Sunday. Easter Sunday. Never a fan of the holiday. Growing up meant hard-boiled eggs and candy and chocolate bunnies. And new itchy suits from Robert Hall. Those suits were probably what put me off suits for the longest time. Then I started wearing them, figuring out that wearing suits gave me entry to better-paying jobs.

And I found myself attracted to men in suits. And that is how I met Bill. Back in the day, year 2000, there was a Yahoo Groups thing. Whatever you were into, there was probably a group for you. I belonged to the Men in Suits group and attended a few parties. Nothing ever happened for me at these parties. I usually had a good time, but never really connected with anyone.

In September 2000, I went to a party on Ann Street at the edges of the financial district, where many men in suits worked. I couldn’t really say whether or not some of the suited men came from these close environs, I think they came from all over the Tristate area. I know I did.

This particular party was in the penthouse of a 10 or 12-story building. There was a patio where I sat and smoked a cigar. I remember I was holding court with a few gentlemen, laughing at my bon mots. Across the patio, I spotted a handsome Puerto Rican man in a mustard suit. The suit definitely made him stand out in a field of navy blue and pinstriped suits.

I was probably wearing a pinstripe suit myself. Our eyes met, and later I walked by indoors, where this handsome brown eyed man was bopping along to the music. I walked by and said, ‘I see you dig Badu…’

We connected and even played around in front of the group, which is not my modus operandi. But inhibitions were tossed away, and I did things I had never done before. We left at the same time, and I couldn’t say if that was intentional or not. We rode the same train uptown and exchanged numbers. Bill got off at Union Square, and I continued up to Times Square.

And here we are, coming up on 25 years together. He’s been exceptional today. Tomorrow I start the new job, and over the course he’s seen the wholly neurotic side of me and knows what to expect. I think I was more anxious earlier in the week, and today is 4/20, which could explain my laid-back nature.

I embraced the 4/20 concept and have been feeling this way for about an hour now. Yesterday was a splendid day. Mike came over on Friday and left this morning. It was a beautiful Saturday, just about 80°. We wandered around Hoboken, taking photos of Bill and Mike with Manhattan as a backdrop. Mike certainly looked fly.

We walked for about 2 hours and made a visit to the really big supermarket. We saw our favorite cashier, Arti, who told us that her last day would be Tuesday. We were happy for her, she’s moving back to India with her daughter. It was a very good day. We finished the day, watching Jeffrey Wright in American Fiction.

An attempt to write. I thought about it for a few minutes, though it had been in my mind. I figured, why not? See what will come out. Isn’t that always the case? For a part of the day, I was thinking about something and plotting how to write it. It was part of the way I was feeling. Anxious, lost, sad, happy, engaging, loving, understanding, and resolved. And that was in the course of a minute.

I spoke with Brian, my brother. There is an uneasy past between us. The famed Faulkner quote came up somewhere recently, ‘The past is never dead. It’s not even past.’ For me, it was a phrase I heard for years, but at some point in my life, it made sense.

Brian is 5 years older than me. He was a bit of a bully, and I don’t think he knew about it until one day, 41 years ago, I told him, and he was surprised. Damage was done, and I’m haunted by it, though I am not sure if Brian is. I bear no hard feelings, but it is always there, for me at least.

I filled him in on the new gig, which will begin on Monday. Today is Thursday. Plans made to adjust my sleep schedule have not come to fruition. Indeed, I’ve mostly stuck to the same routine since November of last year.

Brian is a good guy, though. Our late brother Frank once remarked about how we all fit in with each other. I felt that I was the exception. My siblings were born three years apart from each other, I was five years from Brian, eight years from Annemarie, and eleven years from Frank. I was always a bit off in most every sense.

I did try to tow the line, and I’m sure I succeeded somewhat. With society, though, I really can’t, and I have tried. I’ve come to terms with it. And I certainly do intend to do better this time with the new gig.

Brian is not as liberal as Frank was, nor as Annemarie and I are, nor Frank’s wife Elaine. But he does not like L’Orange Merde, so that is a plus.

Brian and I went to concerts on occasion. One particular night lingers in my memory. We saw Talking Heads at the Capitol Theater in Passaic, NJ on election night, 1980. Good seats, great show. After, as we were heading back to the car, someone yelled that Jimmy Carter conceded, Reagan had won the election.

Brian was happy; he voted for Reagan. I voted for the independent, John Anderson. It being my first election, I said I voted my conscience, John Anderson was the only candidate to be against the Selective Service.

Brian explained that you were supposed to vote for who you thought would win. That explains the difference between me and Brian in 1980. We have gotten better, and I am quite happy about it. So, I called Brian today. The next call is on him. Having written that, it is on record.