tale's beginning

1981

1982

1983

1984

1985

1986

tale's end

The Sonesta Hotel, the re-opening of which we'd seen from the Top of the Hub, was a rather nice hotel that sat on the Cambridge side of the Charles River, by the Boston Museum of Science, Saddlebrook, Lotus, and MIT. Sometime in the spring of 1985 Don, Bernadette, Patty, and I decided that a party would be in order, and that it should be at the Sonesta. The appropriate reservations were made. We had a wonderful view of the Boston skyline from our rooms. We ate dinner at Kabuki in Central Square; outside the restaurant the neighborhood kids were break-dancing on the street corner.

Back at the Sonesta I broke out the bottle of Amaretto I'd brought with me. I had room service bring up a corkscrew and glasses for a toast of the evening. We sat around and talked until one of us had the urge to get something more interesting to drink. I called room service and they brought up four strawberry daiquiris. I took the tray from the waiter, slowly walked them over to Don, who was seated on the couch. As Don held out his hands for the tray, I tripped on the carpet and dumped the tray into his lap. We exploded into peals of laughter, the room service guy didn't move a muscle, didn't smile or laugh, he just stood there. Later the manager came up and told us about an innkeeper's law that says that guests cannot bring alcohol into their rooms that is not purchased from the inn. He assessed us a corkage fee of seventy-five dollars for the Amaretto. The next morning Don and I patiently explained to the people at the front desk that since (1) the law wasn't posted and (2) room service brought up a corkscrew and glasses for us without any drinks and didn't see fit to warn us, we weren't paying the fine. They listened.

Memorial Day

Patty's majorettes and I marched in the Memorial Day parade. We drove to Canton and spent the night; the next morning we met at the Duncin' Donuts on Washington Street (Canton doesn't have a Main Street). Cheered on by what seemed to be the entire town, war veterans, the high school band, we, and others walked past the high school and through two cemeteries. Invited dignitaries gave speeches in the hot and sticky air. We sat on the grass and listened patiently, the buzz of insects and the hum of the crowd in our ears. Afterwards we marched, Patty (and I) to the left of the majorettes, who were in formation, tossing batons. I was beaming with pride at being seen with Patty in her hometown. She's so beautiful and purposeful.

In my mind's eye I saw our cottage on the water's edge, surrounded by a white ivy-covered picket fence. Canton is at its best in this mild weather; fantasizing about the future comes easy this weekend. Our next Data General Summer Outing did nothing to change my wistful mood. I enjoy being part of this ritual. It was on an typically unbearably hot and humid Massachusetts summer day; fudge and cold soft drinks sustained us. Patty beat the hell out of her brother Michael and me at the carnival games and she wound up with another armful of tickets.

Summer

Patty's emphasis on work is putting me second, something I really don't like. I want Patty to have a career at the office and me at home, but it seems that she can't do both. Lately she doesn't appear to be interested in anything but working her brains out, about which she later complains. After trying to be both understanding and asking to be included more I've brought up the idea of breaking our engagement; Patty was very upset. She seems not to need me or anything I offer, until I withdraw the offer. We talk about it; the engagement stands. At the base of Cape Cod, on the "mainland" side of the bridges that separate Wereham from the cape, lives Patty's paternal grandmother. Her house is one of my favorite places to spend time. The sun shines hot on the water, the house is at the ocean's edge, surrounded by beach sand and gulls. I take the rowboat and paddle about, watching the bathers on the beach and the motorboats cruising in and out of the inlets. Mr. V's five children and I took his new runabout (the "My Five") out; we each had a turn to pilot the boat on the way to the good fishing spots. I caught a flounder. Our return trip took us under the bridges, where we were surprised by the mixing of opposing currents. The boat was tossed about, ten feet up and down. It was very frightening, I was sure the boat would capsize. It took us a long time to get back to calm waters.

I spent part of today just sitting on the beach watching the fiddler crabs come out of their holes and then scurry back whenever a noise is made. It's so peaceful here: is this anything like where Patty and I will live when we get married? She'll be practicing law, so I don't know if she'll want to live in the city. She's inside doing things with her grandmother. Earlier today Patty and her little brother Michael showed me how to catch mussels. We walk along the beach until we see a squirt of water made by a mussel; the larger the stream the larger the mussel. There we frantically dig to get it before it moves away with its foot.

Dinner is the mussels that we caught, hamburgers, sausages, and chicken — all cooked on a gas grill outside the house. I feel so much a part of this family it's shocking; it really feels right to be here with everybody.

4 July

What would a summer be without an Esplanade Sleepout? This is our third annual. We arrived, as usual, the night before, and waited for the crowds to leave. This year my sister Felicia came up to be with us. I met friends from the computing center around the Esplanade; they were seated much further back than we were. Rather than participate in the usual activities of burning, baking, and heat stroke, we went swimming in the Metropolitan District Commission's public pool and took a flatboat ride around the Charles River from the Esplanade to the Museum of Science and back. We saw the firemen working on the barge getting the pyrotechnics ready. Aside from the concert and synchronized fireworks, the high point of the day must have been the flying dinosaur: the Museum of Science had a model of a baby brachosaurus flown over the Charles River onto the museum building amidst the oohs and aahs from the crowd, many of which had never seen a dinosaur being moved by a helicopter.

August

The Mac Expo is now in Boston for a five-day run to celebrate the amount of software and hardware now available for the Apple Macintosh. I planned on attending the shows during the day and working at Saddlebrook at night; I brought my sleeping bag and changes of clothing to my office. I spent the first day at the Bayside Expo Center registered as a member of the press: we had press meetings and I saw many new things for my computer. When I got to Saddlebrook I found out that my card wouldn't open the doors. I found my boss who told me that a layoff had been put into effect that morning, I was among the lucky twenty percent of the work force that had been liberated. My boss helped me pack my office into his car and he drove me home. I went to the other four days of the show and then applied for unemployment.

For Passover 1985 I took Patty to a real happening; for as many years as I can remember Bob and Carol Rosen have given a Passover feast; fine china and magnificent food, an nice Pesach service that everyone helps with, and a pool table for to play with afterwards. The Rosen's house is filled with the best knickknacks I have ever seen, from gems and other things they've collected during their travels to paintings and pictures and a telegram from then-President Nixon congratulating them on an archeological dig, their house is something to envy.

Fall

Patty isn't calling me at all. I am spending a lot of time by the phone waiting for her to call; I set up computer communications so that if a call comes in it takes priority, every precaution so that I won't miss her call. She just isn't making an attempt to call me. Did I do something wrong?

This evening Patty suddenly returned the engagement ring to me. What have I done to make her decide that I'm no longer "it?" We still spent the same amount of time together, and I thought that after she spent some time alone she would decide that she enjoyed life better together than apart. It didn't happen.

Years later, while moving, I found a poem I'd written twenty-four hours after having the ring returned to me.

She moved out of Wilson Park and into the Beacon Street neighborhood that I (and then we) had lived in for three years. When I lived there it was a "terrible" place where Patty didn't want to walk alone into, now it's a wonderful place for her to live in. After the years that we had gone out, she went to her graduation party with Jimmy, a member of her graduating class and a classmate of hers, even though we had talked about it and she knew I wanted to go. I only said that I want to go about ten times this last week. I think that she and Jimmy are more than just friends. Right after she returned the ring some friends saw her on several different days coming over to his place very late at night. She says that she is sleeping over but nothing is happening; this isn't the Patty I used to know. How can she just switch guys so fast? She really isn't the person I thought I was going to live forever with.

21 December

This is the worst birthday that I have ever had. Patty did the worst thing to me that she could do, she threw my birthday in my face. It's the first birthday in four years that I was without Patty. She had gone to vacation in New Hampshire with Mary and Henry and she didn't invite me along. Mary and Henry asked her how I was and what I was doing, she replied that it was my birthday. When they asked whether she would call me Patty gave them a terrible look; I never got any call at all. I spent the day at Walden Pond with a friend who consoled me, it was the saddest birthday that I had ever had.

Over Christmas break I flew to Chamonix, France, to ski with my parents. The entire trip I was aware of what time it was in Boston, when Patty was waking up, when it was late at night for her, when she'd be with Jimmy. The mountain is awsome, the weather delightful, but it all passes in a painful fog.

Patty is never around, she's spending all of her time with Jimmy. She has stopped calling me and never returns my phone calls. I didn't enjoy winter break too much. I spent New Year's at the National Restaurant, a Russian restaurant in Brighton Beach, New York. My entire extended family was there, they were consoling and comforting to be with, I realized that 1986 was not going to be a good year at all.

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