Quiet or you’ll wake Jesus … and the neighbors
It was a nice night for me. No bands to see. No agenda other than to have fun. It was my friend Michelle’s birthday and a bunch of Hoboken regulars would be holding court at Louise & Jerry’s (329 Washington St. Hoboken). Those who read my stuff know how I feel about this place. Give me a rowdy cluster of real folks in a small place with cheap drinks and a stocked jukebox over a glossy club filled with glossy people any day.
I proceeded to drink, laugh and take my life in my hands by teasing Michelle over her age. It was after all her day for this. I think there’s a law. I had no choice but to tease her. Of course my bravery came from the fact that her knees were turned away from my groin at the time. As I bragged of this to her boyfriend Sags, she over heard me and promptly got off her barstool. I was in trouble.
I was able to sweet talk my way out of becoming a soprano in the choir and made my way to safety. As I mingled, conversations ranged from business to music but than hung on to the subject of dating for a spell. It seems that there are a lot of bitter, single people in Hoboken. I can’t imagine why. I mean, doesn’t everyone love playing games and being shit on emotionally?
It was during such a rant of mine that I sat next to Lauren and Freda. I told them about my desire to start an ‘I Give Up’ club while sharing our tales of dating horror. My favorite subject of late has been what I call the ‘Unintentional Non-Date’. You know, it’s that night out with that person you have a thing for only to discover yourself holding their jacket as they collect phone numbers. I’ve been constructing an article on that subject so stay tuned.
After my confessions of spending most nights at home eating Molfetta’s pizza and watching Star Trek, Pat at the bar hollered, “Last call!” So it was time to maneuver thru the minefield of obnoxious drunks and go home. Those left in the bar are never really a problem. It’s those on the street after 3:00 AM who, for some odd reason, were still waiting on line outside of Nine.
Along the walk with Lauren and Freda we passed by the All Saints Episcopal Church on Seventh and Washington. I’m not sure who initially said, “We should break in,” but Freda took off up Seventh Street and waved us to follow. The gate to the back yard was open, so we went in and I said, “Quiet, you’ll wake Jesus!”
There was a playground there and an ominous looking staircase that led to a dark basement entrance. We were brave at first. Freda took the first few steps down before we decided that this was probably stupid. So we walked around to the front, passing a window whose light danced thanks to a ceiling fan; or it could have been Satan, we were not entirely sure. We continued our walk home.
We stopped by Lauren’s apartment. She lives nearby me and Freda was crashing there for the night. As we were talking, some strange whim struck Freda and me and we began dancing. I can’t remember the song we were humming, but the dance was an odd hybrid of The Hustle and a Waltz. It was a sweet, quiet way to end the night and left me with a smile as company for the rest of my walk.
