My friend Henry and a legendary club
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Dr Pepper Jelly Belly Nutritional Information
Today I woke up ant. Not long ago ordered the attic of the closet. They keep the clothes you no longer use, waiting for another opportunity, and a box of clothes that I intend to rescue from oblivion.
started taking that pile of clothes, that once meant something to me, or carefully chose for the occasion, or I gave them a loved one. The bed was piled on: the dot jersey knit me my mother, the hippie blouse I bought in Ansterdam, christening dress for my son, a silk scarf he gave me my first boyfriend, clothes from past seasons, waiting to be back in fashion ... Appeared black bag from my mother, not off to his death, and still I wonder why I keep it, now stands at the top, patent leather, with gold closure. My mother clung to him like the pass to the afterlife or more secure grip on it. I just had to drop some clothes to make room for the following. Calendar time
broke through that mess of rags and appellant returned to my thoughts. Most of them were already outdated, faded, too small for my new body. While deciding on what clothes I was going to release, appeared a pink, with blue letters. Spread it on the bed and the iron hand. A chest-high read: Blue Note, superimposed on the Twin Towers in Manhattan, also blue and ignorant of their fate. I forced my memories and I revived my friend Henry, the Spaniard who gave me this shirt. It was in the jazz club, Blue Note, located in the heart of the "Big Apple" of New York. Carmen McRae was acting that night. In the local posters announcing "a tribute to the figure of his admired Billie Holiday." I had no idea who was the singer who was born in New York's Harlem neighborhood. The place was left in darkness, wrapped in cigarette smoke, and spotlights swept a path to penetrate Carmen, illuminating her hair short, highlighting his mouth with thick lips, his figure of midwives and their artistic instincts to stop. His warm and sensual voice interrupted from time to time to give us a few notes of humor, which I did not understand my poor English language skills, made his way to the faithful devotees of the temple dedicated to music. One day I discovered that the Jazz was one of the vehicles that served as the liberation and unity to thousands of black slaves.
Dates crowded I did not know exactly what year I was at that club, even when stopped ringing voice of Carmen McRae. Henry told me in his subsequent letters to the famous jazz singer, died of pulmonary emphysema (awful disease for a singer), or from when I did not put the shirt. Just saw my friend smiling, plump and cheerful face, giving me the packet I had just bought at the club, and waited expectantly for me to open it. I unfolded the garment. It was a bubble gum pink, with the Twin Towers and his chess windows in blue, the letters of the club Blue Notes. "For you will always remember this day and this place," he said. I returned a kiss.
For some time we sent some letters and cards I later learned, by my friend Beth, I was sick: he had contracted AIDS. A man infected. I suspected he was gay since I met him: his treatment retailer of women, his sensitivity to beauty and ease to get excited - unusual aspects in men of that time, "made clear their sexuality. When I heard the news, its deterioration was great and I was advised not to write him because he cared for his partner and had decided not to enter anyone else in their lives. Poor Henry, I thought, a victim of a disease, then unknown, that would also have to hide from the others, AIDS is still associated with the queers. In the U.S., fear of contagion unleashed a veritable paranoia, people treated the sick and plague.
Henry died soon after. My friend told me that was addressed to his last days by her partner. Others have not been so lucky.
survived Henry's shirt, as with many objects that have joined us, and became one of my favorites, it was my little tribute to him that I approached the English taste for Jazz and Indian food. Over the years, many shrugged garment washed, or perhaps it was that I had gained. And was discolored, and his letters are faded and my memories. But I still get excited thinking about the moments shared with Henry, the Hispanic smiley face, vital and joyful as a child.
I folded the shirt and the folds of the Twin Towers were disappearing, no longer exist, Carmen McRae, singer jazz musician who died of emphysema and my friend Henry, who died so young ...
I heard that the Blue Note Greenwinch even exist in the Village, but to me has died, because the Blue Note that I met with Henry not recognize it now, and the spirit of that night he vanished like smoke from cigarettes, which now prohibited by law, like the heart went out to my friend, leaving only a colored shirt that was once pink gum.
caress the fabric with my hands, bow and decide put in the memory box rescued forgotten.
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