Jonno, 1997
Ten years ago it became apparent that I could not live without Jonno and he could not live without me.
It was not an easy revelation. It was not simple, either.
For example: I was born and raised in the South. I had lived in New York for a time and hated it. I couldn’t cook. I had an ambivalent relationship with my small family. Jonno was my opposite in these and other matters, and it showed.
More curiously: it was not the first time I’d fallen in love with Jonno. Four years earlier, though, he hadn’t been interested. What motivated his change of heart? How could I rationalize my sudden good fortune?
I couldn’t. And yet there it was, plain as day.
As I left him on that crisp New York morning in 1997, having already changed my flight twice, I turned and saw Jonno waving to me from the corner of 9th and 23rd, waving every time I turned around, waving until I was blocks away, probably waving until my plane left the ground. And with some music that he gave me playing softly on my headphones–music that can still make me cry a little when I’m alone–I began quietly making plans for his move to New Orleans. I think he did the same.
Seriously, honestly, people: how does this stuff happen? And so quickly?
And so, although we haven’t had a ceremony, and in the eyes of most people we’re just a couple of guys who live together and have a house together and walk dogs together (on good days) and nap together (on bad days), this is when we celebrate our anniversary. In our own small way.
Happy anniversary, Jonno.
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