I Think I Read Your Book

June 19, 2006

My college friend, Maud, called on Wednesday evening to ask if I was going to the RISD New York Biennial opening at Exit Art the following night. The biennial is a gallery show featuring artwork by RISD alumni living in and around New York City, of which there are a gazillion.

Although I hadn't spoken to Maud in over two years, we've known each other since our freshman year at RISD, and it came as no surprise to hear from her. In fact, I'd been half-expecting it. She often calls when there's a RISD event in New York, and the biennial is a big one.

"Yeah," I said. "I've been planning to go. Wanna meet up beforehand?"

She told me that she worked directly across the street from the gallery, and it would be easiest to meet there.

The next day, as I was finishing up work, she called to see where I was and what time I expected to be at the gallery. "By seven," I told her.

"Okay," she said. "Because I want to leave at eight. I have something else to do afterwards."

"I'll be there soon."

The gallery is on 36th Street and 10th Avenue, and I chose to walk there from work, on 21st Street and 6th. It took only a little longer than I expected, and I was at the intersection crossing toward the crowded sidewalk outside the gallery entrance when my phone rang. "Where are you?" Maud asked.

"I'm just walking in, I'll find you in a minute."

I hung up and entered the cavernous space. Cavernous, that is, if it were a cavern with an underground river of people roaring through it. It was crowded, hot, and loud. I saw a few vaguely familiar faces, but no one I knew well enough to talk to. I circled as best I could until my phone rang again. I held it up to my ear and scanned the crowd. It sounded like an industrial turkey farm filled with thousands of broad-breasted whites. Gobble gobble gobble. "I can't hear you," I said, then hung up and sent Maud a text message: "I'm standing near the bar."

I stood at the bar for the next five minutes or so, but I was in the way of all the people jockeying for complimentary wine. I sent another text: "I'm going outside. Meet me out front." I stood outside for a few minutes. When I didn't hear back, I wondered if she'd given up and left. I knew she wanted to leave at eight, and that time was fast approaching. I decided to go back inside and try again. If I couldn't find her, I'd give up and look at the art, instead. Imagine?

As I said, I've known Maud for years, and as soon as I walked in, she was suddenly as easy to spot as I expected her to be from the beginning. I approached her from behind and tapped her shoulder. "Jamie!" she cried, and opened her arms to hug me like a child she’d lost in the supermarket. She was standing with a few friends from work and she proceeded to introduce me. One of the women was pushing buttons on a cell phone. She looked up, said hello, then held the phone up so that Maud could read its screen. "He's at the bar," she said.

"Maud took the phone and put it in her bag. "I don't know how to use text messages."

As if they'd been keeping her company until I arrived, Maud's friends left soon afterwards. "Have you looked at any of the art?" Maud asked.

"No. I've been busy looking for you."

We started to look at the pieces, but kept getting distracted by people watching and catching up on the past two years. She mentioned the names of a few people who were in the show. I can't remember any of them, but they didn't sound familiar."You know him," she'd say. "Architecture." Or "You know her. She was a year ahead of us, a Painting major."

RISD is a small school — less than 2000 students at the time we were there — so I'm sure I probably would've remembered their faces if I'd seen them.

"I keep up with you through your blog," Maud said. "But I've never read it. I keep hearing about you from other people who do."

"Who?" I asked.

"Everybody."

"But you've never seen it yourself?"

"No. I'm technologically challenged. You saw me, I didn't even know how to read your text messages."

I told her my website wasn't very challenging to find, but I was content to have a friend who didn't read it, so I didn't try too hard to explain.

"Oh no," Maud said. "There's Jeff. He hates me."

Another former classmate of ours was standing nearby, sipping wine with his girlfriend. I wasn't sure why Jeff "hated" Maud, as she said, but it didn't stop her from going over to say hi.

Jeff gave Maud a cordial hello, then shook my hand and said he'd be back in a minute. His girlfriend stayed behind, and Maud introduced us. "This is my friend Jamie," Maud said.

Although she told me the girl's name, the gobbling got in the way, and I didn't catch it. I only know it was Japanese.

"Did you go to RISD, too?" the girl asked.

"Yes," I said.

"I think I read your book."

"Oh my god!" Maud said. "What is this? Everyone I know has read your book or reads your blog. I'm missing out."

"No, you're not. You're not missing anything. Besides, she said she only thinks she read my book. It's not very memorable."

"No, I mean, I did read it, " the girl said. "I just wasn't sure if it was you. Jeff gave it to me. He said, 'You have to read this.' So I did. It was quite good, actually. Did you sell many?"

"No. Not really. And the more time passes, the more I wish I hadn't sold any."