The silence. It is what I remember the clearest. Sitting outside work with Bishop from 6:20pm until 7pm. In silence. No cars on the road, no planes in the sky. There was no one on foot and there was no one on bicycles. It was still. So still that you could hear the ashes forming with each inhale of the cigarette. When we spoke, we spoke in whispers so as not to disrupt the silence. We both wanted to go home to our families, but for that forty minutes, sitting on the curb, we spoke of anything but what had occurred. Looking back, we must have known that once we got home, the news would be on and the discussion would be of one thing only. So we sat and smoked and talked about Diana Krall, but mostly we spoke of the quiet. The beautiful, desolate, sorrowful quiet.
Every year on this date I can't help but think back to that day and how it was the turning point in my relationship with Bishop. We had been working at the same place for nine months but had yet to really connect. Bishop is a hard nut to crack and most people feel that he doesn't like them. That's how it was for me. I remember how I so wanted him to like me, as if he were the star quarterback in high school and if we were friends, everything else would fall in to place and my life would be perfect because the cool guy liked me.
In the Summer of 2001 he was dismantling things in the music section and gave me the posters for Ani DiFranco's latest album, Revelling/Reckoning. I thanked him profusely as we walked to our cars that night and he replied with a lifeless, "you're welcome, I hope you enjoy them." I was crestfallen. Another time he was ringing me up in the bookstore and I commented on the band he wore on his left ring finger. I asked if he was married and he said, "uh, yeah, kinda." Straight married people say "yes" without hesitation, so I intuited and responded with, "life partner?" He didn't look up at me but just nodded and said "yeah." "Cool" was my attempt at an easy-breezy response, making sure that he knew I was an ally. Still, he didn't look up or try to continue talking. I was crushed. What do I gotta do to get through to this fella!?
Eventually we became friendlier and chattier but I can so clearly remember having to work 3 until closing on that Tuesday in 2001. I clocked in to a very quiet back office and then walked toward the music department to turn left into the café when Bishop approached and stopped when he saw me. No smiles that day, just a mirrored expression of shock and sadness and disappointment in the world. He stood with his arms at his sides and opened them, keeping his elbows close to his body in a way that showed his despair at what had happened. He was asking for a hug and it's one of my favourite memories of Bishop. That's when we went from co-workers to true friends. It hasn't always been perfect, but it is one of the few friendships I've had where we fight and disagree but work through it. I tend to give up on people if I feel they've let me down or that I just don't matter much to them. I've loved him a long, long time and I've never been willing to let go of him. Of us. I'll see him next Saturday night and once again be greeted with one of his fabulous hugs. But today I think of when we sat in the quiet and felt crappy together and how somehow that joined us in a bond that's lasted nearly two decades.
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