Creamy Scrambled Eggs with Zucchini & Pecorino
Originally published October 2013
When I met M, way back in 1995, he had a cat named Jane. She was the living definition of a scaredy cat, hiding on top on bookshelves, slippery as an eel if you dared to pick her up. Jane's been gone about 13 year now, but I started thinking about her a lot after M died. I realized I didn't know how Jane got her name. Back when I met M, Jane Says was often playing on his CD player, or in the car, on a cassette tape no less—he drove a little red Toyota Celica back then, and it had a—get this, a benzi box. That was back in the pre-Guiliani New York City; the days when you weren't always guaranteed to find your car where you left it parked.
Anyway, I found myself driving in the early days of M's death, and Sweet Jane* came on my playlist. Boom, it all clicked. Surely he must have named her after that song. He was a punk rocker, through and through, and The Velvet Underground had a huge impact on him. I'll never really know the answer, and it's these little things that continue to hurt more as time goes by. All those questions I never thought to ask, to which I'll now never get an answer.
God, how I miss the strumming of his guitar. The way he used to take it down from the wall, sling the strap over his shoulder, and jam while I cooked. I can close my eyes, and remember how I used to peek at him through the window from the kitchen into the living room. I miss the mundane things. The way he used to floss his teeth. The way he used to sit at his dining room table, when we first met, and tally up his tax receipts on a big, old calculator for meetings with his accountant. I loved that damn calculator because it had a paper tape roll on it. I always wanted one when I was a kid, and there I was 21 dating a guy who had one. It's silly, I know, but all those memories are ingredients from a life that was more than I ever imagined.
Yeah Lou, you're right, life's good, but not fair at all. And yet we keep on giving it our best shot, day after day. I suppose it's hope that we'll find that kind of deep happiness again that helps us soldier on.
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