An old friend and former housemate from San Francisco currently living in Oregon came to town to attend a family funeral yesterday. We managed to steal him away for a few hours today to share coffee and reminisce a bit. But surprisingly, “two old retired guys who’ve known each other going on 35 years” had very little to talk about since we text each other almost daily. But it was still great to physically see him again. That’s been twenty years or so…
I met Michael in San Francisco one morning in June ’92 on the J-Train heading downtown. He got on, we made eye contact multiple times and I finally got up the nerve to hand him one of my “Woof” cards (yeah, they actually had that printed on one side with my number on the other). He called shortly thereafter and we started hanging out and even had a brief affair. I don’t remember why it didn’t work out on that level, but we remained good friends over the years and after I’d moved back to Tucson in 1995—and six months later realized what a horrible mistake I’d made—he offered me a place to stay until I got resettled—and even flew down to drive my car back while I piloted the U-Haul.
Even after I’d found work and had a steady income again, we remained housemates. The location wasn’t ideal (he lived out in the Avenues), so the commute downtown became a pain in the ass, but the rent was reasonable, the company (including three adorable pugs) was excellent, and most importantly, we simply got along.
Everything was fine until Michael met his future husband in ’97. Raymond and I did not get along, and while Michael was hoping for a “Three Muskateers” sort of friendship, it proved impossible (at least for me). I ended up moving out and back to Phoenix in ’98. Tensions were high, and I didn’t even say goodbye.
We remained incommunicado for many years, even upon my return to The City a year later. After my first cancer diagnosis, bygones became bygones after I returned to Phoenix again (for the last time) and we reconnected.
Funny the directions life takes you…
What in interesting story Mark, I enjoyed reading it. I also had a similar move when a friend drove my ’65 Corvair up from L.A. to San Francisco in ’77, and I drove that U-Haul Truck in front of him. I emptied the truck the next day and he flew back. I moved into a ‘railroad flat’ on the top floor of a beautifully maintained Victorian (it was waiting for me to arrive), on Hermann St. right behind The Safeway on Market. You say you moved into a place out on The Avenues, an area I avoided because it was usually covered in Fog. Unless I was going to The Balboa to catch a film.