Summer Pants

Mar 14, 2010

Although he originally planned to stay for six months, Brian cut out of the Buddhist Monastery three months early. He drove north from Virginia, stayed with our friend Joe in New Jersey for a couple of days, and then disappeared into the wilderness of western Connecticut, where he remained incommunicado for months.

I called Joe to ask if he had any news, but he didn't, and we were both a little worried.

"He's pretty out there," said Joe.

"Being 'out there' has always been a part of Brian's charm," I said.

"True, but I mean, I don't know."

When I hung up with Joe, I called Brian, hoping for the chance to judge for myself whether three months in a Buddhist Monastery had done a number on his head, or perhaps enlightened him beyond the ability to relate to mere mortals like me. I left a message, and after not hearing from him for a couple of weeks, I left another. When he finally called, of course, he was fine. Out there, yes, but no more than ever.

"I was worried about you," I said. "After Joe told me you left his place, and then not hearing from you for months, I started thinking all kinds of crazy things."

He admitted that when he first left the Monastery, going to Joe's and watching football on a big screen TV without any time to decompress had been a little more than he could handle. "I'm sure I was acting strange. Of course I was. Anyway, I would've called you earlier, but I didn't want to talk to anyone."

"I understand. I'm just glad that everything's okay. How was it? Why did you leave?"

"I'll tell you all about it when I see you," he said. "I'm coming to the city in March."

This was all a couple of months ago, and, true to his word, Brian is back in the Big Apple, working at The American Museum of Natural History. "It's awesome, dude. I don't even bother leaving for lunch, I just take long walks through the museum. They have so much cool shit there. I love it."

We spoke last week and made tentative plans to see each other over the weekend, but neither of us followed through with a phone call. "I barely left the house," he told me. "I went food shopping, that was it. The fucking rain."

"I hear you. I had to get a prescription filled and was soaked by the time I got to the pharmacy and doubly soaked by the time I got home."

"The wind, too," he said.

"Totally. It stirred up the rain from all directions. All kinds of shit were strewn in the streets -- garbage cans, plastic bags..."

"Umbrellas."

"Yes! When I was entering the pharmacy, a woman stepped outside, opened her umbrella, and in an instant it turned inside out. She stood there trying to figure out a way to fix it, but it was beyond hope."

"Dude, get this: I went to the supermarket, right? I had exactly two pairs of clean pants, my heavy denim work pants -- no way could I wear those in a downpour, they'd still be wet by the time I went to work on Monday -- and a lightweight linen pair. So I threw those on -- without any underwear -- and ran to the supermarket. By the time I got there, I was drenched. I looked down and realized my pants were transparent. You could see everything. Everything, dude."

"Oh man, that's fucking hilarious. So what did you do?"

"What could I do? I had to do my food shopping."