had a thought of Wasted Time.
The phattedcalf and his lovely Rachel came too. They came without their children– hired a babysitter just for this evening, this dinner party, so they could enjoy themselves Without Interruption, and Stay Late.
Bill cooked. And How. He made gazpacho and sangria with white peaches and strawberries. We had blue cheese coleslaw and the skillet potatoes we always make. Rachel brought a salad (she makes Great Salads), and grilled pineapple with ice cream for dessert. And, especially for the phattedcalf, whose birthday we were latently celebrating (it’s in June), Bill made ribs. He started smoking those puppies at 9 a.m., and when we ate them sometime after eight last night, we agreed that they were Absolutely the Best Ever.
We used a lot of napkins.
It was hot last night. The air was close and filled with the song of locusts. It wasn’t dark when we started, but we were still sitting outside at the picnic table when the light of the sun was Long Gone, our faces illumined by the candles I brought down from the dining room, and by the sangria and beer, and laughter.
We talked about Florida, where Steven and Amy are from, and California, where Rachel is from, and why people from Pittsburgh are always so proud of Pittsburgh, where I– and Bill, sort of– are from. We talked about music, too, identifying the songs that shuffled through on the iPod, discussing the Indigo Girls concert that the Stines had been to. Steven asked the phattedcalf what his top five rock bands are. That provoked some good conversation, and thought, and definition of terms (“Wait. I’ve been naming my favorite bands. But if you’re talking rock bands… You’re talking rock bands, right? Well then….”). We talked about cinekklesia, and scary movies, and what Steven was allowed to watch on video for his ninth birthday, and what kids in America are watching these days. Amy commented that the gazpacho had a strong taste of watermelon. William and Everett came outside in their pajamas to demonstrate their skill with light sabers. Steven asked everyone: “When you are alone in the car, what song on the radio guarantees that you’ll crank it up?” This was interesting. For Rachel it was something by The Backstreet Boys, for Steven it was Mellencamp’s Small Town. I can’t remember Amy’s, or Bill’s (he had a list, I think), or the phattedcalf’s. For me, it’s definitely Boys of Summer, which provoked another discussion of remakes and who has the nerve to cover songs that didn’t need to be covered in the first place.
Sometime during all of this, perhaps somewhere near the beginning, when we were still gnawing on the ribs, and passing napkins, and having seconds on the cole slaw, someone said something about the Stines moving to Durham. The phattedcalf was telling us how they Very Nearly Didn’t move to Durham, that they had strong reason to stay in California, but that when he first visited this city on his own, he had a list as long as his arm of reasons they should move here.
Then I said — we all agreed– that we are so glad they did. And I said that by coming here, the phattedcalf and his lovely Rachel had changed our lives.
Which resulted, it always does, in my relating the story of my first and somewhat inane yet amusing conversation with the phattedcalf, the newly hired worship minister at our church, and of how I knew We would never get to know them, this new couple, because the church was so huge and they could never be bothered with us, and how that didn’t bother me at all, because it was just the Way It Was. Nonetheless, I went up to Rachel after that church service and welcomed her and told her she had friends in the church (even though, at the time, I didn’t know who they were. I just knew they would have friends, and lots of them, and that, likely, they wouldn’t be us). And I thought to myself that it would be hard to be so young and move to a new place and not know anyone Hardly At All.
And Then came the story of how Bill was newly hired to be in charge of the audio-visual system at the new church building, which meant that he had to hang around for music rehearsal on Wednesday nights, which resulted in his Staying Out Late at the church with the phattedcalf and some other musicians. And This meant that Bill began playing music again, something he hadn’t done in Years despite my efforts to encourage him. And Bill enjoyed the company of the phattedcalf Immensely, and he teased him about the sad history of the Red Sox (which, at the time, was Sad), and the phattedcalf made a subtle and irreverent gesture in response. And when Bill told me what the phattedcalf had done, I loved him.
Not long after that, we had him and his lovely Rachel over for dinner, when our children were Much Younger, and the Stine children were Not Yet. And Rachel, whom I had only spoken to once before, told me that she supposed we would have to be friends, because our husbands were. And she was Right.
We stayed outside talking the Entire Time last night, even though the heat was close and the door, when open, pooled air conditioned air around our ankles. Bill remarked, long after the light had disappeared, that it hadn’t grown one degree cooler without the sun. But still we sat, and talked, and laughed, glad to be right where we were, not really wanting to be Anywhere Else.
It wasn’t until this morning that I remembered something the phattedcalf had said, something he had asked, really. I had said I was glad they came to Durham, because it changed our lives. And he, in that endearing phattedcalf way of his, said, “Really?” It is dear because he Knows they have changed our lives, but he wants to hear it anyway, because it makes him glad.
So I will say it again. Yes, phattedcalf and Rachel, you have changed our lives. Because of the phattedcalf, Bill is a musician again, proud partner in the erstwhile Mumbling Beefheads, guitar player, bass player, piano player, drum player, bass singer. There is Much Frustration in the last four years that has been Overcome due to the gift you brought him in music. And that’s not including the quiz games you’ve played, and the top ten lists, and the quotes from movies, and the beers at Champs.
And for me well, let’s just say that a woman needs a friend who can know, at any given moment, exactly how it is she’s Really and Truly Feeling about something, someone she can just dump on, and sit up until two a.m. with if need be, and then go feed the Freezing Cold Ducks with at Freezing Cold Duke Gardens with the next day. A woman needs a friend like that. She’s lucky if she has a handful. She’s lucky if she has one.
The phattedcalf and Rachel left first. They have Very Young Ones who would be up Early, and the phattedcalf had a job to do this morning. But Steven and Amy stayed, and we talked about the work they’ll do in South Africa, and I knew as they talked, reluctant as I am to see them go, that they Absolutely Must Go. They’ll be working with the Church there as they have here, helping it along, encouraging and helping African Christians do the work they have to do.
We talked too about that Great Other– how could we help it?– the One who sat with us outside in His heat, who made the food rich, the air close, the music, the laughter. We talked about His blessing and what it might look like: disaster or no, the sure and steady hand that supports us on this wild ride and gives us, if we are Very Blessed, some friends to see us through.
People changed other people’s lives every day of the year. There was no call to make such a fuss about it. -Anne Tyler, Saint Maybe
http://www.cinekklesia.com
http://www.emmaus-way.com/
http://twoandtwomakesfive.blogs.com
