Jody and I always considered June 28th to be our anniversary date. That’s the date in 1987 when we first met at the Pride Dance that followed the annual New York City Pride March. The day had started with early morning, torrential thunderstorms that cleared out the oppressive hot and humid weather that we had experienced for several days. The atmosphere turned and the day filled with crisp air and vivid blue skies. And, the seeds were planted that would blossom into a relationship that flourished for thirty-three years until Jody was lost in April 2020 during the early days of the COVID-19 pandemic.

It was late afternoon. I had been waiting for friends after the march, but the large crowd made it nearly impossible to locate anyone. Jody, always the more outgoing of the two of us, walked up smiling, and said hello. We were sharing some chit-chat when the DJ started playing Whitney Houston’s I Wanna Dance with Somebody, a song that we both liked. I said let’s dance, and Jody agreed. We squeezed ourselves into the throbbing mass of humanity and danced the hours away to favorite groups like Pet Shop Boys, Erasure and so many others. Sometime during the evening, there was a live performance by one of the many divas that were adored by the gay community. Maybe it was Madonna or maybe Cher or maybe some other vocal powerhouse. I honestly don’t remember. The only thing that mattered was trying to get to know more about each other as we shouted over the sounds of revelry all about us.

Sunset was approaching and Jody yelled into my ear asking to take a break. We unraveled ourselves away from the twisted crowd of dancers and found a space where we could talk. We were both hungry and knew we had to go to work in the morning. So, we left the dance in search of something quick to eat. We walked up Christopher Street and then onto Hudson Street. We came across a small outdoor café called Café Sha Sha where there was an empty table. We sat, exhausted from hours of dancing. I don’t remember what we ate, but we both ordered iced cappuccinos. We enjoyed our meal and our drinks (free refills on the house) and finally had a quieter space to talk and learn about each other. I was certain that here was someone I wanted as a friend if not a long-term companion.

Once the skies had darkened, there was a fireworks display out on the Hudson River across from the Christopher Street Pier. We paid our bill and headed back to a spot where we had a clear view of the pyrotechnics. It seemed so natural when we stood close together and wrapped our arms around each other. Eventually, we headed toward the subway for the ride back home to our own apartments. From then on, we were connected – in person or, when that wasn’t possible, by telephone – until Jody passed.

On our first anniversary, we started a tradition. We headed down to Café Sha Sha, where we found a table and sipped iced cappuccinos. Afterwards, we walked down to the pier and remembered the day we met. We carried out that tradition until COVID-19 imposed a time out.

In 2020, June 28th came again just two months after Jody’s passing. I felt in my heart that I had to carry on our tradition. I went down to Greenwich Village on the subway. I arrived at Café Sha Sha, but was disheartened to find that the café was permanently closed. Perhaps, it was another of COVID’s victims. I stopped at a nearby coffee shop, ordered two iced cappuccinos to go, and headed for the park along the Hudson River. I sat down and sipped slowly, remembering all the times we had spent at that peaceful place.

On June 28th, I’ll once again head down to Greenwich Village. I’ll stop somewhere and buy two iced cappuccinos; then I’ll make my way to the Christopher Street Pier and, looking out on the Hudson River, I’ll salute the thirty-seventh anniversary of the day I first met Jody. Happy Anniversary, my love.