tale's beginning

1981

1982

1983

1984

1985

1986

tale's end

New Year's Eve

Monte del Morro, a restaurant perched on the top of a cliff, is known for its great food. It's wonderful to eat outdoors with the sound of the waves striking the rocks below quite loudly. We began dinner with German Schwarzbrot (black bread) and salmon, then caviar, followed by a paella.

We made sure to be back at Atlantis Uno by midnight. After the cab dropped us off we went to the roof. All at once fireworks went up all around us from all the large hotels in the area. Cars (and especially taxis) blared their horns, people yell in the streets below us, and everyone fires off bottle rocket fireworks that buzz around our heads and come screaming down at our feet. After about a half-hour the fireworks stop, the horns die down, and we totter off to our rooms for a nice sleep.

New Year's Day

After breakfast I walk downstairs to the front desk to check to see if any mail has arrived. On days that I get mail from Patty I spend my time a little differently. I pack water and a towel, and I walk along the surf to the southernmost tip of the island, where the largest sand-dunes are. There, in the shadow of the Maspalomas lighthouse, I walk through the dunes, over crest and trough, until I came to a deep sand pit made of the edges of three dunes.

Here I slowly climb to the bottom of the sand pit. In this little hideaway it's deathly quiet. No sounds of life nor gusting breezes reach me. With the sun now overhead I curl up in the hot sand and read my newly-received letter. I spent many hours picturing the redhead, sitting and penning out the strokes of the letters, nothing intruding into my world except the travel of the sun and the lengthening shadows.

I know that Patty doesn't want a steady relationship; she's just left a high-school relationship in Canton, and she wants to meet people. We've discussed it; one of her letters expresses her confusion at our growing relationship. She says she doesn't want to marry until she's a 30-year old with a career. I've never been in a serious relationship. I've never had these feelings before.

Middle January

[On the plane back from the Canaries] Patty's now in New Jersey with MJ. I'm scheduled to return to Boston two days after they do. I wanted to fly up with them, but Dad's demanding I spend a full week with him; all I want to do is get back home to Boston and relax.

[New Jersey] When I returned from the Canaries I found that Patty and MJ had made cookie dough, written fortunes, and baked large (huge) beautiful fortune cookies. Patty sent one fortune with the message "Someone misses you terribly." I miss Patty terribly.

[Boston] The snow began to fall, a real snowstorm. I got a phone call from Patty early today. She'd heard that Boston's Logan Airport was going to be closed in a few hours, could I make it to Newark Airport in time to fly up with them? We threw my things in the car and Dad raced me to the airport in record time, snow falling heavily around us. At the airport my father met Patty and her roommates for the first time. Travis, their hamster, made the trip in a little hamster ball concealed in one of their handbags.

Patty and I sat next to each other on the trip back. I was very happy to see this redheaded waif; life seemed complete again and it seemed that even breathing was easier. Suddenly the airplane filled with smoke. We saw the stewardesses run about to try and find the cause. Soon our fearless captain spoke to us over the intercom and explained that de-icing fluid had gotten into the heater and been vaporized. Everything is under control, he said.

We survived the trip to begin the spring semester. Keith wasn't so lucky, he was stranded somewhere in middle America because all the east coast airports were closed. He arrived in Boston 24 hours late(r).

pher*o*mone (fer' e-mon') n. [Gk. pherein, to carry + (HOR)- MONE.] A chemical substance secreted by an animal that influences specific patterns of behavior by other members of the same species.

This is the first time I've been going out with anyone who smells so nice, just being around Patty is a pleasure. I did some reading on pheromones lately. I feel sorry for those whose noses don't play much of a part in a relationship.

Valentine's Day

I have a bad feeling about all this, what else can go wrong if you break up on your first Valentine's Day? Last week I hunted down a cute toy that would suit her. I found the cutest little elephant, about the size of a grapefruit. I had it packed in such a way so that it was sitting in red wrapping paper, it looked like the center of a rose, the whole thing peeked out of a red box with hearts all over it. I went over to Patty's room only to be told by her roommates that they thought we were broken up!

I think this is Patty's reaction to being back in a relationship so soon. I'm very upset that Patty and I aren't together anymore. I miss her, I think of her many times an hour. I hope she knows how I feel. She seems to be missing something too, I wish I could figure out what it is.

Spring

We're together again!

Each day I walk down Newbury Street all the way to the Fleur de Jour, where Patty works selling flowers. She doesn't like to walk home alone after closing, so I walk her back to Myles Standish Hall. I look forward to this every day, first because I get to see Patty, but also because she looks so nice when she's working. I haven't told her this, but I want to put her in a big house filled with green plants, so when she comes back from work she'll be surrounded by a little jungle. Red hair and green plants are a nice combination.

My knowledge of the City of Boston I owe to Patty. Because of my walking to the store every day I find myself learning the Back Bay by heart: every store and gallery, every bistro and bar. Every day we leave the flower-shop after closing and walk to Kenmore Square, into the setting sun.

Patty is a churchgoer. Several times we've gone to Boston University's Marsh Chapel, where I've met some of the other religious people she knows: Matthew, who plays the guitar and knows some Monty Python, and PJ, the young priest. I feel a little out of place, but Patty's with me and I have a nice time. I've thought about the religion difference should this relationship get serious. I want to raise the children Jewish, mostly because of what my parents went through in Hitler's Germany. All the children from our extended family have married outside of the religion. I know I can't wean her from her religion, and even if I could I don't think I would because it's a part of her. I like going to the church with her and sharing something that's so important to her.

We've talked about it; she says she's not against the idea of having the children being brought up Jewish. It's not what I expected to hear, but I'm content with that answer. Sometimes we go to a Franciscian church in downtown Boston, near Filene's. This church is more somber than Marsh Chapel: friars in their flowing brown robes and white rope belts are in evidence everywhere. The area around the church is crowded with local drunks, begging money from the churchgoers. After Mass Patty and I'd light a prayer candle. I don't see any problem with inter-religious couples.

May

Spring has sprung. I've visited Canton for the first time. I boarded the commuter rail train at South Station in Boston on a sunny morning this month. My destination's a rustic-sounding stop called Canton Junction. With my Army duffel bag over my shoulder I followed Patty's directions through unknown streets lined with the flowering plants and new leaves of spring. I stopped and sat by a small waterfall and watched the baby ducks swim through the water after their mother in the shadow of Canton's own viaduct. I felt like Tobey George in Saroyan's The Human Comedy. Walking in this town is special to me simply because Patty lives here. I feel very comfortable and at peace. I was very excited to see 31 Trayer Road, which until now I knew only as a return address on Patty's letter. Like Tobey George did, "I moved toward the door, toward the warmth and light of home."

Summer

I learned something today: Patty explained the concept of "friendship rings," it's sort of a going-steady token, between just dating and engagement rings. Patty and I went to a well-recommended jewelry firm, E. B. Horn. An elderly salesman was very helpful, he patiently showed us racks of rings, one after another. After a time Patty had it narrowed down to a grand dilemma: diamond, emerald, or ruby? Patty couldn't decide, she looked at me and asked me to make the final decision. I choose a gold coiled snake with a diamond chip for its eye, primarily to commemorate the schnake room.

I've been hired as a bicycle mechanic at Beacon Street Bicycle. The store is across the street from my apartment. I've been putting my rusty skills to work tuning wheels and repairing bicycle frames, taping handlebars, and adjusting brakes. So far, each day at noon, Patty appears from across the street with a Beefeater Gin carafe filled with milk and two or three foil-wrapped hot dogs served with mustard and sauerkraut. A good-lunch kiss is part of the meal too.

(The job didn't last more than two months: I wasn't fast enough for the owner of the store. I don't have enough experience to fly through the repairs, I had to consult the manuals. I spent the rest of the summer sunning myself on the banks of the River Charles.)

Father's Day

Our fathers met each other today. Patty and I invited our fathers to Boston for a special dinner, all expenses paid by their offspring. We dined at the Top of the Hub, high atop the Prudential Center, Boston's tallest building. My father remarked this evening how I've adopted this city as my own. The city looks grand tonight, the sky was clear and the sparkle and glitter of the lights just made the meal more enjoyable. We sat overlooking the Boston Common and downtown Boston, a lot of planes were landing and taking off from Logan Airport. I felt so responsible, sitting there, with our fathers talking to each other, with the redhead at my side. I was just so proud and happy that this is my life. Mr. V. had to go home after dinner, so Dad took Patty and me out to the Ritz-Carlton for an after-dinner drink. Seeing that I was lacking the smoking room necessities, the conciercé hastily lent me a dinner jacket. The three of us talked and drank in these elegant surroundings until well past midnight.

The Top of the Hub has been a very important part of my life in Boston. Many dinners have been consumed there, many conversations continued until long after the lights on the ground rival the sparkle of the stars above. A little after Father's Day, Patty and I again ate there. Patty was baffled by the magic filling water glass: the staff was so smooth and unobtrusive in their movements. It's such a thrill to experience something new with Patty.

3 July

Patty's nineteenth birthday saw a special dinner and several small gifts. I felt so connected to Patty. I hope we're this close forever.

Every year on the 3rd and 4th of July the Boston Pops give a concert at the Hatch Shell, a band shell along the southern bank of the Charles River. We decided to sleep out under the stars on the 3rd to have a good view of the main concert on the 4th. It became our First Annual Esplanade Concert Campout. We'd purchased sleeping bags, blankets, soda, and other urban survival needs. We arrived as the concert on the 3rd was finishing. After tens of thousands of people filed out of the area we took a spot about 50 yards away from the conductor's podium. About sixty people spent that evening with us, not counting the mounted police officers who were on the scene. Radio station WHDH had a large van there all night, broadcasting the countdown to the concert to the rest of the area. I was listening to Doctor Demento on a small radio we brought with us.

4 July

"Do you know what this is?" The question came from several blankets away. "Yes, it's a knife," replied a lilting voice. "Slap him!" suggested a third male voice. I put down my headphones: homosexuals on the warpath? Patty held me down and tried to stifle my laughs. As we got to sleep at three in the morning the skies were already getting lighter. At six the sun began to make my sleeping bag uncomfortably warm.

"Up and at 'em!" shouted a mounted policeman, spurring his charge through the crowd of sleeping bodies. There's nothing like the thunder of hoofbeats to wake on up; no more sleep today. Five minutes later, as the tents came down, there were hastily convened games of Frisbee going on all over the Esplanade. Others, not morning people, stumbled to the water fountains for a futile attempt at making themselves presentable. The music came on over the loudspeakers arranged around us, in long lines from the Esplanade all the way back to Kenmore Square, a distance of at least two miles. They played music during the day and broadcast the concert in the evening.

Two long hours later, at eight in the morning, it became clear that we hadn't thought this expedition through. We were being baked alive on the Esplanade. We quaffed cases of Diet Coke, which made us more and more thirsty. Patty and I walked up and down the length of the Charles River after we had gotten someone to watch our things. I was astonished at the sheer number of people that had come to listen and sunbathe. Every available scrap of grass had people on blankets, bicycles, dogs, Frisbees, and coolers.

The Fourth of July concert begins as the sun is beginning to set. Then John Williams mounts the podium and spurs the Pops into action. This year most of the music was John Williams' movie themes: Stars Wars and E.T. among them. Each year there are two traditional portions of the show, the Patriotic Sing-along and the 1812 Overture. The sing-along includes This Land is My Land and America the Beautiful. The 1812 Overture is accompanied by synchronized fireworks; the music and pyrotechnics are timed to blend together. I've never experienced the dynamics of being in such a large group, all of us singing the same thing. I slept for a day after our 24-hour stay on the Esplanade, after we made it home through the post-concert crush.

Baseball Season

The day that Red Sox Carl Yastremski retired Patty was working at Fenway Park. I was in my apartment a few hundred yards away when I heard the roar of the crowd through the open window. I saw Yaz' retirement festivities on TV. It gave me a nice feeling to know that Patty was there and watching the same thing as I was. Yaz was presented with a pickup truck and a boat on a trailer which had been driven onto the field; he then made a final run around the field waving to the cheering fans. Just before he finished he gave his cap to a little child sitting on his daddy's lap.

Patty works for the sports mega-corporation, Harry M. Stevens Services ("Serving the Action World"). [HMS invented the drinking straw after noticing that sports fans had to break their concentration on the game by tipping their heads back to drink from a cup.] She sells food and drink at the concession stands at Fenway Park. After a few years she'll have a shot at the big money: the beer stands. Patty got a polo shirt and sweatshirt, both with the HMS logo, and a large button with her employee number. She looks so cute, going to work in her shirt and button, her red hair pulled back in a tossed ponytail. I'm in love with her.

Fall

Oh, the moving aches and pains! I moved my new roommate, Jeff Inman, from his basement hole in Allston to my apartment, then together we picked up Patty and journeyed to Canton, where we began to move Patty's things to her new apartment, also in our building. I was feeling proud at helping Patty into another phase of her life, and I felt very close to Patty's mother, who cried as we moved things into the truck, out of the home Patty had lived in for many years.

Ed Greenberg wanted a cat. One day all of us boarded the Huntington Avenue subway to the MSPCA to find a cat for Ed. Ed was captivated by an adult tabby he'd later name George. My heartstrings were tugged by a little black kitten with white paws and white whiskers. This fist-sized ball of fur was alone in a large cage, mewing pitifully. When I had an employee open the cage the kitten bolted towards the opening. "Cage crazy," I was told. To my surprise, I now belonged to a kitten.

Jeff also had a new black cat, one that had been given to him by a friend. We spent the evening pacing around the apartment trying different names to see what fit our new charges. The first clue to Jeff's cat's name was his habit of racing around the apartment: the cat would be crouched in one place and abruptly dive to another room. BALR (pronounced "bayler") stands for "Branch and Link Register," a computer instruction used to jump to another part of a program. Jeff's cat did a lot of jumping indeed, so BALR it was.

Finding none of the usual cat names to my liking, out of the blue I picked a word relating to the computer graphics I'd been working on, Raster. A raster screen is one where dots make up the screen, as opposed to a vector screen where the basic elements are lines and their endpoints, as can be seen on some video games. Raster and BALR. We toyed with the idea of hitting the cats with a bottle of champagne and dropping them into the tub, to christen them like new submarines, but for some reason we decided not to.

Tuesday after Labor Day

I've gotten my first job! Russell Brand arranged a gang-interview at Bedford Computer Corporation in New Hampshire yesterday. Today I have a company car, a white VW diesel Rabbit, and I even got a job for Jeff. Bobby Dourandish and Kris Peterson work about three miles away from "Deadboard Computer Corporation." Every weekday we'll be car-pooling the sixty-file mile commute. Our schedule is as follows: Jeff and I get up at 5:30 am, pick up Kris and Bobby, stop at the Store-24 to get coffee (and hot chocolate for me), and get on to Storrow Drive towards "Nude Hamster." I'm not thrilled to be getting up so early, but it's an attempt to work, commute, and have a social life.

Passover

Patty's family was a merging of Roman Catholic and Anglicans three or four generations ago. They never made me feel uncomfortable about my being Jewish. Quite the contrary: her family, and the nuns and priests that were long-time friends of the family, regarded Jews as having a special connection to Christian history, and being gosh-darn wonderful people.

Passover this year is being held at the home of Mary's parents, who are Jewish and have heard that I am. (Mary and Henry have been dating forever; Henry's considered part of Patty's extended family.) We arrived to find the seder table set beautifully. No Hebrew had been spoken in the house for many years, and, as I conducted the proceedings I was aware of the happy smiles of Mary's parents.

Thanksgiving

Bedford Computer gave Jeff and me each a fifteen-pound turkey. Two bachelors can't eat thirty pounds of turkey, much less cook it in a stove the size of a breadbox. I took the turkeys to Canton, where Mrs. V. (and the rest of us) cooked the monsters. We ate one for dinner that night, the other one came back to Boston, where Jeff and I had turkey for breakfast, lunch, and dinner until Christmas. During Thanksgiving dinner I again met Patty's family, it felt very nice to be included.

December

Midway between my twentieth birthday and Christmas I had a seizure on the way to work; luckily Jeff was driving today. In front of Mass General Hospital I yawned, and to my surprise I couldn't get out of the stretch. I felt annoyed that my body wouldn't obey. Then I passed out. Jeff's told me that he thought I was kidding. As soon as he realized that I wasn't he turned the car around and brought me to MGH.

A visit to the sleep lab, CAT-scan lab, and neurology lab present no definitive results. Epilepsy isn't the cause, nor is there evidence of any brain or nervous system problems. My physician explains that "idiopathic" (cause unknown) seizures happen in a small percentage of males between the ages of 20-25. Good timing, eh? I'm being put on anti-seizure medication for the indefinite future.

End of December

I've had another seizure, this time at work. Tests at a local hospital show that I'd forgotten to take my medication.

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