On radical relationship care
because boredom might be the worst thing ever
I never want to fall too much into a comfortable routine, never want us to stop making that proverbial mix tape of songs for each other, the kind of act that says: I see you. After all these years together, I still see you.
I won't grow up
(I won't grow up)
I don't wanna go to work
(I don't wanna go to work)
Just to have to keep my distance
(Just to have to keep my distance)
And not act like a big jerk
(And not act like a big jerk)
If growing up means now the task, is to stand six feet away and wear my mask
I'll never grow up, never grow up, never grow up... don’t ask
“This is your favorite day of the year,” I say to my spouse Janyce as I grab the felt Peter Pan hat off my head and transfer it to hers.
“It is,” she says. “It’s the one day of the year that I’m the one to get coffee in bed.”
“Wait, I have another verse,” I say.
I won't grow up
(I won't grow up)
I don't wanna do what’s right
(I don't wanna do what’s right)
with a serious intention
(with a serious intention)
makes me want to start a fight
(makes me want to start a fight)
And if it means I must prepare to shoulder burdens with a worried air
I'll never grow up, never grow up, never grow up... so there
Janyce sits up and starts fiddling with the bag of rolled tubes of colored papers each tied with a piece of red curling ribbon while I sing the last stanza in my pajamas by the side of the bed.
I won't grow up
(I won't grow up)
On my birthday I will play
(On my birthday I will play)
I’ll forget about the virus
(I’ll forget about the virus)
I’ll be free for a whole day
(I’ll be free for a whole day)
If this pandemic tries to mess, with my birthday now I must confess
I'll never grow up, never grow up, never grow up... No stress!
“Okay, you get to open one of Tinkerbell’s wishes every hour throughout the day,” I say. “But you have to start with this one.”
Inside the mesh bag is a tiny yellow paper tube with the words “open first” written on the outside. Janyce carefully unrolls it and reads the message out loud.
“Banana PAN cakes,” she says and smiles at me.
“Coming right up,” I say.
I’ve spent the past few weeks leading up to her birthday planning a full day of silliness and surprises in a “Peter Pandemic” theme. Today we are headed to Williamstown, Massachusetts just to get away and hike in a beautiful meadow at the base of a mountain. My plan is for us to relax, smell the late September hay in the fields and listen to the crickets as we meander through reddish grasses and swaying yellow goldenrod dotted with buzzing bees, our backs warmed by the Autumn afternoon sun. Nature is the antidote to all the bad news in the world, and the Berkshires seems to me to be the perfect “Neverland” destination for this pandemic year.
“I think this might be your best one yet,” said my friend Dawn in a FB message while sending me an Amazon link for a Peter Pan hat. The truth is, I look forward to doing these birthdays every year as much for myself as I do for Janyce. To me they are a form of radical relationship care, a way of reminding us to guard against boredom.
I never want to fall too much into a comfortable routine, never want us to stop making that proverbial mix tape of songs for each other, the kind of act that says: I see you. After all these years together, I still see you.
It’s Saturday morning and I’m sitting in bed drinking coffee. Outside a flock of black birds have landed in the trees in the backyard, cheeping loudly. I get up to crane my neck out of the window right as they all lift off in in a flurry of flapping wings, swarming over the one spot of blue sky still visible through the treetops.
“Come back in and help me remember all the birthdays!” I call out to Janyce from the bedroom. “I am forgetting them.”
“There was flight,” I say, “with the stewardess outfit. And there was the one with the karaoke and the king cake! Oh, and beach blanket bingo.”
What about to the distance,” says Janyce. “Remember the F1 racetrack and the train to Maine? And my favorite things.”
“Well, that was the one that started it all off. Nothing gayer for your coming out birthday than the Sound of Music,” I say.
“You are right,” says Janyce.
“Okay, I say, let’s count them out. There should be thirteen of them and I can’t remember.”
Janyce pulls out a box from the closet and starts rummaging through the birthday cards while I hold up my hand and raise a finger each time she calls out a name.
The sound of music, flight, K, to the distance, pictures of you, fiddler on the roof, pirates, earth wind and fire, beach blanket bingo, fitness, halfway there, scuzzy swampy sexy tour, and now peter pandemic.
“That’s thirteen,” she says.
“You still have all the cards,” I say.
“Of course I do,” she says, “I even have this.” She pulls out a small slip of stationary from a Best Western hotel from a possible business trip maybe a half dozen years ago. I can see my scrawled handwriting in pen.
“What was that from?” I say.
“I have no idea,” she says and places it back in the box. “Now, can I go finish my workout, please?”