History

It was a Thursday, late August, 2003. We were going to a concert by Bjørk at Keyspan Park, a ball park, which to me seemed an unusual place to hear music. I had not seen you since July sixteenth, five weeks earlier, when we met for dinner. Yoshi and I used to listen to a song by P.J. Harvey in which she sings “you said something that I’ve never forgotten.” That night in July you did that. I had originally planned to go to the Bjørk concert with Yoshi, but he had gone back to Japan. But back to August. I thought I knew how to get to Coney Island but we ended up in Brighton Beach. It was a humid evening. The sky was grey.

We realized Coney Island was in the direction we had come from. We started to walk along the boardwalk. You were walking fast, as if you needed to get away from me (we had not talked on the Q train). I was sweating from the heat. When we got to Keyspan Park it was filled with people, and we found a spot near a fence. I drank a beer. The concert was great. I felt so giddy, I danced by myself. Afterward we joined crowds of people heading for the W train, and we entered a crowded car. We sat apart from each other so it was hard to talk. Halfway back to Brooklyn Heights you called me, on my phone, though we were only ten feet apart. You said you would go straight to Manhattan. I was going to Brooklyn Heights. I hesitated then said ok but you had already hung up your phone. I got out to switch trains at DeKalb. The station was empty. I had to wait a long time for a train. I was shaking even though it was stifling in the station. Later at home I realized that I am normally unafraid of empty subway platforms. The next day, I drove to the mountains. Leaving New York I got lost. It took me two hours to get to I-80 although I had driven the same route countless times before.