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Friendship past

Whenever I think of Scientology, I think about Beau. So, with all this talk of Katie and her minder, and my working down the street from a Church of Scientology, Beau’s been crossing my mind a lot. I first met him in the summer of 1996, back when a trip to New York was an annual neccessity. I was passing through for a few days on my way back to China, and hung out with some of my friends from when I’d lived there, and he was friends with them, so we hung out…. He then escorted me across town to where I was staying and dropped me off and then we spent the next few days together, just walking the streets and talking for hours. Over the next school year, me in China, he in New York, we wrote to one another, our letters brimming with our deepest thoughts. The following summer, on another one of my trips to New York, we resumed where we’d left off – walking and talking, from morning until night. I, again, was staying with a friend who was generally busy, so had no social obligations. He was basically homeless, crashing on the floors of friends or on couches in busy hotel lobbies. So, we’d meet up, usually with no specific plans, and get to know each other while crisscrossing Manhattan on foot. He was different from most guys I’d fallen for in the past – a little grimier, a smoker, an artist…. Also unusual, I never discussed with him my smitten state, though it was apparent we both felt enough of a connection to spend days in a row with each other.

On one of our adventures, we visited the Church of Scientology in Times Square. We were walking along one night, when someone at a corner waved some “free tickets” at us. Having nothing else on our agenda, we figured, “Why not?” and headed toward the Church. For those of you who’ve never been, this Church fits in with its surroundings – it’s a theater with a big marquee, but instead of advertising a Broadway show, it’s advertising Scientology. We went in, presented our tickets, and watched the movie, which provided laughs over our next several days together. “Your goal is to get to the next level in the org.” “To find out more about our beliefs, buy this book.” “Sure, you can walk out of here and not pay attention to what we’ve just shared with you. You can also walk out of here and jump off of a bridge. Or shoot yourself in the head.” After the movie, we were greeted by a guy who wanted our feedback on the movie, both verbally and on written surveys. We sat with him for a few minutes, but finally, when it became clear that our feedback would hurt his feelings, I asked, “Is it okay if we just don’t fill these out?” He meekly answered yes. “Okaygoodbye,” and we rushed out of there, saving our true feelings about the movie to share with each other. One of the beauties of going to this Church was the accompanying anonymity of New York. I’ve always wanted to go again, but only if I can go that particular one. We never did figure out what Scientologists believe, but we also weren’t willing to pay the money to find out.

After two summer trips of walking and talking, Beau left my life as abruptly as he’d entered it. We spent a day together, going to the Cloisters. He invited me to Connecticut, where he was going to spend some time with his family. I hesitated, feeling an obligation to stay in the city and see some of my friends from college. As we waited for the train to head back downtown, I started to wonder if he was purposely trying to distance himself from me (or did the wondering come later as I reexamined his behavior?) – he sat on the floor of the subway station, something I would only do if ordered to do so at gunpoint. On the train, I told him I would call him later if my tentative plans with my college friends fell through and we casually said goodbye and parted ways. I did call him to say I’d go to Connecticut, but he didn’t return my call. Nor did he do so on my subsequent trips to New York. As hard as I’d fallen, as I think about now, it’s funny that I have no recollection of every crying about our finished friendship. I’ve googled him and seen that some of the ideas that were beautifully written and illustrated in notebooks years ago were translated onto the stage, and wonder if Anis had stayed in New York they would have eventually met. He’s fallen out of touch with our once-mutual friends, so I’m not likely to cross paths with him. I haven’t tried to contact him for some time. Why ruin the magical memories of a friendship of summers past, revisited whenever Scientology comes up?