Usually the kinds of decisions made after midnight are the kind people regret the next day. Sometimes, nobody gets hurt, and those decisions end up working out. Currently, I’m not sure if this is one of those times. I had been sitting in my room talking with an old friend about our usual topic —the fleeting, and evermore evanescent sense of presence in life— when my brother called me, needing my assistance on an urgent matter. I rushed to meet him and once I saw him he looked into me and said “how do you feel about Boston?”
“Yes. wait, I don’t know. When?”
I later learned that he had hoped, and for some ungodly reason expected, that I could be the voice of reason. That went well.
We sat in the all night diner with my brother’s room-mate, Stu, who had first tagged along for entertainment, but was now in as deep as my brother and I. We looked back and forth at each other, checking one another for the crazy eyes. We all had them and I was glad we did. Our party finished the meal and split off to our rooms, packed, and met outside for one last moment of pause. The sky had been misting down soft sheets of rain all day and now it began to pour.
“This is a little crazy.” It was my final plea to a sense of sanity was slipping. My brother looked at his watch and sighed. “It’s only an adventure if you’re in over your head.”