April 2023, Part 2
On April 23rd at around 9:30am, I was under an umbrella, padding across some park in Bushwilliamsburg, looking for a subway stop home. This was the end of my night out. My brain was fizzing, thoughts fast but calm, still sparkling from a night of good MDA. I’d gone with Erik to see Schwefelgelb play at Basement and as expected- found complete transcendence and holy absolution in the pitch black of the thudding dungeon. And some time later, with the neurochemical floodgates in my brain still open, I spotted Sid in the crowd and complemented his and Eddy’s set. Somehow we struck up enough conversation and were chemically softened enough to have a nice breakfast together with a friend, breaking bread over Brooklyn and Berlin.
I’d have spent more time thinking about the serendipity of the whole thing if my mind weren’t also preoccupied with something else. The night prior to the rave I had accidentally met a guy who I had accidentally fallen for. So there was that.
“Bella this is Matt. Matt, Bella.” This was what Matthew Donovan said as he distractedly introduced me to some guy after the meme art screening put together by NPCC. I was at the tail end of a First Perfect Spring Day which I’d spent restlessly running around as usual. After a brunch with Gaby, I sat at Fort Greene Park sifting the internet for what to do with the evening and settled on the NPCC show (aptly titled MeMe) because the stupid looking event poster promisingly featured Ted Kaczynski’s artist-rendered mugshot and a roster of memelord royalty as contributors. Emilio promised to meet me there after drinks at Fong’s, but I had time to kill, so I shot over on the train to catch ‘The Conformist’ at Film Forum. After Fong’s and the art show, Emilio left. This was when I ran into Matthew. I was also ready to leave. I found the bathroom line, located in a dark corner and going very slow because of the amount of ketamine use. A guy was standing behind me with some friends. I noticed he was the one Donovan introduced me to earlier. He said something to me about the line, and since we seemed to be stuck I said, “So should we make small talk?”
I asked where he was from.
"Indiana."
We had a chat and split off. I never thought I'd see him again. But as I stood outside the building figuring out my next move, I saw that he’d followed me outside.
He came over to me. A subconscious sliver of my mind noticed he had a relaxed way of walking, sort of swaying, hands in his pockets. He asked me if I wanted to get a drink. I looked up at Chinatown around me, hesitated for long, and agreed, right before suggesting we go to a PWA show first. Kismet apparently; he said the guy showing there (Mark Dorf) was a friend of this.
“Yeah but maybe we should just get a drink instead?”
“I think we can do both.”
And so we were roped into a whirlwind subway ride uptown. The combination of having no expectations of ever seeing him again and the way he looked at me intently when I spoke made me avert my gaze and ramble away in total honesty as we swayed on the train. We meandered through a few art shows, ending up at the bar of Russian Samovar. All of a sudden it was three in the morning. I realized we'd just been talking for five hours. I practically ran away from him in the street because I had no idea what had just happened. It was only when I finally got to the subway, winded, that I realized neither of us exchanged numbers. “If he finds me I’ll let myself think this was something real,” I thought.
The next afternoon, there it was.
Direct Message Request From: Matt Shaw
And so it began.