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 WHAT I NEED TO KNOW

It was last Monday just at 5:05, when I caught a glimpse of Richard, about whom I won’t say anything quite yet, getting out of a shiny black stretch-limousine in front of the Plaza Hotel. I know that was when I saw him because I left work at exactly five and was walking to the Subway which takes 8 minutes 32 seconds and I pass the Plaza half way so it must have been between 5:04 and 15 seconds or maybe 5:06 since I had to wait for the light on the corner of 59^th Street. (I can’t be precise because don’t know if it was a 60, 90 or 120 second light, but I’ll check on it next time[1].) I hadn’t seen him in fifteen years, three months and, let’s see, about three hours. It was nice to see him and I’m happy to report that he looked good wearing a gray cashmere sport coat and had a black overcoat draped over his left arm. I will say however that his hair was a little sparse and gray and he looked a little paunchy, which worried me. He was with four well dressed men and an attractive woman wearing a mink coat who had slipped her hand through his arm. I assume this woman was his wife since his secretary probably wouldn’t have had a mink coat or be holding his arm and I wouldn’t have imagined in a million years that Richard would ever be having an affair, but, then again, you never know. Of course, he might not be married in which case that is a different story and in that case, I hoped he was protecting himself against STDs because he didn’t always take care of himself. See below. Still I wondered why she hadn’t instructed him to put on his coat and even worse, he didn’t seem to have a hat! I pictured all his precious body heat just funneling up out of his head like a chimney and that gave me the urge to run across the street and tell him to at least put on his coat so he wouldn’t catch cold but I couldn’t because the traffic sign said DON’T WALK. And, let me tell you, when it says ‘DON’T WALK,’ I don’t walk! No way! People who disobey those signs often end up dead, or worse. More of that later.[2]

I waited anxiously at the curb, the tip of my black wing-tipped shoe just over the edge but bracing myself so that the gathering crowd behind me wouldn’t push me into the street in front of one of the many cabs or trucks trying to get to the 59^th Street bridge and at the same time ready to sprint across the street to help Richard into his overcoat as soon as the light changed. (I was so concerned about him that if there hadn’t been any traffic I would have even been willing to cross against the light—a first for me!)  Fortunately he got into the warmth of the hotel (I hope their heat was working) very quickly and I felt relieved, but I would have been happy to help him nonetheless. I decided that since he was with a group of people I wouldn’t disturb him by saying hello so I went on way to my small apartment (one person doesn’t need much space), a walk-up (elevators can be dangerous and besides the exercise is good) at 99-21 Queens Blvd in Sunnyside, Queens. I hasten to add that I cross Queens Blvd. (a.k.a. "The Boulevard of Death") only for the most pressing reasons and then I do so only in the day time and with extraordinary care. I have a safet-orange vest and hat that I wear so that cars can see me, and of course I only cross with the light and NEVER if the ”DON’T WALK” sign is even just flashing. I certainly don’t want to end up as a statistic. No siree! Not me!! And, I’d hate to put some driver through the trauma of hitting me, just because I was careless. Not-at-all.

Seeing him made me think of how often something that has happened to us just passes out of our awareness and is apparently dead and gone, but it really isn’t gone, it only appears to be gone, until it suddenly smacks us right in the face and makes us remember. Watching him outside the Plaza that day, I recalled that Richard was a really nice guy and I’ve got lots of fond memories of him.  

Richard and I met and became friends in high school when we volunteered to tutor 5^th grade kids in math and on Sundays when we would sometimes help out in the soup kitchen. When I was a senior, Richard, who was already in college, called me and said in his usual cheery voice, “Come on up for party weekend—we’ll have a ball.”  I packed and unpacked, counted and recounted clothes: underwear—I still favor Hanes briefs which fit the same as Jockey but last 15% longer on average (I did a test a few years ago), flip flops for the shower (even then I hated to go barefoot in strange showers), Colgate shaving cream—since then I’ve tested every brand and still prefer Colgate. For example Burma Shave is too thin and Gillette doesn’t smell good. (Since new brands are always coming out, I have to keep testing them too—it is quite a job.), three or four kinds of after shave (each used depending on whether it is for everyday or a special occasion), even then I used two kinds of toothpaste—I always preferred Crest at night but use Colgate in the morning because it provides that ‘wake-up’ fresh feeling, Ex-Lax, Kaopectate (which I now know is the best thing to treat diarrhea according to “An Ounce of Prevention” magazine), Pepto Bismol, to name just a few things. Oh, and last, but certainly not least, Wash n’ Dries © known for their anti-bacterial properties and essential when venturing into strange bathrooms, which means any but my own. I also made a list of everything I took and put it in my wallet so I’d know every item that was in my suitcase in case it was lost. I put it next to my Traveling Bowel Movement Chart (or TBMC)—everyone knows that regularity is the basis of good health. I made a mental note to make sure Richard kept a BM chart but I must confess that I forgot—I know he would have appreciated the reminder. And by the way, I keep careful track of things. For example, I mark the date I start using toothpaste so I know how long it lasts and I’ve found that by using even a moderate amount of toothpaste, I can make an 8.0 oz. tube last two months and eleven days, give or take a day or two, depending on whether or not I brush more than twice a day on some days, which is certainly any day on which I eat sprouts or poppy seeds.[3]

In getting ready for the trip And look, if I don’t need it, may somebody else will. I checked the bus schedule, the train schedule, compared the times, the prices, weighed them back and forth between the bus that was cheaper but took longer or the train which was expensive, well, not that expensive but was a shorter ride, considered that the train was probably safer but then again I had recently read about a train derailment but that was in Florida and might have been a freight train. I thought about it constantly for two or three days, no, it was only about a day and a half, that’s right because I went down on the afternoon of the second day to buy a bus ticket because I wanted to make sure that I’d have a seat even though most of the buses ran half empty, but I didn’t know that at the time; still, I was glad I got the ticket because well, I didn’t want to take any chances. That’s something I take pride in: checking the alternatives and not taking chances.

Now that I drive I also have to factor in the cost of gas, tolls, wear and tear on the car, and the dangers of driving, as well as the relative risk involved in different routes. Speaking of risk, I also try to avoid making turns, especially left turns which obviously are a virtual invitation to disaster. Believe you me, it is a complicated business, but necessary just the same.[4]

Richard met me at the bus wearing his usual rumpled chinos, tee shirt, a big welcoming smile, and a pat on the back, but he hadn’t made any arrangements for a place for me to stay which really un-nerved me. (I was, as yet, only at the one Valium level.) I didn’t say anything because I was sure he was very busy with exams and papers and he had dark rings under his eyes so I made a mental note to make sure he ate his carrots which are good for the eyes. He dragged me around to a few fraternity houses and checked with them but all the while I felt very nervous; meanwhile, I was carrying my big leather suitcase which felt like it weighed 100 lbs. The leather-covered handle was worn, the stitching was coming apart, the leather drying out and crumbling. By the way, not to digress, but I still use leather luggage because leather breathes and it is important not to put one’s clothes in nylon which makes cotton underwear musty and wool slacks sweat.[5] (I now avoid belts altogether because they make my waist sweat and wear elastic waistbands or suspenders—sometimes both, if the elastic is stretched out.) Finally on the third or fourth stop, no it was the third, down fraternity row, a fraternity brother pointed to the top bunk in a room with two double deckers and someone’s stuff all over the floor—underwear, sneakers, a blazer rolled up in a ball, a few striped ties, a gray sweatshirt, note books, a physics text book, papers strewn about. There was a Miss. December centerfold on the wall but she was ripped across one breast and half way into the other which was a shame because she was such a pretty girl. She was wearing a Santa hat which was a good thing since, as I said, we lose up to 50% of our body heat through our heads and she wasn’t wearing anything else except shoes. (I’ll have to check and see if we lose a lot of heat through our feet.) The blurb next to the picture said she likes Montevani, and also that she enjoys hiking which was very much to her credit since that is good aerobic exercise. I hoped she is careful and carries a snake-bite kit.  I wondered if there was any Scotch tape around so I could fix her.[6] The beer mug on the desk was tipped over and its pencils and pens sprawled over the desk so I picked up the mug and put the pencils back in. There weren’t any sheets and there was an old blanket bunched up on the floor but he said he’d give me some clean sheets and a towel. What a relief! The room smelled like someone had thrown up in it. I figured I’d open the window up wide, and hoped the guy who threw up, whoever he was, was feeling better.

Then we went to the dining hall for dinner—gray mystery meat with mashed potatoes floating in brown gravy like some south sea island which might look inviting but is full of tropical disease—what I call a real GSHH (grease, starch, heartburn and heart attack) meal. Unfortunately they didn’t serve any carrots. I told Richard that he looked tired and thought he might not be eating right, “Try to eat carrots when they serve them but for now eat your string beans—green vegetables are very important.” He rolled his eyes, but look, I was his friend and I was concerned about his health. Everyone wisely passed up the lime Jello for dessert—no nutrition at all. I’m ashamed to say that in a reckless moment when I was only nine or ten, I tried a spoonful and liked it. Richard told me about the party. “Oh there will be a keg, but if you go into house they’ll have a bar with scotch and bourbon, maybe vodka. And the girls,” he leaned forward and put his hand on my arm, “a lot of girls from the towns near here come over for the parties and,” he whispered and winked, “they are easy. R-e-a-l easy!” He leaned back and smiled nodding up and down, “Easy! This is your big chance, my friend.” I knew what “easy,” meant, I wasn’t born yesterday but I hoped none of them had colds and washed their hands after they used the bathroom—you can’t be too careful, that’s why I always carried Wash N’ Dries ©.[7] We ate and Richard instructed me to drink milk and then have coffee, “The milk coats your stomach and the coffee keeps you alert, that’s the most important tip I can give you before you go to college. That way you can drink and you won’t get drunk or at least not too drunk,” he said with a wink.  “Are you sure?” I asked, “I have read a library of nutrition books and never come across that.” “Of course I’m sure. Everyone in college knows that.” I thought, ‘live and learn,’ and was glad that Richard had finally taken an interest in proper nutrition. I had a big glass of milk and two cups of coffee with more milk. We bused our own trays and I got Richard to help me pick up all the trays left by others—it was part of my NWBW (A Neat World is a Better World) campaign, which I still carry on.

After dinner I went back to the fraternity house to change into a jacket and tie for the party. I’d never been to a fraternity party so I wanted to make sure I looked just right. The only problem was that I didn’t really know what to expect, and, as you might understand, for someone like me, who likes to have all the i’s dotted and t‘s crossed, I found that rather stressful—level three on the Valium meter. I tried on all three ties I’d brought, first thinking all of them were wrong, then all of them were okay, then I thought any tie looked silly, then thought that the red with blue looked best, then the green and navy, then settled on the one with the little yellow flowers on red. I was ready early so I decided to straighten up the room. In case I hadn’t mentioned it, I like things to be neat—still do—and I was sure the guy who lived there did as well but was too busy to clean it up, what with exams, papers and not feeling well besides. I was worried that he would think I’d gone through his clothes so I decided to just drape the clothes over the back of a chair as neatly as I could which seemed to be less intrusive than folding everything and putting them in drawers as I’d like to have done because I didn’t think I should open the drawers. I put the jacket on the back of a chair—I didn’t think I should be opening his closet door either. Then I went down and sat out on the porch waiting for Richard and watching the fraternity brothers come and go. Some of them were walking unsteadily and their loud voices were slurred. I figured they hadn’t had enough milk and coffee and wondered if the fraternity house might have run out and thought I could pick up some for them but then I didn’t know where the stores were and anyway I had to wait for Richard. Still I wish I could have gotten them some milk and coffee—I’m sure they would have felt better. 

When Richard came over he fanned the air as he got closer to me, “Man oh man, what did you use, the whole bottle of after shave?” “No,” I said, “just a little—must be powerful stuff.” I’d only used the tried and true, “Triple Two System” (otherwise called the CPT system)—you know: two cheeks, two arm pits, two testicles. We walked to the other side of the campus to a party with a keg and lots of people milling around and some of them dancing. Richard and I got big plastic cups of foaming beer. I didn’t bother looking for the hard liquor since beer has more nutritional value.[8] We stood near the keg and looked over the girls. He leaned toward me, “Check out the two there near the steps, the ones in green and pink.” We walked over. One wore a long white skirt and tight pink top, the other had on what looked like a green jump suit zipped down low. I wondered if she might be cold. Richard asked, “So what are you majoring in?” “At the moment, beer, my dear,” said the one in pink. I told her that it was good to meet someone who was concerned about nutrition and knew that beer had considerable nutritional value. They laughed but I didn’t understand what was funny. I hoped they wouldn’t ask me my major but just in case I rummaged around in my mind for a plausible one and thought of nutrition since I did know something about it, but it’s not like I was some sort of nutrition nut so I just hoped no one would ask. Then we heard someone making an announcement.  Richard and I turned around to hear one of the fraternity brothers say, “According to University rules, no women are allowed upstairs in the house.” Then he winked, “But no one is checking!” A drunken cheer went up but when we turned around, the girls were gone. Richard was undaunted, “Let’s check out some others and by the way, cut out the talk about beer being good for you.” Before I could ask him why he’d said that, he stopped to talk to a girl who I later found out was in one of his classes. He introduced me to her as Amy something. She was short and dark with black rimmed glasses which were dirty. I was about to ask her if she didn’t mind taking them off, I’d clean them for her with one of my, “Eyewear Wonder Cleaner,”  but she was busy talking to Richard and I didn’t want to interrupt so I excused myself to get another beer and by the time I got back, I saw Richard walking off with her. I figured she was going to find a friend for me and hoped she wouldn’t have a sore throat and a runny nose.

As I stood off to the side watching the others dance, a girl got up on a table dancing and shimmying and people were yelling, “take it off, take it off.” She was very obliging and took off her blouse and her bra and kept dancing and shaking. I noticed that she looked a little thick around the waist and wanted to suggest the Vanderberger[9] method of crunches and leg raises which would help. I figured I’d wait until later when I could talk to her about it. More later.

I wasn’t doing anything really and the place was getting awfully messy so I went around and picked up some of the plastic glasses and put them in the trash. I wondered if they had a broom and one of those dust pans on a pole so I could pick up the cigarette butts people had put out on the ground.[10] I didn’t see anything like that but Richard and Amy came back with Abigail, a friend of hers. She had pretty blue eyes, a short nose and a really good figure; but I didn’t think her blond hair was natural and wanted to warn her that I’d heard that dying hair might cause cancer. I made a mental note to talk to her about it because I was sure she’d be grateful that I brought it to her attention. Abigail said she was majoring in math which of course I found intimidating since I had only just completed high school solid geometry, and truth be told, I didn’t do too well. She laughed when she told me that Richard said that I was studying abroad doing a special program in Tasmania working on the scatology of lemurs. I was surprised that Richard would lie like that; besides I had no idea what scatology was although I was relieved to recall that Tasmania was off the southern coast of Australia. Still, I liked the way she wrinkled her nose when she laughed and how she touched my arm when she spoke to me. I changed the subject and asked her if she’d ever been to the Fulton Fish Market. She looked at me strangely (I don’t know why) and said she’d heard of it but hadn’t been there since she came from Hoboken. I commented that I was at the FFM once and thought it was very unsanitary. Besides, it smelled bad. As for Hoboken—it is someplace in New Jersey. I think.

After a while we decided to get something to eat so we went to a coffee shop a few blocks away and sat in a booth. Abigail excused herself to go to the Ladies Room and I handed her a Wash N’ Dry ©. She looked puzzled for some reason, so I said, “You know, for your hands—they are anti-bacterial—tests show they are three times more effective than most soaps.” She said, “Oh,” which showed me that she really appreciated having it, in fact, I’ll bet she just happened to forget her own. When she returned, Abigail ordered a hamburger, rare, with fries. I politely told her that she might want to reconsider since all meat should be well cooked for health reasons and suggested that she order a green vegetable instead of the fries which were all fat and that the oil they were fried in might be old and rancid. She gave a look to Amy which I didn’t exactly understand but I guessed that she was probably letting Amy know that she was glad for my concern. And of course that made me feel great since I liked her more and more. I ordered steamed carrots and a hard boiled egg and pointed out that the carrots had a lot of vitamin ‘A’ and that the egg was a good source of protein but it had to be well cooked to make sure to kill any possible salmonella. Richard kicked me under the table—I told him that I didn’t eat more than two eggs a week and not to worry. He glared at me—I thought that was strange. While we were waiting for our orders she coughed a little and blew her nose. Worried, I asked her if she were getting a cold. She said no, that it was just an allergy. I was relieved. I didn’t think allergies were catching but I made a mental note to check on it later.

After we ate, Richard suggested going over to the “Pillow Bar” which sounded fine to me. Amy just said, “You naughty boy,” and smiled. Abigail looked doubtful but was non-committal. I had pictured a bar with pillows along the edge for people to lean against, so was I surprised when we got there. We walked down some steps and into a place where I couldn’t see anything. Well, not quite—there was black lighting which reflected on the waitresses’ skimpy white halters and short-shorts. As our eyes adjusted, we could faintly see low tables with dim red lights on them and pillows around. There was moaning and sounds of, “Yes, that’s right, yes there, don’t stop…ooh you make me feel sooo good,” from a couple in one corner. I figured someone was scratching another person’s back. Richard and Amy led the way to an empty table but Abigail said she had a headache and wanted to leave. I told her that that was wise since straining her eyes in the dark would only make it worse. When we got to her dorm, I wanted to kiss her good night but didn’t want to aggravate her headache so instead I asked her, “Would you like me to kiss your temples or message them? It might make you feel better.” She looked at me blankly, and said, “No thanks.” I suppose she didn’t realize what a help that might be. Then she smiled and gave me a lovely hand-shake. I told her that I hoped she felt better.

The next day as Richard and I were walking over to the dining hall for breakfast he was quiet and finally said, “Look, I’m your best friend and I want to say that I just don’t think that vitamins and anti-bacterial hand wipes are what interests girls most.” “Oh really,” I responded, “what could be more important?” I liked Abigail and suggested that we try to meet the girls for lunch but Richard said that he didn’t think they’d be interested. “Oh I suppose not,” I replied, “they had a lot to eat last night and probably won’t be hungry.” He did add that he’d be seeing Amy again, “She’s one wild woman,” he said with a smile. She didn’t seem so wild to me, but then again, “To each his own,” is my motto.

As I said, I hadn’t seen Richard in a long time and since he was warmly ensconced in the Plaza and I didn’t want to interrupt him, I went on my way to the Subway and my apartment. I put my keys on a little tray in the right side of the drawer in the hall table as usual, and, as I did, I noticed a picture of Susan who I had taken out a few times and really liked but suddenly became too busy at work to see me. I picked it up and held it for a few minutes—and strangely enough, I could smell her perfume at that moment which was odd considering that  I’m the one who had the picture developed. I looked at her face smiling back at me and wished she weren’t so busy. And then all of a sudden, she reminded me a little of Abigail who I hadn’t thought about in all these years—the same round face and blue eyes. I remembered Susan telling me that I shouldn’t be so obsessed with everything especially health and safety, to which I responded that I didn’t think anyone could be too careful about matters of health. Her words came back to me then and I decided to put her photo up on the fridge using a toothy version of a little smiley-face magnet which my dentist sent. I ate my dinner of tofu, vegetables, especially broccoli, and brown rice. The steam from the rice fogged up my glasses so I cleaned them with a “Spiffy Cleaner,” which was a big improvement over the old “Eyewear Wonder Cleaner” tissues. I sat there eating the soft tofu and chewy rice and looking at her picture, mulling over what she and Richard had said and thinking that somehow they were telling me something about myself. But I was confused. Were they talking about health, and yet how could anyone not care about health; or, since they used the word, “obsessed,” was that what they were getting at? And yet, what is wrong with being careful and prudent? Or, maybe it was something else? Finally I decided to call Richard to see what he remembered and what he thought. I didn’t have a Manhattan telephone book so I dialed 411 to find out the number of the Plaza Hotel. The operator took a year and a day to answer. I stood there in the kitchen shifting back and forth from foot to foot since, for some strange reason, my feet hurt all of a sudden. Finally the operator answered and I asked, “I’d like the number for the Plaza Hotel, you know, the big hotel on the west side of 5^th Avenue between 58^th Street and Central Park West, the one with the flags out front and across from the wonderful fountain with the statue of Pomona, the Roman goddess of abundance.” It seemed to take an awfully long time for her to get the number and meanwhile it was getting terribly warm in the apartment so I managed to take off my jacket while juggling the receiver. Finally I got the number and called the Plaza. Again, the operator took a long time to ring his room and I stood there, my foot tapping out “…you were my thrill on Blueberry Hill,” which came to me all of a sudden. Richard wasn’t there and they connected me to his voice mail so I left a message, “This is your old friend William, please call me. I need to talk to you. I think you can tell me some things I need to know.”