The Long Goodbye

Goodbyes are never easy. They are a messy rush of "remember-whens" and "should've-dones". They almost always require parties, comfort food, and a healthy dose of spirits.

My best friend, Justin, broke the news first. He is moving to LA at the end of July. He needs sun and space. About a week after his announcement, I have one of my own. I will be taking up an Artist-In-Residency in Manizales, Colombia starting August 1st. Our friend Caitlin cries proud tears for us both, but then discovers she has successfully landed a role in the National Tour of Flashdance. She will be on the road until February. Brynn & Luis, Buster-the-Dog, Luna-the-Cat, and Crazy-the-Cockatoo are creating a beautiful place to call home in Astoria.  Faiz is climbing the ladder of success at a big-shot NY financial institution and helping his friends on the way up. Our tight group is slowly moving apart as we choose our different paths. We are creating our own mark together and separately. Adulthood.

I moved to New York City six years ago. I was 22 and fresh off the truck from Indiana with a degree in Fine Arts. I was incredibly talented and intelligent according to my professors (and, of course, my doting mother). I was ready to TAKE OVER this town! Well, I did. And I didn't. I found my place, lost it; built a career, changed it; found a man, found another; played dive bars, danced on top of them; spent too much on a fancy apartment, left it to travel. Only one thing has remained constant in my New York life: the beautiful people surrounding and supporting me that I have the privilege to call my friends.

Our friend group - it's special. What friend group isn't? These people... ALL of them... have seen me naked at some point. If you know me, that may not seem any less ordinary than, say, cooking breakfast in the morning. Oh, and the cooking. We cook together often. Intimate dinner parties, Book Club discussions with food themed around our monthly pick, huge Thanksgiving Feasts complete with all the fixins, and quirky baked potato bars at our yearly getaway in Woodstock have all been part of our gastronomic journey.

Justin and I decided the best way to say goodbye would be a sensible RAVE. That's right folks. There was even a glowstick at one point. The party would commence at 9PM on Friday and come to a slow-rolling stop around 5AM on Sunday. Friends were encouraged to come and go as they pleased, but Justin and I were going the distance.
Our schedule was as follows:

Friday July 11
9PM - East Village Bar Crawl (9th Ward, HiFi, Grassroots Tavern)

Saturday July 12
12AM - Continued merriment in the East Village

5:30AM - Breakfast at Veselka

6:30AM - Dawnlight car ride to Astoria (Jana's apartment)

7AM - rest/light music/downtime

11AM - COFFEE!

12PM - Brunch at Mojave

2PM - Astoria Park (champagne in the shade, tossing a frisbee)

6PM- Return to Jana's apartment/preparations for dinner

8PM - DINNER!

10PM - The Final Party!

1AM - Choose your own adventure: Gay Dance Club, Salsa Club, Home Chill Out, or Dive Bar

Sunday July 13
5AM - The Final Goodbyes

What a rave it was. It was everything I wanted, extended just long enough, and filled to the brim with delicious food, plenty of spirits, and the most beautiful friends a girl could ask for.

Thank you.

Todo Es Perfecto -

This essay was originally published in 2011 in the "Strange Angels" blog. Editor: Melissa Febos (author of Whip Smart).

Todo Es Perfecto: A South American Awakening

By: Jana DeBusk

I arrived at a Hare Krishna temple in Quito dehydrated, vomiting, and urinating blood. Sometime in Cuzco, I had ingested a Peruvian ice cube; the small, unassuming vessel was teeming with unfamiliar bacteria. Through tears and broken Spanish, I explained my situation to the Madre. She was gentle and kind, but didn’t understand a damn word that came out of my mouth. “Phalguna!” she said, “Ayudame, por favor…este niña…”

 

A man who was eating at the adjacent table had been quietly watching. He was young, but older than me, and wore a simple T-Shirt and jeans. His body was long, and his presence was strong and inviting. He had a dark face, and his eyes were the color of Colombian coffee. My cheeks were starting to stain from trails of salty tears as he came to my table and said, “You are sick? Hospital?” His booming voice ricocheted through the empty spaces of my body. Yes, I nodded. He grabbed my hand and led me to the hospital. After recieving antibiotics and instructions from the doctor, he returned me to my room.

 

At noon the next day, Phalguna knocked. I noticed his arms for the first time as he stood with his hands on his hips. He had scars covering his lean muscles and broad shoulders. I wanted to know why. I had the sudden urge to discover everything about him; the way his hair smelled, how his tongue would feel inside my mouth, if his voice would send tremors down my spine forever. But he was a monk and his body was Krishna's. I put the thoughts out of my mind.

 

Although he primarily worked at the Temple, he had a project on an eco-farm that he needed to finish, about six hours away. "Come? Con...me?" he said. My voice caught in my throat as I listed all the dangers in my mind: torture, gangbang, robbery, kidnapping. “Sure,” I said with a steely resolution.

 

The next day, we took a bus to a small town in the Ecuadorian jungle. I was in and out of sleep, but I could feel electricity as his hand brushed mine on the bumpy ride. I woke completely as the bus stopped, and discovered he was holding my hand. He saw that I had noticed, looked at me, and kissed me softly on the lips. I was floating. It was midnight and I was floating in a city called Tena.

 

“Hotel ok?” He said, “It’s late. Bus tomorrow.” Torture, gangbang, robbery, kidnapping. “Sure,” I said. He booked a room with one bed for both of us, no screens on the open windows, and the screech of monkeys in the distance. I was terrified, but wildly excited. My lust for adventure mixed with a strange longing to be close to this beautiful man. He showered as I sat on the bed, my body aching from the long bus ride. He came out in just a towel, a rope necklace looped around his neck and under his arm – a testament to his devotion to Krishna. He had tattoos covering his sculpted body. I was smitten. He smiled and asked if I needed a massage. He merely said the words, and my clothes were off.

 

I was naked, faced-down, feeling the strong hands of Phalguna caressing me, but it wasn’t just my aching muscles he was healing. He was reaching something deeper. He released my mind, and my heart opened. As a monk he had been celibate for the last 11 years, he told me. Then he kissed my neck and left a trail of soft love all the way down my spine. He kissed the back of my knees and continued to the ends of my toes. I was shaking with the sheer force of love that I felt. He looked me in the eyes when we made love. He held my hand in a strong grip and guided my body to please both of us.

 

No words were spoken that night. They had no place, no right to be there. This was sacred. This was spiritual. This was physical and existential. I felt the calling of Kama Sutra, the pure love of a beautiful man, and the calm of finding my purpose. In the week that followed, we escaped frequently to explore our love. Our classroom was the stream, and the forest. In that week he taught me something. He taught me everything… My purpose was love. The spaces in my body once filled with emptiness had been replaced by a warm and comforting glow. I had been awakened.