City Mouse or Country Mouse? I Can't Pick, I'm Both...

Saturday morning Dana ran errands while I went into the city to meet Patrick. We started out at the Union Square Market and I made a point to say hi to more cousins I’d never met. Audrey’s cousins run a honey stand there every Saturday and when I found the jars that said "Wolfgang and Sons, Climax, NY" I walked up to the man behind the table, held out my hand and said, "Hi, we’re related." He looked at me like I was crazy and then his eyes got wide as he said, "Oh, you’re Jessica! Hi, I’m your cousin Walter!" He’s a jovial man in his fifties, with a shock of white hair and broad shoulders. His wife, Noni, was there and just for giggles I call her my cousin too. They asked how many bathrooms my Civic had and I pointed to the trees in the park. "That many." They laughed. I stayed with them for a little while, still soaking up the surprise that I had unknown family ties, and then said my goodbyes.

Patrick and I walked all around the East Village and I was sad because I made us lost. I used to know every street, every bodega, every single little nook and cranny of that place and now I realize just how long I’ve been gone. Still, we eventually found St. Mark’s Place and I took Patrick to Search and Destroy, an "alternative" shop to say the least. It has THE GREATEST collection of vintage clothes, which are accessible once you make your way past the inflatable dolls, dancing phallic toys, and porno displays. I took my youngest brother there once, when he was about 14, and he left the place shaking after seeing a large poster of someone using someone else’s face as a toilet. I take all my visiting friends there, actually, just for shock value.

That picture was actually gone, and so were a few other stores that I used to frequent, which was a little disappointing. One store was going out of business as we walked past, a little shop that sold wooden goods, like toys and bowls and beads. I guess now that St. Mark’s Place had become a mecca of trendiness, there is no more use for a shop selling handmade wooden chess sets and unfinished dowel rods. It was very sad.

We went to one of my favorite restaurants, Dojo’s, and I pigged out on their carrot tahini salad dressing, the one I used to buy in bulk and put on everything - rice, tunafish, eggs. It is The King Of Condiments. I can’t find it anywhere else in the country, not like they make it. Patrick ordered a seaweed salad and we didn’t realize it was black seaweed. It looked like someone opened a can of Skoal on his plate but it tasted really, really good! We reminisced about the times we spent out west and it was like being there all over again. He has a much better memory than I do. We wondered what happened to our third musketeer, John - he hasn’t been heard from since going back to Denver and finding out that someone stole his checkbook. We worry about him a lot.

The sun was absolutely gorgeous and we got ice cream from the good old Mr. Softee truck, which we ate in Mercer Park while I explained the finer points of my college internship, the one at the sex education website. Patrick was dumbfounded, he almost dropped his ice cream. He had no idea that in America, cleaning and schlepping sex toys all over the streets of New York City could help you graduate from college. I didn’t either, until I had to do it.

We found ourselves back in Union Square Park, lying on the grass and talking about where we want to be in the next five years. Patrick is a farmer at heart. He owns his own back in Ireland but knows there’s very little money to be made at it, so he’s a salesman instead. It all sounds too familiar, as my father, with the Master’s Degree in Agronomy and the wish to simply live on a farm and grow things, works as a carpenter. We almost had our own farm when I was little but the farming industry really bottomed out. There was nothing he could do except take odd jobs and learn carpentry in the meantime. Still, both my dad and Patrick hold onto the dream that someday they’ll be able to farm again. My answer was more mainstream - job in social work, husband, house, kids, dog. White picket fence. I know it’s trite, and sometimes I get frustrated with myself for wanting it, but deep down it’s all I really want. Lying there on the grass, hanging out with Patrick like we’d been friends forever, I knew we always will be. I don’t think anything could ever change that.

We went to my old place of work, City Crab, and got drinks while I caught up with old friends. I was getting pretty spoiled being able to drink whenever I wanted to and not worrying about my breathalyzer. I was nervous, somewhat, to see everyone again because I had worked there while in the thick of things with Sean and was a constant basketcase. I think back to how I acted, the things I said during that time and shudder. I didn’t want to make a cameo appearance as That Crying Girl From Three Years Ago, but everyone assured me that my drama was a mere drop in the bucket compared to the antics that have gone on since I left. When they filled me in, I was astounded. It seems that some of our friends have developed drug problems and it’s wreaking havoc on their lives.

Patrick had to go to dinner with his family so we made our way back to Union Square. He headed west to Chelsea and I hopped on the N to Astoria. Leaving him was hard because we never know when we’re going to see each other again. He told me now it’s my turn to visit Ireland. The way my finances are I wonder if I’ll ever be able to. Anyway, I went back to Astoria and Dana and I decided to stay in for the night. That’s how you know someone is your best friend - when you are only in New York City for a few nights and on Saturday you don’t feel cheated by spending it all with them and not going out on the town. We bought groceries and wine and I made a mess of her kitchen cooking a stir fry. Poor Dana almost lit herself on fire trying to light the stove burners and after my pulse returned to normal I giggled over memories of my own old apartment woes, like The Unflushable Toilet and The Leak Of Unknown Origins.

After dinner we watched an incredible film called "Iron-Jawed Angels" with Hilary Swank and Frances O’Connor. It was absolutely amazing. It’s a true story about the history of women’s sufferage and I highly recommend it to anyone, male or female. (I’m talking to you, Miss CannedItalian - get it from Blockbuster or wherever but just make sure you see it!) We watched it and by the time it was over I was exhausted. I passed out while Dana, ever the busy bee, stayed up doing god-know-what and then woke up early the next morning saying she was going to the gym. She amazes me.

I hibernated on Sunday and wrote and wrote and wrote. I thought about Emmet a lot, how much I missed him and how I wished things were different. Dana came in and out all day and we finally decided to head into the city around 9:30. We went to Duke’s, an old haunt of mine where I thought for sure I could find some old friends, which we did. We hung out with "Ken J.", who, even though I don’t have to use the last initial to differentiate between him and the other Kens we worked with at City Crab, will always be Ken J. He’s been hit by a cab since we last saw each other and he pulled out his fake front teeth to prove it. That was odd. He relayed the story and I was just glad he wasn’t brain-damaged - he is one of the wittiest, smartest people I know. Teeth or no teeth, he still is.

Dana and I went to a wine bar in Gramercy after Duke’s. While we were there and laughing it up pretty hard at the bar, a drunk guy beside us leaned over and slurred, "Are you, like, really hammered or something?" We weren’t, and it burned me up that a guy would assume just because two women are laughing and joking around that they must be drunk. What a douchebag. I was mean to him so he would go away, and he was too drunk to object. Then Dana and I, unhammered, headed back to Queens for more drinks. We went to an Irish pub and shut it down at 4, then went for lox omelets at a diner. Another night spent coming home at the crack of dawn - I love the city life.

I had to leave the next day. It was time to make my monthly visit to Maryland. It was odd, somewhat, knowing that that night I would be sleeping in my own bed. I’d gotten so used to being a guest everywhere. I still think Dana is crazy and incredible for getting up and making it to work that morning. We said goodbye and I went back to bed for a little bit, sad that the last time I would see Dana for awhile would be for 30 seconds before she went to work on a Monday morning. I packed and hopped back on the train for my grandmother’s house.

My phone had died over the weekend because I couldn’t find my wall charger. I had no way of getting in touch with my grandma to let her know to expect me, or to check on her. When I got back to her house, there was a black van in the driveway and I freaked out, thinking it may be a medical van of some sort. I grabbed my bags and hurried in. The front door was wide open and my heart was in my throat. I said, "Grandma?" as I came in and she popped around the corner from the kitchen, all smiles. She had on her good apron. I came into the kitchen and saw my Uncle Vinnie, my grandma’s big brother! He’s a Catholic priest so I usually have to mind my mouth around him but I still love hanging out with him. He’s 86 and always has great stories about our family.

He was there with his friend, Father Francis, and another young Vietnamese man who is here on an exchange program with their church. The five of us sat around drinking coffee and I was laughing so hard as the older people at the table bitched about old people, the way they always go to the damn early-bird specials and drive like idiots. It was hilarious! Then Vinnie and Grandma started reminiscing about being kids and told me many stories of their sister, Dorothy, who liked to climb trees and beat up the boys. I learned so much about my family in that short hour.

The guys had to be getting back to the church so they loaded Vinnie’s wheelchair into the van and were off. I’m going to visit them at their church when I go back out on the road. I packed my own car and got in, charging my phone and asking my dad what the best way to the Jersey Turnpike was. I kissed my grandma goodbye and she laughed at how loaded down my car was. "Please be safe," she said before she closed the door.

I got on the road, with plenty of cash for the tolls, and after crossing the Verrazano Narrows Bridge I was well on my way home. I made it there by about 5:30 in the evening. My mom was home. She hugged me before I took the dog out in the yard to play. That night he cuddled close to me in bed, and when the twin bed got too small for the both of us he moved down to the floor beside me. I was home. It didn’t feel like I’d ever left.