The question often comes up, “How did you and Flame meet?”<\/p>\n
Maybe people only ask you how you’re doing
\n’cause that’s easier than letting on how little they could care<\/i><\/p>\n
But I think it’s a pretty interesting story. I’ve given a lot of answers, and I wanted to come up a canonical response.<\/p>\n
The simplest answer is that we met through a mutual friend, but I think the long story is worth the words, riddled with risks, unlikely turns, and not a little magic.<\/p>\n
\nWithout tracing every turn in our lives that made us ready and able to appreciate each other, we met in April of 2008 at the small birthday picnic of a friend, Bethany. Bethany and I both went to MIT, but we met in the cast of the Rocky Horror Picture Show. A year before, I had beguiled Bethany into visiting me during a European odyssey, professed my interest in her, and (later, back in the US) alienated her away with too many advances. She wanted to find a different target for my attentions, and enjoyed playing the matchmaker.<\/p>\n
Bethany worked at an architecture firm with Alyson, who met Flame at lectures of the Boston Society of Architects. Flame spent a lot of her time in Cambridge between jobs, and ready to attend anything that offered intellectual stimulation and food.<\/p>\n
Flame\u2019s fantastic outfit at the picnic looked like she borrowed it from a circus, and she no sooner sat down than dove into the inner psyche\u2019s of everyone there, with mile-a-minute queries. Her unique personality and quick thought were immediately obvious, not to mention her mad cooking skills. As I walked with her back to Central Square, I tried to flirt, and she responded that she was \u201cabout 2\/3 lesbian\u201d (she now says she didn’t mean it), which I took to mean I had 0\/3 chance with her. I didn\u2019t know that she wanted me to ask her home.<\/p>\n
But I invited Alyson and her to have a drink to get better acquainted. Flame didn\u2019t come. We did meet for ice cream, and she briefly stopped by my apartment. In the 40 seconds she was inside, she noticed and critiqued everything from my lack of sink to unwashed pillowcases, and then left me reeling. I figured things were through, and made plans to move to Brazil forever.<\/p>\n
Flame didn\u2019t come to my going-away party, but she called the next day and said she wanted to sleep with me. I replied that we should meet for tea. But by the next day she wouldn\u2019t answer her phone (later she said it was because she was already dating three people).<\/p>\n
A few months into my new life in Brazil, Flame started getting in touch over IM. She would usually IM me drunk, wtih tpynig like tihs, and I tried to avoid her. But one night she persuaded me to Skype, and I remembered in her voice what I missed in her typing\u2014 what a fierce intelligence was on the other end. I fell in love with her voice.<\/p>\n
But I was in Brazil and she was broke in Boston. I prepared to go to the World Social Forum, high on the possibilities that 80,000 comrades can make when they work together. Sometimes a little startup cash do great things, and I had been considering investing in a bus. But a recent mugging had left me fretting and alone on Christmas 2008, waiting for a new debit card. It had not come before Christmas, and now I was overdue to leave the city.<\/p>\n
On the last possible day that I could stay, I took a quick trip to send a package, during which time the mail carrier tried to drop off my card. I turned the corner to someone calling over to me. No knowing my plight, a local storekeeper had stalled the mailwoman long enough for me to return and get a package.<\/p>\n
My credit card now in hand, I packed my bags and headed to the bus station. As I waited behind a confused-sounding client, I saw a large monarch-colored butterfly climbing the wall toward the teller desk. It seemed to be struggling, and as I watched, it fell off, and started walking toward the exit along the floor. I looked closer\u2014 it had a huge hole in one of its wings. It would never make it out, with booted ga\u00fachos rushing around. I put out my hand, and it climbed on. I brought it to the exit and set it down. It stumbled, confused, back inside the building. So I picked it up again, and this time took it outside. There was cement everywhere, but I saw a plant-covered road island a block further and headed that way, holding the butterfly carefully. As I cross the last road, a strong breeze lifted it off my hand and I couldn\u2019t see where it went.<\/p>\n
I realized that it was an omen, and interpreted it that Flame was the butterfly that couldn\u2019t fly, and I had the power to help her. My recent cash problems had given me a visceral knowledge of her situation, and just like the WSF opportunities, there was a need I could address. I contacted her to get a ticket the next day, to join me in Belem for the Forum.<\/p>\n
The rest happened very fast. I met her at the airport, and we stayed together in a microscopic, bug-ridden kitchenette\u2014 the last residence available for the Forum. We went to Salvador together, and then she changed her flight and traveled around Brazil with me another month. When she returned to Boston, I came too.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
The question often comes up, “How did you and Flame meet?” Maybe people only ask you how you’re doing ’cause that’s easier than letting on how little they could care But I think it’s a pretty interesting story. I’ve given a lot of answers, and I wanted to come up a canonical response. The simplest … Continue reading How did you and Flame meet?<\/span>