Two Thousand and Six
How was your 2005? Mine was pretty awesome. It was probably the best year of my life so far, even with regards to recent events. I remarked several times last year that I’d noticed that once I hit about 25, every year of my life got better than the previous one. I have high hopes for 2006, despite the fact that less than 48 hours in to it, someone very close to me said the worst thing to me that anyone has ever said to me in my life. I was not wearing pants at the time, or any clothing, really; just a fleece blanket tied around me like a towel, which I think didn’t help the situation. Then, a day later, that same person called me on the phone, and I answered because I thought, “Well, what could be worse than what they already said?” Which, ha, yeah, funny story: it turns out, so much. But at least that time I was wearing pants. Which may very well be my motto for 2006. I don’t know; we’ll see. I’m not ready to tie myself down to anything just yet.
Anyway, I wrote this year-end post about my most vivid memory from each month of the year on a magazine subscription renewal card on the plane home at Christmas, and it’s been sitting on my desk ever since, waiting to be uploaded. I’m going to go ahead and resist the urge to edit it and post it as is. Journalistic integrity or something. Whatever. That was my year. Here it is. Happy New Year.
January: T. making gumbo in the kitchen while I sat warming my feet on the radiator, and then “Fairytale of New York” by the Pogues came on, and he came out of the kitchen and spun me all around the room, and I remember that sensation of sliding on the hardwood floor in my tights like a little kid, while looking up at the snow coming down on the skylight, like an inverse snowglobe.
February: Having brunch with Josh and Ryan while my mom was visiting, and after we ate, I used the ladies’ room and came outside to see my mother absentmindedly tucking a loose thread back around a button on Josh’s peacoat, while Ryan said to her, “Aw, hell, Sarah’s the one who takes care of us.”
March: Riding the view tower Easter Sunday at Coney Island, turning slowly in the silence, high up above the whole mess of everything, D.’s long legs stretched out in front of him, the overcast sky meeting the ocean below me.
April: Breaking into the ballroom at the W Hotel with Josh and Colin and Vic, sitting in a circle in the dark, passing the confiscated bottle of champagne and playing Truth, Dare, Double Dare, Promise or Repeat until the security guards came in and Josh said, totally smooth, “Oh, did you all need this room back now?”, like we’d booked it from midnight to 2 am for this very reason.
May: May is a blur. May was hard. It seems like everything difficult came to the surface or came to a head in May. I worried about so many people I loved in May. They still felt lost to me in June, and I didn’t know what to do about that, so I just kept loving them.
June: Getting an email with the subject line “fingers crossed,” and being so nervous to open it I almost couldn’t, and then when I did, bam, a bird 3000 miles away flapped its wings and that wind blew out a candle and everything good that ever happened started happening.
July: Hearing how Emily’s voice changed when she talked to Tony on the phone while she was sick in Josh’s bathroom, and realizing how that person you need at the end of the night can be good for you, and then checking my phone and there was a message from A., asking me to please just let him know if I’d made it home safe.
August: Coming home every day from physical therapy, completely worn out, and all I could do was lie on my bed and listen to “The Bear” by My Morning Jacket and smile at my ceiling and try to figure out exactly what was happening and if it was real.
September: Opening my front door in my pajamas at 1 am to see A. walking up my street, straight towards me, smiling so big, and I thought, “Oh my god, he’s going to just walk right up and kiss me,” and all of my insides flipped, in a good way.
October: Going to see The Squid and The Whale with Sarah and Megan at the Brooklyn Pavilion one rainy Saturday, and then walking home with two bottles of wine and drinking them in my room while we played MASH, and I had that feeling I love so much, that Christmas Eve feeling, where you’re happy right now, and everything is warm and golden and you can relax and enjoy it, because not only is it happy right now, it’s going to be even happier in just a little bit, something even better and more exciting is waiting for you, but right now, it’s just safe and cozy and happy.
November: Driving back from Muir Woods with A. in the dark, Summerteeth playing on the car stereo, talking and not talking, and then we turned onto the Golden Gate and everything sort of opened up and got bigger, right in front of us, everything everywhere, just waiting.
December: Sitting by the fire Christmas night, watching Ali G with my parents and brother, which was all I’d wanted all month long, but instead of feeling fulfilled, I felt sad, like something was missing, and at that moment my phone beeped and there was a message from A. saying how he felt lonely where he was, in a house full of people, but next year would be different and better, because next year we’d be with all of those people together.