February 16, 2010

I said a prayer before I went to bed. I fell asleep sometime around 9:30PM. And woke to my iPhone's alarm at 1:45AM. We had a 5AM flight and the blizzard had already dropped 20 inches on my hometown of Baltimore. We were cautious and leaving for the airport early.

The car arrived and eventually six friends were picked up and we rushed off to JFK. No one but Georgi and I had slept. He barely slept, actually. Upon waking up I checked my emails and while I slept he'd written me one, on his blackberry, from bed next to me while I slept. He said he could not sleep and was excited about our first trip. His sweetness is never ending. And it's always laid on me. Heavy. Thick. Heavy.

We flew to San Jose. And met up with several more travelers from San Francisco. Nine of us traveled across Costa Rica's lush and rocky land towards the beach town of Manuel Antonio. Our house was 6000 square feet. The top level, living, kitchen, and dining, was completely open. It framed a mesmerizing view of trees, monkeys, the Pacific below, and jutting rock formations. It was indeed paradise. I live in cliche. Yes, I know.

Four other friends arrived later in the day and I was surrounded by 12 others. Some on the trip I've known for more than a decade. Some I have had sex with. Some I'd once been in love with. Some I'd lived with. Most I'd fought with. Some I'd broken bread with and others I'd broken glasses with. Some I'd just met. Most were family.

And a week in paradise had many journeys. We boated along the Pacific coast and watched dolphins jump and snorkeled with fish below. I learned to surf and caught a wave or two. I ate ceviche and grilled meats and fruits and vegetables. I drank as many beers this week as I had the past year. I cabled above forest canopies. Swam in the ocean. Taunted monkeys. Impromptu drag shows. Poolside shows (The Nightingales) were born. Made cocktails and guacamole. Read. Laughed. Bickered. Swam. Sunned. Jumped.

I did not turn my phone on once. I rarely looked at my computer.

And when 13 people start to get on your nerves, and yes, even when they're family, they will at times, I descended to my (rather large) room and held Georgi and locked eyes and giggled and tickled and told each other that we must be the only two sane people in the world. And that is true love, folks. When the world is mad. When everyone is carrying on around you. When you feel outnumbered and outplayed. There is one. One you trust. One you lean on. One you escape with.

That's my baby.

And then, quickly, we'd reemerge to the house. And we'd see the housemates.

Theron in Beyonce drag. Ms. Panda eating Pringles. Greg downing Scotch. Leland wiping up. Jesse exclaiming. Ryan observing. Lucas laughing. Jack clicking at his game. Michael texting. Monte lip-syncing. And Eric, my dear Eric, exuding cool in a gaggle of big personalities.

And we'd sit around the table and Theron would toast the house and we'd talk and eat and discuss our days and the next ahead. And while it snowed in NYC we kept warm with 90 degree temperatures, bath water warmth of the Pacific, and each others vibrant personalities.

Paradise is meant for me. It's a shame it lasts just a week.