Tales of the City 08 - Mary Ann in Autumn

accepted three more friend requests and blocked an application for something called “Farmville”—another imbecilic game, no doubt. She’d already rejected a glut of offers to participate in “Mafia Wars” or to suck on someone’s “Lollipop,” whatever that meant. She preferred the kind of Friends who just talked about the weather, or showed off their vacation snaps of Fiji, or wondered aloud whether to eat that bar of 70% dark chocolate right now. There was a terse sewing-circle flavor to this discourse, a genial brevity, that she found appealing.
    The first person to react to her post was someone called Fogbound One. There was no photo on the profile, just the little silhouette of a cowlicked head that Facebook provided as a placeholder. “Happiness is a choice,” wrote Fogbound One, displaying his/her usual weakness for bumper-sticker wisdom. Mary Ann had hidden this person from her News Feed as soon as she’d learned it was possible, but he/she was technically Mary Ann’s Friend, so, when the chat box pinged onto her screen, she felt obliged to respond.
Still feeling blue?
Little better, thanks.
What color is your Snuggie?
Red.
Mine’s blue.
Lol. Silly aren’t they?
Their warm.
Yeah they are.
I loved your show.
Thanks so much.
Didn’t you use to live on Barbary Lane?
Yes.
I was not far from there.
Somewhere in the fog, I take it.
ROFLMAO
Sorry. What’s that? New to this.
Rolling on the floor laughing my ass off.
Ah.
Your quick.
Thank you.
Do you still live on Russian Hill?
No. I miss it.
Me too. I used to be friends with somebody who lived in your building.
Who?
Norman Neal Williams. Remember him?
Sorry. Doesn’t ring a bell.
I thought you dated him.
No. Sorry. Long time ago. Nice talking to you.
    She clicked the little x to make this awful thing go away. She’d wanted to stay for another comment or two, just to look natural about it, but she could already feel the coppery sting of vomit in the back of her throat. Shoving the laptop aside, she flung off the Snuggie and lunged for the bathroom, but made it only as far as the shower stall.

Chapter 14
Dwelling on Things
    “ Watch it!” yelped Michael, “that guy is totally shitfaced!”
    Ben winced, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. “I see him.”
    “Didn’t look like it.”
    “Michael—”
    “Okay. Fine. He was staggering into the street, that’s all. You could barely see him in the dark.”
    “I saw him.”
    “I was trying to be helpful.”
    “It doesn’t help when you do that. Believe me.”
    Michael maintained a moody silence as they passed Dolores Park on their way down 18th Street to the Mission. When he spoke again, his hand was on Ben’s thigh.
    “Is it backseat driving when you’re both in the front seat?”
    Ben smiled but said nothing. In the five years they’d been a couple, he’d always been the one to drive when they traveled together. They both preferred it that way, since Michael was a dangerously nervous driver, though that hadn’t stopped him from being “helpful” to the point of obnoxiousness. Ben let it go most of the time, since he knew it had far less to do with control issues than with Michael’s morbid preoccupations.
    Tonight they were on their way to see their friends Mark and Ray at their flat on Fair Oaks Street. Mark was sixty; Ray was eighty-two. The difference in their ages was almost the same as Ben and Michael’s, making the older couple both an intergenerational role model and, for better or worse, a possible bellwether of things to come.
    Ray had Alzheimer’s these days (“a fairly mild form,” as Mark had gamely put it), which rendered him foggy but jolly, a nicer person by far than his former ornery self. It was Mark, poor guy, who’d been shafted in the bargain. The lupine young man in drawstring pants, whom Ray had fallen for one balmy night at Short Mountain, had been forced, after thirty years of contented man-on-man love, to open their relationship to another person.
    This made for some interesting dinner parties.
    “G ENTLEMEN, GENTLEMEN ,” R AY CROONED FROM the top of the stairs, as soon as he had buzzed them in. “Did you find a place to park?”
    “No problem,” yelled Ben, peering up that alpine slope at the lower half of Ray’s skinny legs. It amazed Ben that the old man could still negotiate this climb, though it was saddening to have such demonstrable proof that Ray’s body had outlasted his mind. He was wearing sneakers tonight, Ben