For Jared on his 9th 21st Birthday
My friend Jared turned 30 a couple of weeks ago. His roommate through him a birthday party where his friends had to present a this is your life type piece. The following is what I wrote for the occassion. This might be a little to inside jokey, but I have faith in you all.
Jared do you remember the most romantic 30 minutes of your life? If you don’t I’ll kill myself right now. We were in paradise-a tropical wonderland just south of California. Our day started out normal enough: walking around, taking in the sights, some Mexican-blanket shopping, but then it all changed. I don’t know if was the two for one margaritas we downed at noon or the strippers we saw who possessed that oh so sexy vacant, disinterested come-hither look, but the next thing we knew we were on romantic voyage to the coast. We climbed aboard our chariot painted white like a bridal gown. The paint was chipped because love is chipped and imperfect.
We de-bussed and the sun shown down upon us like a spotlight on actors in a Shakespearean romance. We separated from our gaggle of friends to steal a few moments just the two of us. We walked down to the Mexican waters where we saw a man with horses to rent. We looked at each other and knew it was right. We handed over our pesos to the man, and he handed over his horses. You let me pay for my own horse to let me know you thought of me as equal.
Your callused hands grabbed the reigns as your manly leg swooped over your horse’s back the same time I mounted my steed. I knew it was kismet as our horses trotted down the shoreline in unison. Two hearts riding as one. Well, four hearts riding as one-- we shan’t forget the horses. Not that the horses were upstaging you romantically. I knew somewhere they were just in it for the money, but I didn’t want to think about it. I didn’t want to ruin our time together with thoughts of their whoring.
And so we rode—faster and faster as the wind flew through our hair wildly, the sun glistening off the water, the salt sea air burning our nostrils. It was heaven. It was ecstasy. I wanted to keep riding, and riding. I figured we could ride down to Peru and live in a thatched roof hut on the shores there. I knew these horses could swim through the Panama Canal, I had seen footage of the diving horses in Atlantic City. But before we could pass the boarders of Rosarita, Mexico our ½ hour was up and we had to return the horses or be shot. We turned around, dismounted, and rejoined the others. Our friends never knew of our romance. It stayed in Mexico with Mexican Jared. You went off to marry WGBH and I took up with Jack.
No regrets. (a little wimper) No regrets.
Jared do you remember the most romantic 30 minutes of your life? If you don’t I’ll kill myself right now. We were in paradise-a tropical wonderland just south of California. Our day started out normal enough: walking around, taking in the sights, some Mexican-blanket shopping, but then it all changed. I don’t know if was the two for one margaritas we downed at noon or the strippers we saw who possessed that oh so sexy vacant, disinterested come-hither look, but the next thing we knew we were on romantic voyage to the coast. We climbed aboard our chariot painted white like a bridal gown. The paint was chipped because love is chipped and imperfect.
We de-bussed and the sun shown down upon us like a spotlight on actors in a Shakespearean romance. We separated from our gaggle of friends to steal a few moments just the two of us. We walked down to the Mexican waters where we saw a man with horses to rent. We looked at each other and knew it was right. We handed over our pesos to the man, and he handed over his horses. You let me pay for my own horse to let me know you thought of me as equal.
Your callused hands grabbed the reigns as your manly leg swooped over your horse’s back the same time I mounted my steed. I knew it was kismet as our horses trotted down the shoreline in unison. Two hearts riding as one. Well, four hearts riding as one-- we shan’t forget the horses. Not that the horses were upstaging you romantically. I knew somewhere they were just in it for the money, but I didn’t want to think about it. I didn’t want to ruin our time together with thoughts of their whoring.
And so we rode—faster and faster as the wind flew through our hair wildly, the sun glistening off the water, the salt sea air burning our nostrils. It was heaven. It was ecstasy. I wanted to keep riding, and riding. I figured we could ride down to Peru and live in a thatched roof hut on the shores there. I knew these horses could swim through the Panama Canal, I had seen footage of the diving horses in Atlantic City. But before we could pass the boarders of Rosarita, Mexico our ½ hour was up and we had to return the horses or be shot. We turned around, dismounted, and rejoined the others. Our friends never knew of our romance. It stayed in Mexico with Mexican Jared. You went off to marry WGBH and I took up with Jack.
No regrets. (a little wimper) No regrets.
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